wisdom and destiny by maurice maeterlinck translated by alfred sutro to georgette leblanc i offer this book, wherein her thought blends with mine introduction this essay on wisdom and destiny was to have been a thing of some twenty pages, the work of a fortnight; but the idea took root, others flocked to it, and the volume has occupied m. maeterlinck continuously for more than two years. it has much essential kinship with the "treasure of the humble," though it differs therefrom in treatment; for whereas the earlier work might perhaps be described as the eager speculation of a poet athirst for beauty, we have here rather the endeavour of an earnest thinker to discover the abode of truth. and if the result of his thought be that truth and happiness are one, this was by no means the object wherewith he set forth. here he is no longer content with exquisite visions, alluring or haunting images; he probes into the soul of man and lays bare all his joys and his sorrows. it is as though he had forsaken the canals he loves so well--the green, calm, motionless canals that faithfully mirror the silent trees and moss-covered roofs--and had adventured boldly, unhesitatingly, on the broad river of life. he describes this book himself, in a kind of introduction that is almost an apology, as "a few interrupted thoughts that entwine themselves, with more or less system, around two or three subjects." he declares that there is nothing it undertakes to prove; that there are none whose mission it is to convince. and so true is this, so absolutely honest and sincere is the writer, that he does not shrink from attacking, qualifying, modifying, his own propositions; from advancing, and insisting on, every objection that flits across his brain; and if such proposition survive the onslaught of its adversaries, it is only because, in the deepest of him, he holds it for absolute truth. for this book is indeed a confession, a naive, outspoken, unflinching description of all that passes in his mind; and even those who like not his theories still must admit that this mind is strangely beautiful. there have been many columns filled--and doubtless will be again--with ingenious and scholarly attempts to place a definitive label on m. maeterlinck, and his talent; to trace his thoughts to their origin, clearly denoting the authors by whom he has been influenced; in a measure to predict his future, and accurately to establish the place that he fills in the hierarchy of genius. with all this i feel that i have no concern. such speculations doubtless have their use and serve their purpose. i shall be content if i can impress upon those who may read these lines, that in this book the man is himself, of untrammelled thought; a man possessed of the rare faculty of seeing beauty in all things, and, above all, in truth; of the still rarer faculty of loving all things, and, above all, life. nor is this merely a vague and, at bottom, a more or less meaningless statement. for, indeed, considering this essay only, that deals with wisdom and destiny, at the root of it--its fundamental principle, its guiding, inspiring thought--is love. "nothing is contemptible in this world save only scorn," he says; and for the humble, the foolish, nay, even the wicked, he has the same love, almost the same admiration, as for the sage, the saint, or the hero. everything that exists fills him with wonder, because of its existence, and of the mysterious force that is in it; and to him love and wisdom are one, "joining hands in a circle of light." for the wisdom that holds aloof from mankind, that deems itself a thing apart, select, superior, he has scant sympathy--it has "wandered too far from the watchfires of the tribe." but the wisdom that is human, that feeds constantly on the desires, the feelings, the hopes and the fears of man, must needs have love ever by its side; and these two, marching together, must inevitably find themselves, sooner or later, on the ways that lead to goodness. "there comes a moment in life," he says, "when moral beauty seems more urgent, more penetrating, than intellectual beauty; when all that the mind has treasured must be bathed in the greatness of soul, lest it perish in the sandy desert, forlorn as the river that seeks in vain for the sea." but for unnecessary self-sacrifice, renouncement, abandonment of earthly joys, and all such "parasitic virtues," he has no commendation or approval; feeling that man was created to be happy, and that he is not wise who voluntarily discards a happiness to-day for fear lest it be taken from him on the morrow. "let us wait till the hour of sacrifice sounds--till then, each man to his work. the hour will sound at last--let us not waste our time in seeking it on the dial of life." in this book, morality, conduct, life are surveyed from every point of the compass, but from an eminence always. austerity holds no place in his philosophy; he finds room even "for the hours that babble aloud in their wantonness." but all those who follow him are led by smiling wisdom to the heights where happiness sits enthroned between goodness and love, where virtue rewards itself in the "silence that is the walled garden of its happiness." it is strange to turn from this essay to serres chaudes and la princesse maleine, m. maeterlinck's earliest efforts--the one a collection of vague images woven into poetical form, charming, dreamy, and almost meaningless; the other a youthful and very remarkable effort at imitation. in the plays that followed the princesse maleine there was the same curious, wandering sense of, and search for, a vague and mystic beauty: "that fair beauty which no eye can see, of that sweet music which no ear can measure." in a little poem of his, et s'il revenait, the last words of a dying girl, forsaken by her lover, who is asked by her sister what shall be told to the faithless one, should he ever seek to know of her last hours: "et s'il m'interroge encore sur la derniere heure?-- dites lui que j'ai souri de peur qu'il ne pleure ..." touch, perhaps, the very high-water mark of exquisite simplicity and tenderness blent with matchless beauty of expression. pelleas et melisande was the culminating point of this, his first, period--a simple, pathetic love-story of boy and girl--love that was pure and almost passionless. it was followed by three little plays--"for marionettes," he describes them on the title-page; among them being la mort de tintagiles, the play he himself prefers of all that he has written. and then came a curious change: he wrote aglavaine et selysette. the setting is familiar to us; the sea-shore, the ruined tower, the seat by the well; no less than the old grandmother and little yssaline. but aglavaine herself is strange: this woman who has lived and suffered; this queenly, majestic creature, calmly conscious of her beauty and her power; she whose overpowering, overwhelming love is yet deliberate and thoughtful. the complexities of real life are vaguely hinted at here: instead of golaud, the mediaeval, tyrannous husband, we have selysette, the meek, self-sacrificing wife; instead of the instinctive, unconscious love of pelleas and melisande, we have great burning passion. but this play, too, was only a stepping-stone--a link between the old method and the new that is to follow. for there will probably be no more plays like pelleas et melisande, or even like aglavaine et selysette. real men and women, real problems and disturbance of life--it is these that absorb him now. his next play will doubtless deal with a psychology more actual, in an atmosphere less romantic; and the old familiar scene of wood, and garden, and palace corridor will be exchanged for the habitual abode of men. i have said it was real life that absorbed him now, and yet am i aware that what seems real to him must still appear vague and visionary to many. it is, however, only a question of shifting one's point of view, or, better still, of enlarging it. material success in life, fame, wealth--these things m. maeterlinck passes indifferently by. there are certain ideals that are dear to many on which he looks with the vague wonder of a child. the happiness of which he dreams is an inward happiness, and within reach of successful and unsuccessful alike. and so it may well be that those content to buffet with their fellows for what are looked on as the prizes of this world, will still write him down a mere visionary, and fail to comprehend him. the materialist who complacently defines the soul as the "intellect plus the emotions," will doubtless turn away in disgust from m. maeterlinck's constant references to it as the seat of something mighty, mysterious, inexhaustible in life. so, too, may the rigid follower of positive religion, to whom the deity is a power concerned only with the judgment, reward, and punishment of men, protest at his saying that "god, who must be at least as high as the highest thoughts he has implanted in the best of men, will withhold his smile from those whose sole desire has been to please him; and they only who have done good for sake of good, and as though he existed not; they only who have loved virtue more than they loved god himself, shall be allowed to stand by his side." but, after all, the genuine seeker after truth knows that what seemed true yesterday is to-day discovered to be only a milestone on the road; and all who value truth will be glad to listen to a man who, differing from them perhaps, yet tells them what seems true to him. and whereas in the "treasure of the humble" he looked on life through a veil of poetry and dream, here he stands among his fellow-men, no longer trying to "express the inexpressible," but, in all simplicity, to tell them what he sees. "above all, let us never forget that an act of goodness is in itself an act of happiness. it is the flower of a long inner life of joy and contentment; it tells of peaceful hours and days on the sunniest heights of our soul." this thought lies at the root of his whole philosophy--goodness, happiness, love, supporting each other, intertwined, rewarding each other. "let us not think virtue will crumble, though god himself seem unjust. where could the virtue of man find more everlasting foundation than in the seeming injustice of god?" strange that the man who has written these words should have spent all his school life at a jesuit college, subjected to its severe, semi-monastic discipline; compelled, at the end of his stay, to go, with the rest of his fellows, through the customary period of "retreat," lasting ten days, when the most eloquent of the fathers would, one after the other, deliver sermons terrific to boyish imagination, sermons whose unvarying burden was hell and the wrath of god--to be avoided only by becoming a jesuit priest. out of the eighteen boys in the "rhetorique" class, eleven eagerly embraced this chance of escape from damnation. as for m. maeterlinck himself--fortunately a day-boarder only--one can fancy him wandering home at night, along the canal banks, in the silence broken only by the pealing of church bells, brooding over these mysteries ... but how long a road must the man have travelled who, having been taught the god of fra angelico, himself arrives at the conception of a "god who sits smiling on a mountain, and to whom our gravest offences are only as the naughtiness of puppies playing on the hearth-rug." his environment, no less than his schooling, helped to give a mystic tinge to his mind. the peasants who dwelt around his father's house always possessed a peculiar fascination for him; he would watch them as they sat by their doorway, squatting on their heels, as their custom is--grave, monotonous, motionless, the smoke from their pipes almost the sole sign of life. for the flemish peasant is a strangely inert creature, his work once done--as languid and lethargic as the canal that passes by his door. there was one cottage into which the boy would often peep on his way home from school, the home of seven brothers and one sister, all old, toothless, worn--working together in the daytime at their tiny farm; at night sitting in the gloomy kitchen, lit by one smoky lamp--all looking straight before them, saying not a word; or when, at rare intervals, a remark was made, taking it up each in turn and solemnly repeating it, with perhaps the slightest variation in form. it was amidst influences such as these that his boyhood was passed, almost isolated from the world, brooding over lives of saints and mystics at the same time that he studied, and delighted in, shakespeare and the elizabethans, goethe and heine. for his taste has been catholic always; he admires meredith as he admires dickens, hello and pascal no less than schopenhauer. and it is this catholicity, this open mind, this eager search for truth, that have enabled him to emerge from the mysticism that once enwrapped him to the clearer daylight of actual existence; it is this faculty of admiring all that is admirable in man and in life that some day, perhaps, may take him very far. it will surprise many who picture him as a mere dreamy decadent, to be told that he is a man of abiding and abundant cheerfulness, who finds happiness in the simplest of things. the scent of a flower, the flight of sea-gulls around a cliff, a cornfield in sunshine--these stir him to strange delight. a deed of bravery, nobility, or of simple devotion; a mere brotherly act of kindness, the unconscious sacrifice of the peasant who toils all day to feed and clothe his children--these awake his warm and instant sympathy. and with him, too, it is as with de quincey when he says, "at no time of my life have i been a person to hold myself polluted by the touch or approach of any creature that wore a human shape"; and more than one unhappy outcast, condemned by the stern law of man, has been gladdened by his ready greeting and welcome. but, indeed, all this may be read of in his book--i desired but to make it clear that the book is truly a faithful mirror of the man's own thoughts, and feelings, and actions. it is a book that many will love--all those who suffer, for it will lighten their suffering; all those who love, for it will teach them to love more deeply. it is a book with its faults, doubtless, as every book must be; but it has been written straight from the heart, and will go to the heart of many ... alfred sutro wisdom and destiny . in this book there will often be mention of wisdom and destiny, of happiness, justice, and love. there may seem to be some measure of irony in thus calling forth an intangible happiness where so much real sorrow prevails; a justice that may well be ideal in the bosom of an injustice, alas! only too material; a love that eludes the grasp in the midst of palpable hatred and callousness. the moment may seem but ill-chosen for leisurely search, in the hidden recess of man's heart, for motives of peace and tranquillity; occasions for gladness, uplifting, and love; reasons for wonder and gratitude--seeing that the vast bulk of mankind, in whose name we would fain lift our voice, have not even the time or assurance to drain to the dregs the misery and desolation of life. not to them is it given to linger over the inward rejoicing, the profound consolation, that the satisfied thinker has slowly and painfully acquired, that he knows how to prize. thus has it often been urged against moralists, among them epictetus, that they were apt to concern themselves with none but the wise alone. in this reproach is some truth, as some truth there must be in every reproach that is made. and indeed, if we had only the courage to listen to the simplest, the nearest, most pressing voice of our conscience, and be deaf to all else, it were doubtless our solitary duty to relieve the suffering about us to the greatest extent in our power. it were incumbent upon us to visit and nurse the poor, to console the afflicted; to found model factories, surgeries, dispensaries, or at least to devote ourselves, as men of science do, to wresting from nature the material secrets which are most essential to man. but yet, were the world at a given moment to contain only persons thus actively engaged in helping each other, and none venturesome enough to dare snatch leisure for research in other directions, then could this charitable labour not long endure; for all that is best in the good that at this day is being done round about us, was conceived in the spirit of one of those who neglected, it may be, many an urgent, immediate duty in order to think, to commune with themselves, in order to speak. does it follow that they did the best that was to be done? to such a question as this who shall dare to reply? the soul that is meekly honest must ever consider the simplest, the nearest duty to be the best of all things it can do; but yet were there cause for regret had all men for all time restricted themselves to the duty that lay nearest at hand. in each generation some men have existed who held in all loyalty that they fulfilled the duties of the passing hour by pondering on those of the hour to come. most thinkers will say that these men were right. it is well that the thinker should give his thoughts to the world, though it must be admitted that wisdom befinds itself sometimes in the reverse of the sage's pronouncement. this matters but little, however; for, without such pronouncement, the wisdom had not stood revealed; and the sage has accomplished his duty. . to-day misery is the disease of mankind, as disease is the misery of man. and even as there are physicians for disease, so should there be physicians for human misery. but can the fact that disease is, unhappily, only too prevalent, render it wrong for us ever to speak of health? which were indeed as though, in anatomy--the physical science that has most in common with morals--the teacher confined himself exclusively to the study of the deformities that greater or lesser degeneration will induce in the organs of man. we have surely the right to demand that his theories be based on the healthy and vigorous body; as we have also the right to demand that the moralist, who fain would see beyond the present hour, should take as his standard the soul that is happy, or that at least possesses every element of happiness, save only the necessary consciousness. we live in the bosom of great injustice; but there can be, i imagine, neither cruelty nor callousness in our speaking, at times, as though this injustice had ended, else should we never emerge from our circle. it is imperative that there should be some who dare speak, and think, and act as though all men were happy; for otherwise, when the day comes for destiny to throw open to all the people's garden of the promised land, what happiness shall the others find there, what justice, what beauty or love? it may be urged, it is true, that it were best, first of all, to consider the most pressing needs, yet is this not always wisest; it is often of better avail from the start to seek that which is highest. when the waters beleaguer the home of the peasant in holland, the sea or the neighbouring river having swept down the dyke that protected the country, most pressing is it then for the peasant to safeguard his cattle, his grain, his effects; but wisest to fly to the top of the dyke, summoning those who live with him, and from thence meet the flood, and do battle. humanity up to this day has been like an invalid tossing and turning on his couch in search of repose; but therefore none the less have words of true consolation come only from those who spoke as though man were freed from all pain. for, as man was created for health, so was mankind created for happiness; and to speak of its misery only, though that misery be everywhere and seem everlasting, is only to say words that fall lightly and soon are forgotten. why not speak as though mankind were always on the eve of great certitude, of great joy? thither, in truth, is man led by his instinct, though he never may live to behold the long-wished-for to-morrow. it is well to believe that there needs but a little more thought, a little more courage, more love, more devotion to life, a little more eagerness, one day to fling open wide the portals of joy and of truth. and this thing may still come to pass. let us hope that one day all mankind will be happy and wise; and though this day never should dawn, to have hoped for it cannot be wrong. and in any event, it is helpful to speak of happiness to those who are sad, that thus at least they may learn what it is that happiness means. they are ever inclined to regard it as something beyond them, extraordinary, out of their reach. but if all who may count themselves happy were to tell, very simply, what it was that brought happiness to them, the others would see that between sorrow and joy the difference is but as between a gladsome, enlightened acceptance of life and a hostile, gloomy submission; between a large and harmonious conception of life, and one that is stubborn and narrow. "is that all?" the unhappy would cry. "but we too have within us, then, the elements of this happiness." surely you have them within you! there lives not a man but has them, those only excepted upon whom great physical calamity has fallen. but speak not lightly of this happiness. there is no other. he is the happiest man who best understands his happiness; for he is of all men most fully aware that it is only the lofty idea, the untiring, courageous, human idea, that separates gladness from sorrow. of this idea it is helpful to speak, and as often as may be; not with the view of imposing our own idea upon others, but in order that they who may listen shall, little by little, conceive the desire to possess an idea of their own. for in no two men is it the same. the one that you cherish may well bring no comfort to me; nor shall all your eloquence touch the hidden springs of my life. needs must i acquire my own, in myself, by myself; but you unconsciously make this the easier for me, by telling of the idea that is yours. it may happen that i shall find solace in that which brings sorrow to you, and that which to you speaks of gladness may be fraught with affliction for me. but no matter; into my grief will enter all that you saw of beauty and comfort, and into my joy there will pass all that was great in your sadness, if indeed my joy be on the same plane as your sadness. it behoves us, the first thing of all, to prepare in our soul a place of some loftiness, where this idea may be lodged; as the priests of ancient religions laid the mountain peak bare, and cleared it of thorn and of root for the fire to descend from heaven. there may come to us any day, from the depths of the planet mars, the infallible formula of happiness, conveyed in the final truth as to the aim and the government of the universe. such a formula could only bring change or advancement unto our spiritual life in the degree of the desire and expectation of advancement in which we might long have been living. the formula would be the same for all men, yet would each one benefit only in the proportion of the eagerness, purity, unselfishness, knowledge, that he had stored up in his soul. all morality, all study of justice and happiness, should truly be no more than preparation, provision on the vastest scale--a way of gaining experience, a stepping-stone laid down for what is to follow. surely, desirable day of all days were the one when at last we should live in absolute truth, in immovable logical certitude; but in the meantime it is given us to live in a truth more important still, the truth of our soul and our character; and some wise men have proved that this life can be lived in the midst of gravest material errors. . is it idle to speak of justice, happiness, morals, and all things connected therewith, before the hour of science has sounded--that definitive hour, wherein all that we cling to may crumble? the darkness that hangs over our life will then, it may be, pass away; and much that we do in the darkness shall be otherwise done in the light. but nevertheless do the essential events of our moral and physical life come to pass in the darkness as completely, as inevitably, as they would in the light, our life must be lived while we wait for the word that shall solve the enigma, and the happier, the nobler our life, the more vigorous shall it become; and we shall have the more courage, clear-sightedness, boldness, to seek and desire the truth. and happen what may, the time can be never ill-spent that we give to acquiring some knowledge of self. whatever our relation may become to this world in which we have being, in our soul there will yet be more feelings, more passions, more secrets unchanged and unchanging, than there are stars that connect with the earth, or mysteries fathomed by science. in the bosom of truth undeniable, truth all absorbing, man shall doubtless soar upwards; but still, as he rises, still shall his soul unerringly guide him; and the grander the truth of the universe, the more solace and peace it may bring, the more shall the problems of justice, morality, happiness, love, present to the eyes of all men the semblance they ever have worn in the eyes of the thinker. we should live as though we were always on the eve of the great revelation; and we should be ready with welcome, with warmest and keenest and fullest, most heartfelt and intimate welcome. and whatever the form it shall take on the day that it comes to us, the best way of all to prepare for its fitting reception is to crave for it now, to desire it as lofty, as perfect, as vast, as ennobling as the soul can conceive. it must needs be more beautiful, glorious, and ample than the best of our hopes; for, where it differ therefrom or even frustrate them, it must of necessity bring something nobler, loftier, nearer to the nature of man, for it will bring us the truth. to man, though all that he value go under, the intimate truth of the universe must be wholly, preeminently admirable. and though, on the day it unveils, our meekest desires turn to ashes and float on the wind, still shall there linger within us all we have prepared; and the admirable will enter our soul, the volume of its waters being as the depth of the channel that our expectation has fashioned. . is it necessary that we should conceive ourselves to be superior to the universe? our reason may prove what it will: our reason is only a feeble ray that has issued from nature; a tiny atom of that whole which nature alone shall judge. is it fitting that the ray of light should desire to alter the lamp whence it springs? that loftiness within us, from whose summit we venture to pass judgment on the totality of life, to absolve or condemn it, is doubtless the merest pin-prick, visible to our eye alone, on the illimitable sphere of life. it is wise to think and to act as though all that happened to man were all that man most required. it is not long ago--to cite only one of the problems that the instinct of our planet is invited to solve--that a scheme was on foot to inquire of the thinkers of europe whether it should rightly be held as a gain or a loss to mankind if an energetic, strenuous, persistent race, which some, through prejudice doubtless, still regard as inferior to the aryan in qualities of heart and of soul--if the jews, in a word, were to vanish from the face of the earth, or to acquire preponderance there. i am satisfied that the sage might answer, without laying himself open to the charge of indifference or undue resignation, "in what comes to pass will be happiness." many things happen that seem unjust to us; but of all the achievements of reason there has been none so helpful as the discovery of the loftier reason that underlies the misdeeds of nature. it is from the slow and gradual vindication of the unknown force that we deemed at first to be pitiless, that our moral and physical life has derived its chief prop and support. if a race disappears that conforms with our every ideal, it will be only because our ideal still falls short of the grand ideal, which is, as we have said, the intimate truth of the universe. our own experience has taught us that even in this world of reality there exist dreams and desires, thoughts and feelings of beauty, of justice, and love, that are of the noblest and loftiest. and if there be any that shrink from the test of reality--in other words, from the mysterious, nameless power of life--it follows that these must be different, but not that their beauty is less, or their vastness, or power to console. till reality confront us, it is well, it may be, to cherish ideals that we hold to surpass it in beauty; but once face to face with reality, then must the ideal flame that has fed on our noblest desires be content to throw faithful light on the less fragile, less tender beauty of the mighty mass that crushes these desires. nor does this seem to me to imply a mere drowsy fatalism, or servile acquiescence, or optimism shrinking from action. the sage no doubt must many a time forfeit some measure of the blind, the head-strong, fanatical zeal that has enabled some men, whose reason was fettered and bound, to achieve results that are nigh superhuman; but therefore none the less is it certain that no man of upright soul should go forth in search of illusion or blindness, of zeal or vigour, in a region inferior to that of his noblest hours. to do our true duty in life, it must ever be done with the aid of all that is highest in our soul, highest in the truth that is ours. and even though it be permissible at times in actual, every-day life to compromise with events, and not follow impulse to the ruthless end--as did st. just, for instance, who in his admirable and ardent desire for universal peace, happiness, justice, in all good faith sent thousands to the scaffold--in the life of thought it is our unvarying duty to pursue our thought right to the end. again, the knowledge that our actions still await the seal of final truth can deter from action those only who would have remained no less inert had no such knowledge been theirs. thought that rises encourages where it disheartens. and to those of a loftier vision, prepared in advance to admire the truth that will nullify all they have done, it seems only natural still to endeavour with all might and main to enhance what yet may be termed the justice, the beauty, the reason of this our earth. they know that to penetrate deeper, to understand, to respect--all this is enhancement. above all, they have faith in "the idea of the universe." they are satisfied that every effort that tends to improvement approaches the secret intention of life; they are taught by the failure of their noblest endeavours, by the resistance of this mighty world, to discover anew fresh reasons for wonder, for ardour, for hope. as you climb up a mountain towards nightfall, the trees and the houses, the steeple, the fields and the orchards, the road, and even the river, will gradually dwindle and fade, and at last disappear in the gloom that steals over the valley. but the threads of light that shine from the houses of men and pierce through the blackest of nights, these shine on undimmed. and every step that you take to the summit reveals but more lights, and more, in the hamlets asleep at your foot. for light, though so fragile, is perhaps the one thing of all that yields naught of itself as it faces immensity. thus it is with our moral light too, when we look upon life from some slight elevation. it is well that reflection should teach us to disburden our soul of base passions; but it should not discourage, or weaken, our humblest desire for justice, for truth, and for love. whence comes this rule that i thus propound? nay, i know not myself. to me it seems helpful and requisite; nor could i give reasons other than spring from the feelings alone. such reasons, however, at times should by no means be treated too lightly. if i should ever attain a summit whence this law seemed useless to me, i would listen to the secret instinct bidding me not linger, but climb on still higher, till its usefulness should once again be clearly apparent to me. . this general introduction over, let us speak more particularly of the influence that wisdom can have upon destiny. and, the occasion presenting itself here, i shall do well perhaps to state now, at the very beginning, that in this book it will be vain to seek for any rigorous method. for indeed it is but composed of oft-interrupted thoughts, that entwine themselves with more or less system around two or three subjects. its object is not to convince; there is nothing it professes to prove. besides, in life books have by no means the importance that writers and readers claim for them. we should regard them as did a friend of mine, a man of great wisdom, who listened one day to the recital of the last moments of the emperor antoninus pius. antoninus pius--who was perhaps truly the best and most perfect man this world has known, better even than marcus aurelius; for in addition to the virtues, the kindness, the deep feeling and wisdom of his adopted son, he had something of greater virility and energy, of simpler happiness, something more real, spontaneous, closer to everyday life--antoninus pius lay on his bed, awaiting the summons of death, his eyes dim with unbidden tears, his limbs moist with the pale sweat of agony. at that moment there entered the captain of the guard, come to demand the watchword, such being the custom. aequanimitas--evenness of mind, he replied, as he turned his head to the eternal shadow. it is well that we should love and admire that word, said my friend. but better still, he added, to have it in us to sacrifice, unknown to others, unknown even to ourselves, the time fortune accords us wherein to admire it, in favour of the first little useful, living deed that the same fortune incessantly offers to every willing heart. . "it was doubtless the will of their destiny that men and events should oppress them whithersoever they went," said an author of the heroes of his book. thus it is with the majority of men; indeed, with all those who have not yet learned to distinguish between exterior and moral destiny. they are like a little bewildered stream that i chanced to espy one evening as i stood on the hillside. i beheld it far down in the valley, staggering, struggling, climbing, falling: blindly groping its way to the great lake that slumbered, the other side of the forest, in the peace of the dawn. here it was a block of basalt that forced the streamlet to wind round and about four times; there, the roots of a hoary tree; further on still, the mere recollection of an obstacle now gone for ever thrust it back to its source, bubbling in impotent fury, divided for all time from its goal and its gladness. but, in another direction, at right angles almost to the distraught, unhappy, useless stream, a force superior to the force of instinct had traced a long, greenish canal, calm, peaceful, deliberate; that flowed steadily across the country, across the crumbling stones, across the obedient forest, on its clear and unerring, unhurrying way from its distant source on the horizon to the same tranquil, shining lake. and i had at my feet before me the image of the two great destinies offered to man. . side by side with those whom men and events oppress, there are others who have within them some kind of inner force, which has its will not only with men, but even with the events that surround them. of this force they are fully aware, and indeed it is nothing more than a knowledge of self that has far overstepped the ordinary limits of consciousness. our consciousness is our home, our refuge from the caprice of fate, our centre of happiness and strength. but these things have been said so often that we need do no more than refer to them, and indicate them as our starting-point. ennoblement comes to man in the degree that his consciousness quickens, and the nobler the man has become, the profounder must consciousness be. admirable exchange takes place here; and even as love is insatiable in its craving for love, so is consciousness insatiable in its craving for growth, for moral uplifting; and moral uplifting for ever is yearning for consciousness. . but this knowledge of self is only too often regarded as implying no more than a knowledge of our defects and our qualities, whereas it does indeed extend infinitely further, to mysteries vastly more helpful. to know oneself in repose suffices not, nor does it suffice to know oneself in the past or the present. those within whom lies the force that i speak of know themselves in the future too. consciousness of self with the greatest of men implies consciousness up to a point of their star or their destiny. they are aware of some part of their future, because they have already become part of this future. they have faith in themselves, for they know in advance how events will be received in their soul. the event in itself is pure water that flows from the pitcher of fate, and seldom has it either savour or perfume or colour. but even as the soul may be wherein it seeks shelter, so will the event become joyous or sad, become tender or hateful, become deadly or quick with life. to those round about us there happen incessant and countless adventures, whereof every one, it would seem, contains a germ of heroism; but the adventure passes away, and heroic deed is there none. but when jesus christ met the samaritan, met a few children, an adulterous woman, then did humanity rise three times in succession to the level of god. . it might almost be said that there happens to men only that they desire. it is true that on certain external events our influence is of the feeblest, but we have all-powerful action on that which these events shall become in ourselves--in other words, on their spiritual part, on what is radiant, undying within them. there are thousands of men within whom this spiritual part, that is craving for birth in every misfortune, or love, or chance meeting, has known not one moment of life--these men pass away like a straw on the stream. and others there are within whom this immortal part absorbs all; these are like islands that have sprung up in the ocean; for they have found immovable anchorage, whence they issue commands that their destiny needs must obey. the life of most men will be saddened or lightened by the thing that may chance to befall them--in the men whom i speak of, whatever may happen is lit up by their inward life. when you love, it is not your love that forms part of your destiny; but the knowledge of self that you will have found, deep down in your love--this it is that will help to fashion your life. if you have been deceived, it is not the deception that matters, but the forgiveness whereto it gave birth in your soul, and the loftiness, wisdom, completeness of this forgiveness--by these shall your life be steered to destiny's haven of brightness and peace; by these shall your eyes see more clearly than if all men had ever been faithful. but if, by this act of deceit, there have come not more simpleness, loftier faith, wider range to your love, then have you been deceived in vain, and may truly say nothing has happened. . let us always remember that nothing befalls us that is not of the nature of ourselves. there comes no adventure but wears to our soul the shape of our everyday thoughts; and deeds of heroism are but offered to those who, for many long years, have been heroes in obscurity and silence. and whether you climb up the mountain or go down the hill to the valley, whether you journey to the end of the world or merely walk round your house, none but yourself shall you meet on the highway of fate. if judas go forth to-night, it is towards judas his steps will tend, nor will chance for betrayal be lacking; but let socrates open his door, he shall find socrates asleep on the threshold before him, and there will be occasion for wisdom. our adventures hover around us like bees round the hive when preparing to swarm. they wait till the mother-idea has at last come forth from our soul, and no sooner has she appeared than they all come rushing towards her. be false, and falsehoods will haste to you; love, and adventures will flock to you, throbbing with love. they seem to be all on the watch for the signal we hoist from within: and if the soul grow wiser towards evening, the sorrow will grow wiser too that the soul had fashioned for itself in the morning. . no great inner event befalls those who summon it not; and yet is there germ of great inner event in the smallest occurrence of life. but events such as these are apportioned by justice, and to each man is given of the spoil in accord with his merits. we become that which we discover in the sorrows and joys that befall us; and the least expected caprices of fate soon mould themselves on our thoughts. it is in our past that destiny finds all her weapons, her vestments, her jewels. were the only son of thersites and socrates to die the same day, socrates' grief would in no way resemble the grief of thersites. misfortune or happiness, it seems, must be chastened ere it knock at the door of the sage; but only by stooping low can it enter the commonplace soul. . as we become wiser we escape some of our instinctive destinies. there is in us all sufficient desire for wisdom to transform into consciousness most of the hazards of life. and all that has thus been transformed can belong no more to the hostile powers. a sorrow your soul has changed into sweetness, to indulgence or patient smiles, is a sorrow that shall never return without spiritual ornament; and a fault or defect you have looked in the face can harm you no more, or even be harmful to others. instinct and destiny are for ever conferring together; they support one another, and rove, hand in hand, round the man who is not on his guard. and whoever is able to curb the blind force of instinct within him, is able to curb the force of external destiny also. he seems to create some kind of sanctuary, whose inviolability will be in the degree of his wisdom and the consciousness he has acquired becomes the centre of a circle of light, within which the passer-by is secure from the caprice of fate. had jesus christ or socrates dwelt in agamemnon's palace among the atrides, then had there been no oresteia; nor would oedipus ever have dreamed of destroying his sight if they had been tranquilly seated on the threshold of jocasta's abode. fatality shrinks back abashed from the should that has more than once conquered her; there are certain disasters she dare not send forth when this soul is near; and the sage, as he passes by, intervenes in numberless tragedies. . the mere presence of the sage suffices to paralyse destiny; and of this we find proof in the fact that there exists scarce a drama wherein a true sage appears; when such is the case, the event needs must halt before reaching bloodshed and tears. not only is there no drama wherein sage is in conflict with sage, but indeed there are very few whose action revolves round a sage. and truly, can we imagine that an event shall turn into tragedy between men who have earnestly striven to gain knowledge of self? but the heroes of famous tragedies do not question their souls profoundly; and it follows therefrom that the beauty the tragic poet presents is only a captive thing, is fettered with chains; for were his heroes to soar to the height the real hero would gain, their weapons would fall to the ground, and the drama itself become peace--the peace of enlightenment. it is only in the passion of christ, the phaedo, prometheus, the murder of orpheus, the sacrifice of antigone--it is only in these that we find the drama of the sage, the solitary drama of wisdom. but elsewhere it is rarely indeed that tragic poets will allow a sage to appear on the scene, though it be for an instant. they are afraid of a lofty soul; for they know that events are no less afraid, and that a murder committed in the presence of the sage seems quite other than the murder committed in the presence of those whose soul still knows not itself. had oedipus possessed the inner refuge that marcus aurelius, for instance, had been able to erect in himself--a refuge whereto he could fly at all times--had he only acquired some few of the certitudes open to every thinker--what could destiny then have done? what would she have entrapped in her snares? would they have contained aught besides the pure light that streams from the lofty soul, as it grows more beautiful still in misfortune? but where is the sage in oedipus? is it tiresias? he reads the future, but knows not that goodness and forgiveness are lords of the future. he knows the truth of the gods, but not the truth of mankind. he ignores the wisdom that takes misfortune to her arms and would fain give it of her strength. truly they who know still know nothing if the strength of love be not theirs; for the true sage is not he who sees, but he who, seeing the furthest, has the deepest love for mankind. he who sees without loving is only straining his eyes in the darkness. . we are told that the famous tragedies show us the struggle of man against fate. i believe, on the contrary, that scarcely a drama exists wherein fatality truly does reign. search as i may, i cannot find one which exhibits the hero in conflict with destiny pure and simple. for indeed it is never destiny that he attacks; it is with wisdom he is always at war. real fatality exists only in certain external disasters-as disease, accident, the sudden death of those we love; but inner fatality there is none. wisdom has will power sufficient to rectify all that does not deal death to the body; it will even at times invade the narrow domain of external fatality. it is true that we must have amassed considerable and patient treasure within us for this will power to find the resources it needs. . the statue of destiny casts a huge shadow over the valley, which it seems to enshroud in gloom; but this shadow has clearest outline for such as look down from the mountain. we are born, it may be, with the shadow upon us; but to many men is it granted to emerge from beneath it; and even though infirmity or weakness keep us, till death, confined in these sombre regions, still we can fly thence at times on the wings of our hopes and our thoughts. there may well be some few over whom fate exerts a more tyrannous power, by virtue of instinct, heredity and other laws more relentless still, more profound and obscure; but even when we writhe beneath unmerited, crushing misfortune; even when fortune compels us to do the thing we should never have done, had our hands been free; even then, when the deed has been done, the misfortune has happened, it still rests with ourselves to deny her the least influence on that which shall come to pass in our soul. she may strike at the heart that is eager for good, but still is she helpless to keep back the light that shall stream to this heart from the error acknowledged, the pain undergone. it is not in her power to prevent the soul from transforming each single affliction into thoughts, into feelings and treasure she dare not profane. be her empire never so great over all things external, she always must halt when she finds on the threshold a silent guardian of the inner life. and if it be granted her then to pass through to the hidden dwelling, it is but as a bountiful guest she will enter, bringing with her new pledges of peace: refreshing the slumberous air, and making still clearer the light, the tranquillity deeper--illumining all the horizon. . let us ask once again: what had destiny done if she had, by some blunder, lured epicurus, or marcus aurelius, or antoninus pius into the snares that she laid around oedipus? i will even assume that she might have compelled antoninus, for instance, to murder his father, and, all unwittingly, to profane the couch of his mother. would that noble sovereign's soul have been hopelessly crushed? would the end of it all not have been as the end of all dramas must be wherein the sage is attacked--great sorrow surely, but also great radiance that springs from this sorrow, and already is partly triumphant over the shadow of grief? needs must antoninus have wept as all men must weep; but tears can quench not one ray in the soul that shines with no borrowed light. to the sage the road is long that leads from grief to despair; it is a road untravelled by wisdom. when the soul has attained such loftiness as the life of antoninus shows us that his had acquired, then is each falling tear illumined by beautiful thought and by generous feeling. he would have taken calamity to him, to all that was purest, most vast, in his soul; and misfortune, like water, espouses the form of the vase that contains it. antoninus, we say, would have brought resignation to bear; but this is a word that too often conceals the true working of a noble heart. there is no soul so petty but what it too may believe that it is resigned. alas! it is not resignation that comforts us, raises and chastens; but indeed the thoughts and the feelings in whose name we embrace resignation; and it is here that wisdom doles out the rewards they have earned to her faithful. some ideas there are that lie beyond the reach of any catastrophe. he will be far less exposed to disaster who cherishes ideas within him that soar high above the indifference, selfishness, vanities of everyday life. and therefore, come happiness or sorrow, the happiest man will be he within whom the greatest idea shall burn the most ardently. had fate so desired it, antoninus also, perhaps, had been guilty of incest and parricide; but his inward life would not have been crushed thereby, as was that of oedipus; nay, these very catastrophes would have given him mightier strength, and destiny would have fled in despair, strewing the ground by the emperor's palace with her nets and her blunted weapons; for even as triumph of dictators and consuls could be celebrated only in rome, so can the true triumph of fate take place nowhere save in our soul. . where do we find the fatality in "hamlet," "king lear," in "macbeth"? is its throne not erected in the very centre of the old king's madness, on the lowest degree of the young prince's imagination, at the very summit of the thane's morbid cravings? macbeth we may well pass by; not need we linger over cordelia's father, for his absence of consciousness is all too manifest; but hamlet, hamlet the thinker--is he wise? is the elevation sufficient wherefrom he looks down on the crimes of elsinore? he seems to regard them from the loftiest heights of his intellect; but in the light-clad mountain range of wisdom there are other peaks that tower far above the heights of the intellect--the peaks of goodness and confidence, of indulgence and love. if he could have surveyed the misdeeds of elsinore from the eminence whence marcus aurelius or fenelon, for instance, had surely surveyed them, what would have resulted then? and, first of all, does it not often happen that a crime which is suddenly conscious of the gaze of a mightier soul will pause, and halt, and at last crawl back to its lair; even as bees cease from labour when a gleam of sunshine steals into the hive? the real destiny, the inner destiny would in any event have followed its course in the souls of claudius and gertrude; for these sinful ones had delivered themselves into its hands, as must needs be the case with those whose ways are evil; but would it have dared to spread its influence abroad if one of those sages had been in the palace? would it have dared to overstep the shining, denouncing barrier that his presence would have imposed, and maintained, in front of the palace gates? when the sage's destiny blends with that of men of inferior wisdom, the sage raises them to his level, but himself will rarely descend. neither on earth nor in the domain of fatality do rivers flow back to their source. but to return: let us imagine a sovereign, all-powerful soul--that of jesus, in hamlet's place at elsinore; would the tragedy then have flown on till it reached the four deaths at the end? is that conceivable? a crime may be never so skilfully planned--when the eyes of deep wisdom rest on it, it becomes like a trivial show that we offer to very small children at nightfall: some magic-lantern performance, whose tawdry imposture a last gleam of sunshine lays bare. can you conceive jesus christ--nay, any wise man you have happened to meet--in the midst of the unnatural gloom that overhung elsinore? is not every action of hamlet induced by a fanatical impulse, which tells him that duty consists in revenge alone? and does it need superhuman effort to recognise that revenge never can be a duty? i say again that hamlet thinks much, but that he is by no means wise. he cannot conceive where to look for the weak spot in destiny's armour. lofty thoughts suffice not always to overcome destiny; for against these destiny can oppose thoughts that are loftier still; but what destiny has ever withstood thoughts that are simple and good, thoughts that are tender and loyal? we can triumph over destiny only by doing the very reverse of the evil she fain would have us commit. for no tragedy can be inevitable. at elsinore there is not a soul but refuses to see, and hence the catastrophe; but a soul that is quick with life will compel those around it to open their eyes. where was it written that laertes, ophelia, hamlet, claudius, gertrude, should die--where, save in hamlet's pitiful blindness? but was this blindness inevitable? why speak of destiny when a simple thought had sufficed to arrest all the forces of murder? the empire of destiny is surely sufficiently vast. i acknowledge her might when a wall crashes down on my head, when the storm drives a ship on the rocks, when disease attacks those whom i love; but into man's soul she never will come, uncalled. hamlet is unhappy because he moves in unnatural darkness; and his ignorance puts the seal upon his unhappiness. we have but to issue commands and fate will obey--there is nothing in the world that will offer such long and patient submission. horatio, up to the last, could have issued commands; but his master's shadow lay on him, and he lacked the courage to shake himself free. had there been but one soul courageous enough to cry out the truth, then had the history of elsinore not been shrouded in tears of hatred and horror. but misfortune, that bends beneath the fingers of wisdom like the cane that we cut from the tree, becomes iron, and murderously rigid, in the hand of unconsciousness. once again, all depended here, not on destiny, but on the wisdom of the wisest, and this hamlet was; therefore did he, by his presence, become the centre of the drama of elsinore; and on himself only did the wisdom of hamlet depend. . and if you look distrustfully on imaginary tragedies, you have only to investigate some of the greatest dramas of authentic history to find that in these too the destinies of men are no different: that their ways are the same, and their petulance, their revolt and submission. you will discover that there too it is a force of man's own creating that plays the most active part in what if pleases us to term "fatality." this fatality, it is true, is enormous, but rarely irresistible. it does not leap forth at a given moment from an inexorable, inaccessible, unfathomable abyss. it is build up of the energy, the desires and suffering, the thoughts and passions of our brothers; and these passions should be well known to us, for they differ not from our own. in our most inexplicable moments, in our most mysterious, unexpected misfortunes, we rarely find ourselves struggling with an invisible enemy, or one that is entirely foreign to us. why strive of our own free will to enlarge the domain of the inevitable? they who are truly strong are aware that among the forces that oppose their schemes there are some that they know not; but against such as they do know they fight on as bravely as though no others existed; and these men will be often victorious. we shall have added most strangely to our safety and happiness and peace the day that our sloth and our ignorance shall have ceased to term fatal. what should truly be looked on as human and natural by our intelligence and our energy. . let us consider one noteworthy victim of destiny, louis xvi. never, it would seem, did relentless fatality clamour so loudly for the destruction of an unfortunate man; of one who was gentle, and good, and virtuous, and honourable. and yet, as we look more closely into the pages of history, do we not find that fatality distils her poison from the victim's own wavering feebleness, his own trivial duplicity, blindness, unreason, and vanity? and if it be true that some kind of predestination governs every circumstance of life, it appears to be no less true that such predestination exists in our character only; and to modify character must surely be easy to the man of unfettered will, for is it not constantly changing in the lives of the vast bulk of men? is your own character, at thirty, the same as it was when you were ten years younger? it will be better or worse in the measure that you have believed that disloyalty, wickedness, hatred and falsehood have triumphed in life, or goodness, and truth, and love. and you will have thought that you witnessed the triumph of hatred or love, of truth or of falsehood, in exact accord with the lofty or baser idea as to the happiness and aim of your life that will slowly have arisen within you. for it is our most secret desire that governs and dominates all. if your eyes look for nothing but evil, you will always see evil triumphant; but if you have learned to let your glance rest on sincerity, simpleness, truth, you will ever discover, deep down in all things, the silent overpowering victory of that which you love. . it is scarcely from this point of view, however, that louis xvi. should be judged. let us rather imagine ourselves in his place, in the midst of his doubt and bewilderment, his darkness and difficulties. now that we know all that happened it is easy enough to declare what should have been done; but are we ourselves, at this moment, aware of what is our duty? are we not contending with troubles and doubts of our own? and were it not well that they who one day shall pass judgment upon us should seek out the track that our footsteps have left on the sands of the hillock we climbed, hoping thence to discover the future? louis xvi. was bewildered: do we know what ought to be done? do we know what we best had abandon, what we best had defend? are we wiser than he as we waver betwixt the rights of human reason and those that circumstance claims? and when hesitation is conscientious, does it not often possess all the elements of duty? there is one most important lesson to be learned from the example of this unfortunate king: and it is that when doubt confronts us which in itself is noble and great, it is our duty to march bravely onwards, turning neither to right nor to left of us, going infinitely further than seems to be reasonable, practical, just. the idea that we hold to-day of duty, and justice, and truth, may seem clear to us now, and advanced and unfettered; but how different will it appear a few years, a few centuries later! had louis xvi. done what we should have done--we who now are aware of what had been the right thing to do--had he frankly renounced all the follies of royal prerogative, and loyally adopted the new truth and loftier justice that had sprung into being, then should we to-day be admiring his genius. and the king himself, perhaps--for he was not a foolish man, or wicked--may have for one instant beheld his own situation with the clear eye of an impartial philosopher. that at least is by no means impossible, historically or psychologically. even in our most solemn hours of doubt it is rare that we know not where we should look for the fixed point of duty, its unalterable summit; but we feel that there stretches a distance too wide to be travelled between the actual thing to be done and this mountain-peak, that glitters afar in its solitude. and yet it is proved by man's whole history--by the life of each one of us--that it is on the loftiest summit that right has always its dwelling; and that to this summit we too at the end must climb, after much precious time has been lost on many an intermediate eminence. and what is a sage, a great man, a hero, if not one who has dared to go, alone and ahead of the others, to the deserted table-land that lay more or less within sight of all men? . we do not imply that louis xvi. should necessarily have been a man of this stamp, a man of genius; although to have genius seems almost the duty of him who sways in his hands the destiny of vast numbers of men. nor do we claim that the best men among us to-day would have been able to escape his errors, or the misfortunes to which they gave rise. and yet there is one thing certain: that of all these misfortunes none had super-human origin; not one was supernaturally, or too mysteriously, inevitable. they came not from another world; they were launched by no monstrous god, capricious and incomprehensible. they were born of an idea of justice that men failed to grasp; an idea of justice that suddenly had wakened in life, but never had lain asleep in the reason of man. and is there a thing in this world can be more reassuring, or nearer to us, more profoundly human, than an idea of justice? louis xvi. may well have regretted that this idea, that shattered his peace, should have awakened during his reign; but this was the only reproach he could level at fate; and when we murmur at fate ourselves our complaints have much the same value. for the rest, it is legitimate enough to suppose that there needed but one single act of energy, absolute loyalty, disinterested, clear-sighted wisdom, to change the whole course of events. if the flight to varennes--in itself an act of duplicity and culpable weakness--had only been arranged a little less childishly, foolishly (as any man would have arranged it who was accustomed to the habits of life), there can be not a doubt that louis xvi. would never have died on the scaffold. was it a god, or his blind reliance on marie antoinette, that led him to entrust de fersen--a stupid, conceited, and tactless creature--with the preparations and control of this disastrous journey? was it a force instinct with great mystery, or only his own unconsciousness, heedlessness, thoughtlessness, and a kind of strange apathetic submission--such as the weak and the idle will often display at moments of danger, when they seem almost to challenge their star--that induced him again and again, at each change of horses, to put his head out of the carriage window, and thus be recognised three or four times? and at the moment that decided all, in that throbbing and sinister night of varennes--a night indeed when fatality should have been an immovable mountain governing all the horizon--do we not see this fatality stumbling at every step, like a child that is learning to walk and wonders, is it this white pebble or that tuft of grass that will cause it to fall to right or to left of the path? and then, at the tragic halt of the carriage, in that black night: at the terrible cry sent forth by young drouet, "in the name of the nation!" there had needed but one order from the king, one lash of the whip, one pull at the collar--and you and i would probably not have been born, for the history of the world had been different. and again, in presence of the mayor, who stood there, respectful, disconcerted, hesitating, ready to fling every gate open had but one imperious word been spoken; and at the shop of m. sauce, the worthy village grocer; and, last of all, when goguelat and de choiseul had arrived with their hussars, bringing rescue, salvation--did not all depend, a hundred times over, on a mere yes or no, a step, a gesture, a look? take any ten men with whom you are intimate, let them have been king of france, you can foretell the issue of their ten nights. ah, it was that night truly that heaped shame on fatality, that laid bare her weakness! for that night revealed to all men the dependence, the wretched and shivering poverty of the great mysterious force that, in moments of undue resignation, seems to weigh so heavily on life! never before has she been beheld so completely despoiled of her vestments, of her imposing, deceptive robes, as she incessantly came and went that night, from death to life, from life to death; throwing herself at last, like a woman distraught, into the arms of an unhappy king, whom she besought til dawn for a decision, an existence, that she herself never can find save only in the depths of the will and the intellect of man. . and yet this is not the entire truth. it is helpful to regard events in this fashion, thus seeking to minimise the importance of fatality, looking upon it as some vague and wandering creature that we have to shelter and guide. we gain the more courage thereby, the more confidence, initiative; and these are qualities essential to the doing of anything useful; and they shall stand us in good stead, too, when our own hour of danger draws nigh. but for all that, we do not pretend that there truly is no other force--that all things can be governed by our will and our intellect. these must be trained to act like the soldiers of a conquering army; they must learn to thrive at the cost of all that opposes them; they must find sustenance even in the unknown that towers above them. those who desire to emerge from the ordinary habits of life, from the straitened happiness of mere pleasure-seeking men, must march with deliberate conviction along the path that is known to them, yet never forget the unexplored regions through which this path winds. we must act as though we were masters--as though all things were bound to obey us; and yet let us carefully tend in our soul a thought whose duty it shall be to offer noble submission to the mighty forces we may encounter. it is well that the hand should believe that all is expected, foreseen; but well, too, that we should have in us a secret idea, inviolable, incorruptible, that will always remember that whatever is great most often must be unforeseen. it is the unforeseen, the unknown, that fulfil what we never should dare to attempt; but they will not come to our aid if they find not, deep down in our heart, an altar inscribed to their worship. men of the mightiest will--men like napoleon--were careful, in their most extraordinary deeds, to leave open a good share to fate. those within whom there lives not a generous hope will keep fate closely confined, as they would a sickly child; but others invite her into the limitless plains man has not yet the strength to explore, and their eyes follow her every movement. . these feverish hours of history resemble a storm that we see on the ocean; we come from far inland; we rush to the beach, in keen expectation; we eye the enormous waves with curious eagerness, with almost childish intensity. and there comes one along that is three times as high and as fierce as the rest. it rushes towards us like some monster with diaphanous muscles. it uncoils itself in mad haste from the distant horizon, as though it were bearer of some urgent, complete revelation. it ploughs in its wake a track so deep that we feel that the sea must at last be yielding up one of her secrets; but all things happen the same as on a breathless and cloudless day, when languid wavelets roll to and fro in the limpid, fathomless water; from the ocean arises no living thing, not a blade of grass, not a stone. if aught could discourage the sage--though he is not truly wise whose astonishment is not enlightened, and his interest quickened, by the unforeseen thing that discourages--it would be the discovery, in this french revolution, of more than one destiny that is infinitely sadder, more overwhelming, more inexplicable, than that of louis xvi. i refer to the girondins: above all, to the admirable vergniaud. to-day even, though we know all that the future kept hidden from him, and are able to divine what it was that was sought by the instinctive desire of that exceptional century--to-day even it were surely not possible to act more nobly, more wisely, than he. let fortune hurl any man into the burning centre of a movement that had swept every barrier down, it were surely not possible to reveal a finer character or loftier spirit. could we fashion, deep down in our heart, out of all that is purest within us, out of all our wisdom and all our love, some beautiful, spotless creature with never a thought of self, without weakness or error--such a being would desire a place by the side of vergniaud, on those deserted convention seats, "whereon the shadow of death seemed already to hover," that he might think as vergniaud thought, and so speak, and act. he saw the infallible, eternal, that lay the other side of that tragical moment; he knew how to be humane and benevolent still, through all those terrible days when humanity and benevolence seemed the bitterest enemies of the ideal of justice, whereto he had sacrificed all; and in his great and noble doubt he marched bravely onwards, turning neither to right nor to left of him, going infinitely further than seemed to be reasonable, practical, just. the violent death that was not unexpected came towards him, with half his road yet untravelled; to teach us that often in this strange conflict between man and his destiny, the question is not how to save the life of our body, but that of our most beautiful feelings, of our loftiest thoughts, "of what avail are my loftiest thoughts if i have ceased to exist?" there are some will ask; to whom others, it may be, will answer, "what becomes of myself if all that i love in my heart and my spirit must die, that my life may be saved?" and are not almost all the morals, and heroism, and virtue of man summed up in that single choice? . but what may this wisdom be that we rate thus highly? let us not seek to define it too closely; that were but to enchain it. if a man were desirous to study the nature of light, and began by extinguishing all the lights that were near, would not a few cinders, a smouldering wick, be all he would ever discover? and so has it been with those who essayed definition. "the word wise," said joubert, "when used to a child, is a word that each child understands, and that we need never explain." let us accept it even as the child accepts it, that it may grow with our growth. let us say of wisdom what sister hadewijck, the mysterious enemy of ruijsbroeck the admirable, said of love: "its profoundest abyss is its most beautiful form." wisdom requires no form; her beauty must vary, as varies the beauty of flame. she is no motionless goddess, for ever couched on her throne. she is minerva who follows us, soars to the skies with us, falls to the earth with us, mingles her tears with our tears, and rejoices when we rejoice. truly wise you are not unless your wisdom be constantly changing from your childhood on to your death. the more the word means to you, the more beauty and depth it conveys, the wiser must you become; and each step that one takes towards wisdom reveals to the soul ever-widening space, that wisdom never shall traverse. . he who knows himself is wise; yet have we no sooner acquired real consciousness of our being than we learn that true wisdom is a thing that lies far deeper than consciousness. the chief gain of increased consciousness is that it unveils an ever-loftier unconsciousness, on whose heights do the sources lie of the purest wisdom. the heritage of unconsciousness is for all men the same; but it is situate partly within and partly without the confines of normal consciousness. the bulk of mankind will rarely pass over the border; but true lovers of wisdom press on, till they open new routes that cross over the frontier. if i love, and my love has procured me the fullest consciousness man may attain, then will an unconsciousness light up this love that shall be quite other than the one whereby commonplace love is obscured. for this second unconsciousness hedges the animal round, whereas the first draws close unto god; but needs must it lose all trace of the second ere it become aware of itself. in unconsciousness we ever must dwell; but are able to purify, day after day, the unconsciousness that wraps us around. . we shall not become wise through worshipping reason alone; and wisdom means more than perpetual triumph of reason over inferior instincts. such triumphs can help us but little if our reason be not taught thereby to offer profoundest submission to another and different instinct--that of the soul. these triumphs are precious, because they reveal the presence of diviner instinct, that grows ever diviner still. and their aim is not in themselves; they serve but to clear the way for the destiny of the soul, which is a destiny, always, of purification and light. . reason flings open the door to wisdom; but the most living wisdom befinds itself not in reason. reason bars the gate to malevolent destiny; but wisdom, away on the horizon, throws open another gate to propitious destiny. reason defends and withdraws; forbids, rejects, and destroys. wisdom advances, attacks, and adds; increases, creates, and commands. reason produces not wisdom, which is rather a craving of soul. it dwells up above, far higher than reason; and thus is it of the nature of veritable wisdom to do countless things whereof reason disapproves, or shall but approve hereafter. so was it that wisdom one day said to reason, it were well to love one's enemies and return good for evil. reason, that day, tiptoe on the loftiest peak in its kingdom, at last was fain to agree. but wisdom is not yet content, and seeks ever further, alone. . if wisdom obeyed reason only, and sought nothing more than to overcome instinct, then would wisdom be ever the same. there would be but one wisdom for all, and its whole range would be known to man, for reason has more than once explored its entire domain. certain fixed points there well may be that are common to all classes of wisdom; but there exists none the less the widest possible difference between the atmospheres that enwrapped the wisdom of jesus christ and of socrates, of aristides and marcus aurelius, of fenelon and jean paul. let the same event befall these men on the self-same day: if it fall into the running waters of their wisdom, it will undergo complete transformation, becoming different in every one; if it fall into the stagnant water of their reason, it will remain as it was, unchanged. if jesus christ and socrates both were to meet the adulterous woman, the words that their reason would prompt them to speak would vary but little; but belonging to different worlds would be the working of the wisdom within them, far beyond words and far beyond thoughts. for differences such as these are of the very essence of wisdom. there is but one starting-point for the wise--the threshold of reason. but they separate one from the other as soon as the triumphs of reason are well understood; in other words, as soon as they enter freely the domain of the higher unconsciousness. . to say "this is reasonable" is by no means the same as to say "this is wise." the thing that is reasonable is not of necessity wise, and a thing may be very wise and yet be condemned by over-exacting reason. it is from reason that justice springs, but goodness is born of wisdom; and goodness, we are told by plutarch, "extends much further than justice." is it to reason or wisdom that heroism should be ascribed? wisdom, perhaps, is only the sense of the infinite applied to our moral life. reason, it is true, has the sense of the infinite also, but dare not do more than accord it bare recognition. it would seem opposed to the very instinct of reason to regard the sense of the infinite as being of importance in life; but wisdom is wise in the measure that the infinite governs all she procures to be done. in reason no love can be found--there is much love in wisdom; and all that is highest in wisdom entwines around all that is purest in love. love is the form most divine of the infinite, and also, because most divine, the form most profoundly human. why should we not say that wisdom is the triumph of reason divine over reason of man? . we cannot cultivate reason too fully, but by wisdom only should reason be guided. the man is not wise whose reason has not yet been taught to obey the first signal of love. what would christ, all the heroes, have done had their reason not learned to submit? is each deed of the hero not always outside the boundary of reason? and yet, who would venture to say that the hero is not wiser by far than the sluggard who quits not his chair because reason forbids him to rise? let us say it once more--the vase wherein we should tend the true wisdom is love, and not reason. reason is found, it is true, at the root-springs of wisdom, yet is wisdom not reason's flower. for we speak not of logical wisdom here, but of wisdom quite other, the favourite sister of love. reason and love battle fiercely at first in the soul that begins to expand; but wisdom is born of the peace that at last comes to pass between reason and love; and the peace becomes the profounder as reason yields up still more of her rights to love. . wisdom is the lamp of love, and love is the oil of the lamp. love, sinking deeper, grows wiser; and wisdom that springs up aloft comes ever the nearer to love. if you love, you must needs become wise; be wise, and you surely shall love. nor can any one love with the veritable love but his love must make him the better; and to grow better is but to grow wiser. there is not a man in the world but something improves in his soul from the moment he loves--and that though his love be but vulgar; and those in whom love never dies must needs continue to love as their soul grows nobler and nobler. love is the food of wisdom; wisdom the food of love; a circle of light within which those who love, clasp the hands of those who are wise. wisdom and love are one; and in swedenborg's paradise the wife is "the love of the wisdom of the wise." . "our reason," said fenelon, "is derived from the clearness of our ideas." but our wisdom, we might add--in other words, all that is best in our soul and our character, is to be found above all in those ideas that are not yet clear. were we to allow our clear ideas only to govern our life, we should quickly become undeserving of either much love or esteem. for, truly, what could be less clear than the reasons that bid us be generous, upright, and just; that teach us to cherish in all things the noblest of feelings and thoughts? but it happily so comes to pass that the more clear ideas we possess, the more do we learn to respect those that as yet are still vague. we must strive without ceasing to clarify as many ideas as we can, that we may thus arouse in our soul more and more that now are obscure. the clear ideas may at times seem to govern our external life, but the others perforce must march on at the head of our intimate life, and the life that we see invariably ends by obeying the invisible life. on the quality, number, and power of our clear ideas do the quality, number, and power depend of those that are vague; and hidden away in the midst of these vague ones, patiently biding their hour, there may well lurk most of the definite truths that we seek with such ardour. let us not keep them waiting too long; and indeed, a beautiful crystal idea we awaken within us shall not fail, in its turn, to arouse a beautiful vague idea; which last, growing old, and having itself become clear (for is not perfect clearness most often the sign of decrepitude in the idea?), shall also go forth, and disturb from its slumber another obscure idea, but loftier, lovelier far than it had been itself in its sleep; and thus, it may be, treading gently, one after the other, and never disheartened, in the midst of those silent ranks--some day, by mere chance, a small hand, scarce visible yet, shall touch a great truth. . clear ideas and obscure ideas; heart, intellect, will, and reason, and soul--truly these words that we use do but mean more or less the same thing: the spiritual riches of man. the soul may well be no more than the most beautiful desire of our brain, and god himself be only the most beautiful desire of our soul. so great is the darkness here that we can but seek to divide it; and the lines that we trace must be blacker still than the sections they traverse. of all the ideals that are left to us, there is perhaps only one that we still can accept; and that one is to gain full self-knowledge; but to how great an extent does this knowledge truly depend on our reason--this knowledge that at first would appear to depend on our reason alone? surely he who at last had succeeded in realising, to the fullest extent, the place that he filled in the universe--surely he should be better than others, be wiser and truer, more upright; in a word, be more moral? but can any man claim, in good faith, to have grasped this relation; and do not the roots of the most positive morals lie hidden beneath some kind of mystic unconsciousness? our most beautiful thought does no more than pass through our intelligence; and none would imagine that the harvest must have been reaped in the road because it is seen passing by. when reason, however precise, sets forth to explore her domain, every step that she takes is over the border. and yet is it the intellect that lends the first touches of beauty to thought; the rest lies not wholly with us; but this rest will not stir into motion until intellect touches the spring. reason, the well-beloved daughter of intellect, must go take her stand on the threshold of our spiritual life, having first flung open the gates of the prison beneath, where the living, instinctive forces of being lie captive, asleep. she must wait, with the lamp in her hand; and her presence alone shall suffice to ward off from the threshold all that does not yet conform with the nature of light. beyond, in the regions unlit by her rays, obscure life continues. this troubles her not; indeed, she is glad. ... she knows that, in the eyes of the god she desires all that has not yet crossed her arcade of light--be it dream, be it thought, even act--can add nothing to, can take nothing from, the ideal creature she is craving to mould. she watches the flame of her lamp; needs must it burn brightly, and remain at its post, and be seen from afar. she listens, untroubled, to the murmur of inferior instincts out there in the darkness. but the prisoners slowly awake; there are some who draw nigh to the threshold, and their radiance is greater than hers. there flows from them a light less material, softer and purer than that of the bold, hard flame which her hand protects. they are the inscrutable powers of goodness and love; and others follow behind, more mysterious still, and more infinite, seeking admission. what shall she do? if, at the time that she took her stand there on the threshold, she had still lacked the courage to learn that she could not exist alone, then will she be troubled, afraid; she will make fast the gates; and should these be ever reopened, she would find only quivering cinders at the foot of the gloomy stairs. but if her strength be unshaken; if from all that she could not learn she has learned, at least, that in light there can never be danger, and that reason itself may be freely staked where greater brightness prevails--then shall ineffable changes take place on the threshold, from lamp unto lamp. drops of an unknown oil will blend with the oil of the wisdom of man; and when the white strangers have passed, the flame of her lamp shall rise higher, transformed for all time; shall shed purer and mightier radiance amidst the columns of the loftier doorway. . so much for isolated wisdom; now let us return to the wisdom that moves to the grave in the midst of the mighty crowd of human destinies; for the destiny of the sage holds not aloof from that of the wicked and frivolous. all destinies are for ever commingling; and the adventure is rare in whose web the hempen thread blends not with the golden. there are misfortunes more gradual, less frightful of aspect, than those that befell oedipus and the prince of elsinore; misfortunes that quail not beneath the gaze of truth or justice or love. those who speak of the profit of wisdom are never so wise as when they freely admit, without pride or heart-burning, that wisdom grants scarcely a boon to her faithful that the foolish or wicked would prize. and indeed, it may often take place that the sage, as he moves among men, shall pass almost unnoticed, shall affect them but slightly; be this that his stay is too brief, that he comes too late, that he misses true contact; or perchance that he has to contend with forces too overwhelming, amassed by myriad men from time immemorial. no miracles can he perform on material things; he can save only that which life's ordinary laws still allow to be saved; and himself, it may be, shall be suddenly seized in a great inexorable whirlwind. but, though he perish therein, still does he escape the fate that is common to most; for at least he will die without having been forced--for weeks, or it may be for years, before the catastrophe--to be the helpless, despairing witness of the ruin of his soul. and to save some one--if we admit that in life there are truly two lives--does not of necessity mean that we save him from death and disaster; but indeed that we render him happier, inasmuch as we try to improve him. moral salvation is the greatest salvation; and yet, what a trifle this seems, as everything seems that is done on the loftiest summits of soul. was the penitent thief not saved; and that not alone in the christian sense of the word, but in its fullest, most perfect meaning? still had he to die, and at that very hour; but he died eternally happy; because at the very last moment he too had been loved, and a being of infinite wisdom had declared that his soul had not been without value; that his soul, too, had been good, and had not passed through the world unperceived of all men. . as we go deeper down into life we discover the secret of more and more sorrow and helplessness. we see that many souls round us lead idle and foolish lives, because they believe they are useless, unnoticed by all, unloved, and convinced they have nothing within them that is worthy of love. but to the sage the hour must come when every soul that exists claims his glance, his approval, his love--if only because it possesses the mysterious gift of existence. the hour must come when he sees that falsehood and weakness and vice are but on the surface; when his eye shall pierce through, and discover the strength, and the truth, and the virtue that lie underneath. happy and blessed hour, when wickedness stands forth revealed as goodness bereft of its guide; and treachery is seen to be loyalty, for ever astray from the highway of happiness; and hatred becomes only love, in poignant despair, that is digging its grave. then, unsuspected of any, shall it be with all those who are near the good man as it was with the penitent thief; into the humblest soul that will thus have been saved by a look, or a word, or a silence, shall the true happiness fall--the happiness fate cannot touch; that brings to all men the oblivion it gave unto socrates, and causes each one to forget, until nightfall, that the death--giving cup had been drained ere the sun went down. . the inner life, perhaps, is not what we deem it to be. there are as many kinds of inner lives as there are of external lives. into these tranquil regions the smallest may enter as readily as he who is greatest, for the gate that leads thither is not always the gate of the intellect. it often may happen that the man of vast knowledge shall knock at this gate in vain, reply being made from within by the man who knows nothing. the inner life that is surest, most lasting, possessed of the uttermost beauty, must needs be the one that consciousness slowly erects in itself, with the aid of all that is purest in the soul. and he is wise who has learned that this life should be nourished on every event of the day: he to whom deceit or betrayal serves but to enhance his wisdom: he in whom evil itself becomes fuel for the flame of love. he is wise who at last sees in suffering only the light that it sheds on his soul; and whose eyes never rest on the shadow it casts upon those who have sent it towards him. and wiser still is the man to whom sorrow and joy not only bring increase of consciousness, but also the knowledge that something exists superior to consciousness even. to have reached this point is to reach the summit of inward life, whence at last we look down on the flames whose light has helped our ascent. but not many can climb so high; and happiness may be achieved in the less ardent valley below, where the flames spring darkly to life. and there are existences still more obscure which yet have their places of refuge. there are some that instinctively fashion inward lives for themselves. there are some that, bereft of initiative or of intelligence, never discover the path that leads into themselves, and are never aware of all that their refuge contains; and yet will their actions be wholly the same as the actions of those whose intellect weighs every treasure. there are some who desire only good, though they know not wherefore they desire it, and have no suspicion that goodness is the one fixed star of loftiest consciousness. the inner life begins when the soul becomes good, and not when the intellect ripens. it is somewhat strange that this inner life can never be formed out of evil. no inner life is for him whose soul is bereft of all nobleness. he may have full knowledge of self; he may know, it may be, wherefore he shuns goodness; and yet shall he seek in vain for the refuge, the strength, the treasure of invisible gladness, that form the possessions of him who can fearlessly enter his heart. for the inward life is built up of a certain rejoicing of soul; and the soul can never be happy if it possess not, and love not, something that is pure. it may perhaps err in its choice, but then even will it be happier than the soul to which it has never been given to choose. . and thus are we truly saving a man if we bring about that he loves evil somewhat less than he loved it before; for we are helping that man to construct, deep down in his soul, the refuge where--against destiny shall brandish her weapons in vain. this refuge is the monument of consciousness, or, it may be, of love; for love is nothing but consciousness, still vaguely in search of itself; and veritable consciousness nothing but love that at last has emerged from the shadow. and it is in the deepest recess of this refuge that the soul shall kindle the wondrous fire of her joy. and this joy of the soul is like unto no other joy; and even as material fire will chase away deadly disease from the earth, so will the joy of the soul scatter sorrow that malevolent destiny brings. it arises not from exterior happiness; it arises not from satisfied self-love; for the joy that self-love procures becomes less as the soul becomes nobler, but the joy of pure love increases as nobility comes to the soul. nor is this joy born of pride; for to be able to smile at its beauty is not enough to bring joy to the soul. the soul that has sought in itself has the right to know of its beauty; but to brood on this beauty too much, to become over-conscious thereof, were perhaps to detract somewhat from the unconsciousness of its love. the joy that i speak of takes not from love what it adds unto consciousness; for in this joy, and in this joy alone, do consciousness and love become one, feeding each on the other, each gaining from that which it gives. the striving intellect may well know happiness beyond the reach of the satisfied body; but the soul that grows nobler has joys that are often denied to the striving intellect. these two will often unite and labour together at building the house within. but still it will happen at times that both work apart, and widely different then are the structures each will erect. and were this to be so, and the being i loved best of all in the world came and asked me which he should choose--which refuge i held to be most unattackable, sweetest, profoundest--i would surely advise him to shelter his destiny in the refuge of the soul that grows nobler. . is the sage never to suffer? shall no storm ever break on the roof of his dwelling, no traps be laid to ensnare him? shall wife and friends never fail him? must his father not die, and his mother, his brothers, his sons--must all these not die like the rest? shall angels stand guard at each highway through which sorrow can pass into man? did not christ himself weep as he stood before lazarus' tomb? had not marcus aurelius to suffer--from commodus, the son who already showed signs of the monster he was to become; from faustina, the wife whom he loved, but who cared not for him? was not destiny's hand laid heavy on paulus aemilius, who was fully as wise as timoleon? did not both his sons die, one five days before his triumph in rome, and the other but three days after? what becomes of the refuge, then, where wisdom keeps watch over happiness? must we take back all we have said? and is wisdom yet one more illusion, by whose aid the soul would fain conciliate reason, and justify cravings that experience is sure to reject as being opposed to reason? . nay, in truth, the sage too must suffer. he suffers; and suffering forms a constituent part of his wisdom. he will suffer, perhaps, more than most men, for that his nature is far more complete. and being nearer to all mankind, as the wise ever must be, his suffering will be but the greater, for the sorrows of others are his. he will suffer in his flesh, in his heart, in his spirit; for there are sides in all these that no wisdom on earth can dispute against destiny. and so he accepts his suffering, but is not discouraged thereby; not for him are the chains that it fastens on those who cringe down before it, unaware that it is but a messenger sent by a mightier personage, whom a bend in the road hides from view. needs must the sage, like his neighbour, be startled from sleep by the shouts of the truculent envoy, by the blows at the door that cause the whole house to tremble. he, too, must go down and parley. but yet, as he listens, his eyes are not fixed on this bringer of evil tidings; his glance will at times be lifted over the messenger's shoulder, will scan the dust on the horizon in search of the mighty idea that perhaps may be near at hand. and indeed, when our thoughts rest on fate, at such times as happiness enfolds us, we feel that no great misfortune can be suddenly burst upon us. the proportions will change, it is true, when the blow falls; but it is equally true that before the misfortune can wholly destroy the abiding courage within us, it first must triumph in our heart over all we adore, over all we admire, and love. and what alien power can expel from our soul a feeling and thought that we hurl not our selves from its throne? physical suffering apart, not a single sorrow exists that can touch us except through our thoughts; and whence do our thoughts derive the weapons wherewith they attack or defend us? we suffer but little from suffering itself; but from the manner wherein we accept it overwhelming sorrow may spring. "his unhappiness was caused by himself," said a thinker of one whose eyes never looked over the brutal messenger's shoulder--"his unhappiness was caused by himself; for all misery is inward, and caused by ourselves. we are wrong in believing that it comes from without. for indeed we create it within us, out of our very substance." . it is only in the manner of our facing the event that its active force consists. assemble ten men who, like paulus aemilius, have lost both their sons at the moment when life seemed sweetest, then will the misfortune appear to vary in every one. misfortune enters within us, but must of necessity yield obedience to all our commands. even as the order may be that it finds inscribed on the threshold, so will it sow, or destroy, or reap. if my neighbour, a commonplace man, were to lose his two sons at the moment when fate had granted his dearest desires, then would darkness steal over all, unrelieved by a glimmer of light; and misfortune itself, contemptuous of its too facile success, would leave naught behind but a handful of colourless cinders. nor is it necessary for me to see my neighbour again to be aware that his sorrow will have brought to him pettiness only; for sorrow does merely restore to us that which our soul had lent in happier days. . but this was the misfortune that befell paulus aemilius. rome, still aglow with his triumph, waited, dismayed, wondering what was to happen. were the gods defying the sage, and how would the sage reply? would the hero be crushed by his sorrow, or would sorrow acknowledge its master? mankind, at moments like these, seems aware that destiny is yet once again making trial of the strength of her arm, and that change of some kind must befall if her blow crush not where it alights. and see with what eagerness men at such moments will question the eyes of their chiefs for the password against the invisible. but paulus aemilius has gathered together an assembly of the people of rome; he advances gravely towards them, and thus does he speak: "i, who never yet feared anything that was human, have, amongst such as were divine, always had, a dread of fortune as faithless and inconstant; and, for the very reason that in this war she had been as a favourable gale in all my affairs, i still expected some change and reflux of things. in one day i passed the ionian sea, and reached corcyra from brundisium; thence in five more i sacrificed at delphi, and in other five days came to my forces in macedonia, where, after i had finished the usual sacrifices for the purifying of the army, i entered on my duties, and in the space of fifteen days put an honourable period to the war. still retaining a jealousy of fortune, even from the smooth current of my affairs, and seeing myself secure and free from the danger of any enemy, i chiefly dreaded the change of the goddess at sea, whilst conveying home my victorious army, vast spoils, and a captive king. nay, indeed, after i was returned to you safe, and saw the city full of joy, congratulating, and sacrifices, yet still i distrusted, well knowing that fortune never conferred any great benefits that were unmixed and unattended with probabilities of reverse. nor could my mind, that was still as it were in labour, and always foreseeing something to befall this city, free itself from this fear, until this great misfortune befell me in my own family, and till, in the midst of those days set apart for triumph, i carried two of the best of sons, my only destined successors, one after another to their funerals. now therefore, i am myself safe from danger, at least as to what was my greatest care; and i trust and am verily persuaded that, for the time to come, fortune will prove constant and harmless unto you; since she has sufficiently wreaked her jealousy at our great successes on me and mine, and has made the conqueror as marked an example of human instability as the captive whom he led in triumph, with this only difference, that perseus, though conquered, does yet enjoy his children, while the conqueror aemilius is deprived of his." . this was the roman fashion of accepting the greatest sorrow that can befall a man at the moment when sorrow is felt the most keenly--at the moment of his greatest happiness. and there are many ways of accepting misfortune--as many, indeed, as there are generous feelings or thoughts to be found on the earth; and every one of those thoughts, every one of those feelings, has a magic wand that transforms, on the threshold, the features and vestments of sorrow. job would have said, "the lord gave and the lord hath taken away: blessed be the name of the lord"; and marcus aurelius perhaps, "if it be no longer allowed me to love those i loved high above all, it is doubtless that i may learn to love those whom i love not yet." . and let us not think that these are mere empty words wherewith they console themselves, words that in vain seek to hide the wound that bleeds but the more for the effort. but if it were so, if empty words could console, that surely were better than to be bereft of all consolation. and further, if we have to admit that all this is illusion, must we not, in mere justice, also admit that illusion is the solitary thing that the soul can possess; and in the name of what other illusion shall we venture to rate this illusion so lightly? ah, when the night falls and the great sages i speak of go back to their lonely dwelling, and look on the chairs round the hearth where their children once were, but never shall be again--then, truly, can they not escape some part of the sorrow that comes, overwhelming, to those whose suffering no noble thought chastens. for it were wrong to attribute to beautiful feeling and thought a virtue they do not possess. there are, external tears that they cannot restrain; there are holy hours when wisdom cannot yet console. but, for the last time let us say it, suffering we cannot avoid for suffering there ever must be; still does it rest with ourselves to choose what our suffering shall bring. and let us not think that this choice, which the eye cannot see, is truly a very small matter, and helpless to comfort a sorrow whose cause the eyes never cease to behold. out of small matters like these are all moral joys built up, and these are profounder far than intellectual or physical joys. translate into words the feeling that spurs on the hero, and how trivial it seems! insignificant too does the idea of duty appear that cato the younger had formed, when compared with the enormous disturbance it caused in a mighty empire, or the terrible death it brought on. and yet, was not cato's idea far greater than the disturbance, or death, that ensued? do we not feel, even now, that cato was right? and was not his life rendered truly and nobly happy, thanks to this very idea, that the reason of man will not even consider, so unreasonable does it appear? all that ennobles our life, all that we respect in ourselves, the mainsprings of our virtue, the limits that feeling will even impose upon vices or crimes--all these appear veriest trifles when viewed by the cold eye of reason; and yet do they fashion the laws that govern every man's life. would life be endurable if we did not obey many truths that our reason rejects? the wretchedest even obeys one of these; and the more truths there are that he yields to, the less wretched does he become. the assassin will tell you, "i murder, it is true, but at least do not steal." and he who has stolen steals, but does not betray; and he who betrays would at least not betray his brother. and thus does each one cling for refuge to his last fragment of spiritual beauty. no man can have fallen so low but he still has a retreat in his soul, where he ever shall find a few drops of pure water, and be girt up anew with the strength that he needs to go on with his life. for here again reason is helpless, unable to comfort; she must halt on the threshold of the thief's last asylum, even as she must halt on the threshold of job's resignation, of the love of marcus aurelius, of the sacrifice made by antigone. she halts, is bewildered, she does not approve; and yet knows full well that to rise in revolt were only to combat the light whereof she is shadow; for amidst all this she is but as one who stands with the sun full upon him. his shadow is there at his feet; as he moves, it will follow; as he rises or stoops, its outline will alter; but this shadow is all he commands, that he masters, possesses, of the dazzling light that enfolds him. and so has reason her being, too, beneath a superior light, and the shadow cannot affect the calm, unvarying splendour. far distant as marcus aurelius may be from the traitor, it is still from the selfsame well that they both draw the holy water that freshens their soul; and this well is not to be found in the intellect. for, strangely enough, it is not in our reason that moral life has its being; and he who would let reason govern his life would be the most wretched of men. there is not a virtue, a beautiful thought, or a generous deed, but has most of its roots hidden far away from that which can be understood or explained. well might man be proud could he trace every virtue, and joy, and his whole inward life, to the one thing he truly possesses, the one thing on which he can depend--in a word, to his reason. but do what he will, the smallest event that arrives will quickly convince him that reason is wholly unable to offer him shelter; for in truth we are beings quite other than merely reasonable creatures. . but if it be not our reason that chooses what suffering shall bring us, whereby is the choice then made? by the life we have lived till then, the life that has moulded our soul. wisdom matures but slowly; her fruits shall not quickly be gathered. if my life has not been as that of paulus aemilius, there shall be no comfort for me in the thoughts whereby he was consoled, not though every sage in the world were to come and repeat them to me. the angels that dry our eyes bear the form and the features of all we have said and thought--above all, of what we have done, prior to the hour of misfortune. when thomas carlyle (a sage, although somewhat morbid) lost the wife he had tenderly loved, with whom he had lived forty years, then did his sorrow too, with marvellous exactness, become as had been the bygone life of his love. and therefore was this sorrow of his majestic and vast; consoling and torturing alike in the midst of his self-reproach, his regret, and his tenderness--as might be meditation or prayer on the shore of a gloomy sea. in the sorrow that floods our heart we have, as it were, a synthetic presentment of all the days that are gone; and as these were, so shall our sorrow be poignant, or tender and gentle. if there be in my life no noble or generous deeds that memory can bring back to me, then, at the inevitable moment when memory melts into tears, must these tears, too, be bereft of all that is generous or noble. for tears in themselves have no colour, that they may the better reflect the past life of our soul; and this reflection becomes our chastisement or our reward. there is but one thing that never can turn into suffering, and that is the good we have done. when we lose one we love, our bitterest tears are called forth by the memory of hours when we loved not enough. if we always had smiled on the one who is gone, there would be no despair in our grief; and some sweetness would cling to our tears, reminiscent of virtues and happiness. for our recollections of veritable love--which indeed is the act of virtue containing all others--call from our eyes the same sweet, tender tears as those most beautiful hours wherein memory was born. sorrow is just, above all; and even as the cast stands ready awaiting the molten bronze, so is our whole life expectant of the hour of sorrow, for it is then we receive our wage. . here, standing close to the mightiest pillar of destiny's throne, we may see once again how restricted her power becomes on such as surpass her in wisdom. for she is barbarian still, and many men tower above her. the commonplace life still supplies her with weapons, which today are old-fashioned and crude. her mode of attack, in exterior life, is as it always has been, as it was in oedipus' days. she shoots like a blear-eyed bow-man, aiming straight ahead of her; but if the target be raised somewhat higher than usual, her arrows fall harmless to earth. suffering, sorrow, tears, regrets--these words, that vary so slightly in meaning, are names that we give to emotions which in no two men are alike. if we probe to the heart of these words, these emotions, we find they are only the track that is left by our faults; and there where these faults were noble (for there are noble faults as there are mean or trivial virtues) our sorrow will be nearer akin to veritable happiness than the happiness of those whose consciousness still is confined within narrowest limits. would carlyle have desired to exchange the magnificent sorrow that flooded his soul, and blossomed so tenderly there, for the conjugal joys, superficial and sunless, of his happiest neighbour in chelsea? and was not ernest renan's grief, when henriette, his sister, died, more grateful to the soul than the absence of grief in the thousands of others who have no love to give to a sister? shall our pity go forth to him who, at times, will weep on the shore of an infinite sea, or to the other who smiles all his life, without cause, alone in his little room? "happiness, sorrow"--could we only escape from ourselves for one instant and taste of the hero's sadness, would there be many content to return to their own superficial delights? do happiness and sorrow, then, only exist in ourselves, and that even when they seem to come from without? all that surrounds us will turn to angel or devil, according as our heart may be. joan of arc held communion with saints, macbeth with witches, and yet were the voices the same. the destiny whereat we murmur may be other, perhaps, than we think. she has only the weapons we give her; she is neither just nor unjust, nor does it lie in her province to deliver sentence on man. she whom we take to be goddess, is a disguised messenger only, come very simply to warn us on certain days of our life that the hour has sounded at last when we needs must judge ourselves. . men of inferior degree, it is true, are not given to judging themselves, and therefore is it that fate passes judgment upon them. they are the slaves of a destiny of almost unvarying sternness, for it is only when man has been judged by himself that destiny can be transformed. men such as these will not master, or alter within them, the event that they meet; nay, they themselves become morally transformed by the very first thing that draws near them. if misfortune befall them, they grovel before it and stoop down to its level; and misfortune, with them, would seem always to wear its poorest and commonest aspect. they see the finger of fate in every least thing that may happen--be it choice of profession, a friendship that greets them, a woman who passes, and smiles. to them chance and destiny always are one; but chance will be seldom propitious if accepted as destiny. hostile forces at once take possession of all that is vacant within us, nor filled by the strength of our soul; and whatever is void in the heart or the mind becomes a fountain of fatal influence. the margaret of goethe and ophelia of shakespeare had perforce to yield meekly to fate, for they were so feeble that each gesture they witnessed seemed fate's own gesture to them. but yet, had they only possessed some fragment of antigone's strength--the antigone of sophocles--would they not then have transformed the destinies of hamlet and faust as well as their own? and if othello had taken corneille's pauline to wife and not desdemona, would desdemona's destiny then, all else remaining unchanged, have dared to come within reach of the enlightened love of pauline? where was it, in body or soul, that grim fatality lurked? and though the body may often be powerless to add to its strength, can this ever be true of the soul? indeed, the more that we think of it, the clearer does it become that there could be one destiny only that might truly be said to triumph over man, the one that might have the power loudly to cry unto all, "from this day onward there shall come no more strength to thy soul, neither strength nor ennoblement." but is there a destiny in the world empowered to hold such language? . and yet virtue often is chastised, and the advent of misfortune hastened, by the soul's very strength; for the greater our love may be, the greater the surface becomes we expose to majestic sorrow; wherefore none the less does the sage never cease his endeavours to enlarge this beautiful surface. yes, it must be admitted, destiny is not always content to crouch in the darkness; her ice-cold hands will at times go prowling in the light, and seize on more beautiful victims. the tragic name of antigone has already escaped me; and there will, doubtless, be many will say, "she surely fell victim to destiny, all her great force notwithstanding; and is she not the instance we long have been seeking in vain?" it cannot be gainsaid: antigone fell into the hands of the ruthless goddess, for the reason that there lay in her soul three times the strength of any ordinary woman. she died; for fate had contrived it so that she had to choose between death and what seemed to her a sister's imperative duty. she suddenly found herself wedged between death and love--love of the purest and most disinterested kind, its object being a shade she would never behold on earth. and if destiny thus has enabled to lure her into the murderous angle that duty and death had formed, it was only because her soul, that was loftier far than the soul of the others, saw, stretching before it, the insurmountable barrier of duty--that her poor sister ismene could not see, even when it was shown her. and, at that moment, as they both stood there on the threshold of the palace, the same voices spoke to them; antigone listening only to the voice from above, wherefore she died; ismene unconscious of any save that which came from below--and she lived. but instil into antigone's soul something of the weakness that paralysed ophelia and margaret, would destiny then have thought it of service to beckon to death as the daughter of oedipus issued from the doorway of creon's palace? it was, therefore, solely because of the strength of her soul that destiny was able to triumph. and, indeed, it is this that consoles the wise and the just--the heroes; destiny can vanquish them only by the good she compels them to do. other men are like cities with hundred gates, that she finds unguarded and open; but the upright man is a fortified city, with the one gate only--of light; and this gate remains closed till love be induced to knock, and to crave admission. other men she compels to obey her; and destiny, doing her will, wills nothing but evil; but would she subdue the upright, she needs must desire noble acts. darkness then will no longer enwrap her approach. the upright man is secure in the light that enfolds him; and only by a light more radiant still can she hope to prevail. destiny then will become more beautiful still than her victim. ordinary men she will place between personal sorrow and the misfortune of others; but to master the hero or saint, she must cause him to choose between the happiness of others and the grief that shall fall on himself. ordinary men she lays siege to with the aid of all that is ugly; against the others she perforce must enlist whatever is noblest on earth. against the first she has thousands of weapons, the very stones in the road becoming engines of mischief; but the others she can only attack with one irresistible sword, the gleaming sword of duty and truth. in antigone's story is found the whole tale of destiny's empire on wisdom. jesus who died for us, curtius who leaped into the gulf, socrates who refused to desist from his teaching, the sister of charity who yields up her life to tending the sick, the humble wayfarer who perishes seeking to rescue his fellows from death--all these have been forced to choose, all these bear the mark of antigone's glorious wound on their breast. for truly those who live in the light have their magnificent perils also; and wisdom has danger for such as shrink from self-sacrifice, though it may be that they who shrink from self-sacrifice are perhaps not very wise. . pronounce the word "destiny," and in the minds of all men an image arises of gloom and of terror--of death. in their thoughts they regard it, instinctively, as the lane that leads straight to the tomb. most often, indeed, it is only the name that they give unto death, when its hand is not visible yet. it is death that looms in the future, the shadow of death upon life. "none can escape his destiny" we often exclaim when we hear of death lying in wait for the traveller at the bend of the road. but were the traveller to encounter happiness instead, we would never ascribe this to destiny; if we did, we should have in our mind a far different goddess. and yet, are not joys to be met with on the highways of life that are greater than any misfortune, more momentous even than death? may a happiness not be encountered that the eye cannot see? and is it not of the nature of happiness to be less manifest than misfortune, to become ever less apparent to the eye as it reaches loftier heights? but to this we refuse to pay heed. the whole village, the town, will flock to the spot where some wretched adventure takes place; but there are none will pause for an instant and let their eyes rest on a kiss, or a vision of beauty that gladdens the soul, a ray of love that illumines the heart. and yet may the kiss be productive of joy no less great than the pain that follows a wound. we are unjust; we never associate destiny with happiness; and if we do not regard it as being inseparable from death, it is only to connect it with disaster even greater than death itself. . were i to refer to the destiny of oedipus, joan of arc, agamemnon, you would give not a thought to their lives, but only behold the last moments of all, the pathway of death. you would stoutly maintain that their destiny was of the saddest, for that their end was sad. you forget, however, that death can never be happy; but nevertheless it is thus we are given to judging of life. it is as though death swallowed all; and should accident suddenly end thirty years lot unclouded joy, the thirty years would be hidden away from our eyes by the gloom of one sorrowful hour. . it is wrong to think of destiny only in connection with death and disaster. when shall we cease to believe that death, and not life, is important; that misfortune is greater than happiness? why, when we try to sum up a man's destiny, keep our eyes fixed only on the tears that he shed, and never on the smiles of his joy? where have we learned that death fixes the value of life, and not life that of death? we deplore the destiny of socrates, duncart, antigone, and many others whose lives were noble; we deplore; their destiny because their end was sudden and cruel; and we are fain to admit that misfortune prevails over wisdom and virtue alike. but, first of all, you yourself are neither just nor wise if you seek in wisdom and justice aught else but wisdom and justice alone. and further, what right have we thus to sum up an entire existence in the one hour of death? why conclude, from the fact that socrates and antigone met with unhappy ends, that it was their wisdom or virtue brought unhappiness to them? does death occupy more space in life than birth? yet do you not take the sage's birth into account as you ponder over his destiny. happiness or unhappiness arises from all that we do from the day of our birth to the day of our death; and it is not in death, but indeed in the days and the years that precede it, that we can discover a man's true happiness or sorrow--in a word, his destiny. we seem to imagine that the sage, whose terrible death is written in history, spent all his life in sad anticipation of the end his wisdom prepared; whereas in reality, the thought of death troubles the wise far less than it troubles the wicked. socrates had far less cause than macbeth to dread an unhappy end. and unhappy as his death may have been, it at least had not darkened his life; he had not spent all his days in dying preliminary deaths, as did the thane of cawdor. but it is difficult for us not to believe that a wound, that bleeds a few hours, must crumble away into nothingness all the peace of a lifetime. . i do not pretend that destiny is just, that it rewards the good and punishes the wicked. what soul that were sure of reward could ever claim to be good? but we are less just than destiny even, when it is destiny that we judge. our eyes see only the sage's misfortune, for misfortune is known to us all; but we see not his happiness, for to understand the happiness of the wise and the just whose destinies we endeavour to gauge, we must needs be possessed of wisdom and justice that shall be fully equal to theirs. when a man of inferior soul endeavours to estimate a great sage's happiness, this happiness flows through his fingers like water; yet is it heavy as gold, and as brilliant as gold, in the hand of a brother sage. for to each is the happiness given that he can best understand. the sage's misfortune may often resemble the one that befalls other men; but his happiness has nothing in common with that which he who is not wise terms happiness. in happiness there are far more regions unknown than there are in misfortune. the voice of misfortune is ever the same; happiness becomes the more silent as it penetrates deeper. when we put our misfortunes into one scale of the balance, each of us lays, in the other, all that he deems to be happiness. the savage flings feathers, and powder, and alcohol into the scale; civilised men some gold, a few days of delirium; but the sage will deposit therein countless things our eyes cannot see--all his soul, it may be, and even the misfortune that he will have purified. . there is nothing in all the world more just than happiness, nothing that will more faithfully adopt the form of our soul, or so carefully fill the space that our wisdom clings open. yet is it most silent of all that there is in the world. the angel of sorrow can speak every language--there is not a word but she knows; but the lips of the angel of happiness are sealed, save when she tells of the savage's joys. it is hundreds of centuries past that misfortune was cradled, but happiness seems even now to have scarcely emerged from its infancy. there are some men have learned to be happy; why are there none whose great gladness has urged them to lift up their voice in the name of the silent archangel who has flooded their soul with light? are we not almost teaching happiness if we do only speak of it; invoking it, if we let no day pass without pronouncing its name? and is it not the first duty of those who are happy to tell of their gladness to others? all men can learn to be happy; and the teaching of it is easy. if you live among those who daily call blessing on life, it shall not be long ere you will call blessing on yours. smiles are as catching as tears; and periods men have termed happy, were periods when there existed some who knew of their happiness. happiness rarely is absent; it is we that know not of its presence. the greatest felicity avails us nothing if we know not that we are happy; there is more joy in the smallest delight whereof we are conscious, than in the approach of the mightiest happiness that enters not into our soul. there are only too many who think that what they have cannot be happiness; and therefore is it the duty of such as are happy, to prove to the others that they only possess what each man possesses deep down in the depths of his heart. to be happy is only to have freed one's soul from the unrest of happiness. it were well if, from time to time, there should come to us one to whom fortune had granted a dazzling, superhuman felicity, that all men regarded with envy; and if he were very simply to say to us, "all is mine that you pray for each day: i have riches, and youth, and health; i have glory, and power, and love; and if to-day i am truly able to call myself happy, it is not on account of the gifts that fortune has deigned to accord me, but because i have learned from these gifts to fix my eyes far above happiness. if my marvellous travels and victories, my strength and my love, have brought me the peace and the gladness i sought, it is only because they have taught me that it is not in them that the veritable gladness and peace can be found. it was in myself they existed, before all these triumphs; and still in myself are they now, after all my achievement; and i know full well that had but a little more wisdom been mine, i might have enjoyed all i now enjoy without the aid of so much good fortune. i know that today i am happier still than i was yesterday, because i have learned at last that i stand in no need of good fortune in order to free my soul, to bring peace to my thoughts, to enlighten my heart." . of this the sage is fully aware, though no superhuman happiness may have descended upon him. the upright man knows it too, though he be less wise than the sage, and his consciousness less fully developed; for an act of goodness or justice brings with it a kind of inarticulate consciousness that often becomes more effective, more faithful, more loving, than the consciousness that springs into being from the very deepest thought. acts of this nature bring, above all, a special knowledge of happiness. strive as we may, our loftiest thoughts are always uncertain, unstable; but the light of a goodly deed shines steadily on, and is lasting. there are times when deep thought is no more than merely fictitious consciousness; but an act of charity, the heroic duty fulfilled--these are true consciousness; in other words, happiness in action. the happiness of marcus aurelius, who condones a mortal affront; of washington, giving up power when he feared that his glory was leading his people astray--the happiness of these will differ by far from that of some mean-souled, venomous creature who might (if such a thing may be assumed) by mere chance have discovered some extraordinary natural law. long is the road that leads from the satisfied brain to the heart at rest, and only such joys will nourish there as are proof against winter's storms. happiness is a plant that thrives far more readily in moral than in intellectual life. consciousness--the consciousness of happiness, above all--will not choose the intellect as a hiding-place for the treasure it holds most dear. at times it would almost seem as if all that is loftiest in intellect, fraught with most comfort, is transformed into consciousness only when passed through an act of virtue. it suffices not to discover new truths in the world of thought or of fact. for ourselves, a truth only lives from the moment it modifies, purifies, sweetens something we have in our soul. to be conscious of moral improvement is of the essence of consciousness. some beings there are, of vigorous intellect, whose intellect never is used to discover a fault, or foster a feeling of charity. and this happens often with women. in cases where a man and a woman have equal intellectual power, the woman will always devote far less of this power to acquiring moral self-knowledge. and truly the intellect that aims not at consciousness is but beating its wings in the void. loss and corruption needs must ensue if the force of our brain be not at once gathered up in the purest vase of our heart. nor can such an intellect ever know happiness; nay, it seems to invite misfortune. for intellect may be of the loftiest, mightiest, and yet perhaps never draw near unto joy; but in the soul that is gentle, and pure, and good, sorrow cannot for ever abide. and even though the boundary line between intellect and consciousness be not always as clearly defined as here we seem to assume, even though a beautiful thought in itself may be often a goodly action--yet, none the less will a beautiful thought, that springs not from noble deed, or wherefrom noble deed shall not spring, add but little unto our felicity; whereas a good deed, though it father no thought, will ever fall like soft bountiful rain on our knowledge of happiness. . "how final must his farewell to happiness have been," exclaims renan, speaking of the renouncement of marcus aurelius--"how final must his farewell to happiness have been, for him to be capable of such excess! none will ever know how great was the suffering of that poor, stricken heart, or the bitterness the waxen brow concealed, calm always, and even smiling. it is true that the farewell to happiness is the beginning of wisdom, and the surest road to happiness. there is nothing sweeter than the return of joy that follows the renouncement of joy, as there is nothing more exquisite, of keener, deeper delight, than the enchantment of the disenchanted." in these terms does a sage describe a sage's happiness; but is it true that the happiness of marcus aurelius, as of renan himself, arose only from the return of joy that followed the renouncement of joy, and from the enchantment of the disenchanted? for then were it better that wisdom be less, that we be the less disenchanted. but what can the wisdom desire that declares itself thus disenchanted? was it not truth that it sought? and is there a truth that can stifle the love of truth in the depths of a loyal heart? the truth that has taught you that man is wicked and nature unjust; that justice is futile, and love without power, has indeed taught you nothing if it have not at the same time revealed a truth that is greater still, one that throws on these disillusions a light more brilliant, more ample, than the myriad flickering beams it has quenched all around you, for there lurks unspeakable pride, and pride of the poorest kind, in thus declaring ourselves satisfied because we can find satisfaction in nothing that is. such satisfaction, in truth, is discontent only, too sluggish to lift its head; and they only are discontented who no longer would understand. does not the man who conceives it his duty to forswear all happiness renounce something as well that, as yet, has not turned into happiness? and besides, what are the joys to which we bid this somewhat affected farewell? it must surely be right to discard all happiness injurious to others; but happiness that injures others will not long wear the semblance of happiness in the eyes of the sage. and when his wisdom at length has revealed the profounder joys, will it not be in all unconsciousness that he renounces those of lesser worth? let us never put faith in the wisdom or gladness that is based on contempt of a single existing thing; for contempt and renouncement, its sickly offspring, offer asylum to none but the weak and the aged. we have only the right to scorn a joy when such scorn is wholly unconscious. but so long as we listen to the voice of contempt or renouncement, so long as we suffer these to flood our heart with bitterness, so long must the joy we discard be a joy that we still desire. we must beware lest there enter our soul certain parasitic virtues. and renouncement, often, is only a parasite. even if it do not enfeeble our inward life, it must inevitably bring disquiet. just as bees cease from work at the approach of an intruder into their hive, so will the virtues and strength of the soul into which contempt or renouncement has entered, forsake all their tasks, and eagerly flock round the curious guest that has come in the wake of pride; for so long as renouncement be conscious, so long will the happiness found therein have its origin truly in pride. and he who is bent on renouncement had best, first of all, forswear the delights of pride, for these are wholly vain and wholly deceptive. . within reach of all, demanding neither boldness nor energy, is this "enchantment of the disenchanted!" but what name shall we give to the man who renounces that which brought happiness to him, and rather would surely lose it to-day than live in fear lest fortune haply deprive him thereof on the morrow? is the mission of wisdom only to peer into the uncertain future, with ear on the stretch for the footfall of sorrow that never may come--but deaf to the whirr of the wings of the happiness that fills all space? let us not look to renouncement for happiness till we have sought it elsewhere in vain. it is easy to be wise if we be content to regard as happiness the void that is left by the absence of happiness. but it was not for unhappiness the sage was created; and it is more glorious, as well as more human, to be happy and still to be wise. the supreme endeavour of wisdom is only to seek in life for the fixed point of happiness; but to seek this fixed point in renouncement and farewell to joy, is only to seek it in death. he who moves not a limb is persuaded, perhaps, he is wise; but was this the purpose wherefor mankind was created? ours is the choice--whether wisdom shall be the honoured wife of our passions and feelings, our thoughts and desires, or the melancholy bride of death. let the tomb have its stagnant wisdom, but let there be wisdom also for the hearth where the fire still burns. . it is not by renouncing the joys that are near us that we shall grow wise; but as we grow wise we unconsciously abandon the joys that now are beneath us. even so does the child, as years come to him, give up one by one without thinking the games that have ceased to amuse. and just as the child learns far more from his play than from work that is given him, so does wisdom progress far more quickly in happiness than in misfortune. it is only one side of morality that unhappiness throws into light; and the man whom sorrow has taught to be wise, is like one who has loved and never been loved in return. there must always be something unknown to the love whereto no other love has made answer; and this, too, will remain unknown to him whose wisdom is born of sorrow. "is happiness truly as happy as people imagine?" was asked of two happy ones once by a philosopher whom protracted injustice had saddened. no; it is a thing more desirable far, but also much less to be envied, than people suppose; for it is in itself quite other than they can conceive who have never been perfectly happy. to be gay is not to be happy, nor will he who is happy always be gay. it is only the little ephemeral pleasures that forever are smiling; and they die away as they smile. but some loftiness once obtained, lasting happiness becomes no less grave than majestic sorrow. wise men have said it were best for us not to be happy, so that happiness thus might be always the one thing desired. but how shall the sage, to whom happiness never has come, be aware that wisdom is the one thing alone that happiness neither can sadden nor weary? those thinkers have learned to love wisdom with a far more intimate love whose lives have been happy, than those whose lives have been sad. the wisdom forced into growth by misfortune is different far from the wisdom that ripens beneath happiness. the first, where it seeks to console, must whisper of happiness; the other tells of itself. he who is sad is taught by his wisdom that happiness yet may be his; he who is happy is taught by his wisdom that he may become wiser still. the discovery of happiness may well be the great aim of wisdom; and we needs must be happy ourselves before we can know that wisdom itself contains all. . there are some who are wholly unable to support the burden of joy. there is a courage of happiness as well as a courage of sorrow. it may even be true that permanent happiness calls for more strength in man than permanent sorrow; for the heart wherein wisdom is not delights more in the expectation of that which it has not yet, than in the full possession of all it has ever desired. he in whom happiness dwells is amazed at the heart that finds aliment only in fear or in hope, and that cannot be nourished on what it possesses, though it possess all it ever desired. we often see men who are strong and morally prudent whom happiness yet overcomes. not finding therein all they sought, they do not defend it, or cling to it, with the energy needful in life. we must have already acquired some not inconsiderable wisdom to be undismayed at perceiving that happiness too has its sorrow, and to be not induced by this sorrow to think that ours cannot be the veritable happiness. the most precious gift that happiness brings is the knowledge that springs up within us that it is not a thing of mere ecstasy, but a thing that bids us reflect. it becomes far less rare, far less inaccessible, from the moment we know that its greatest achievement is to give to the soul that is able to prize it an increase of consciousness, which the soul could elsewhere never have found. to know what happiness means is of far more importance to the soul of man than to enjoy it. to be able long to love happiness great wisdom needs must be ours; but a wisdom still greater for us to perceive, as we lie in the bosom of cloudless joy, that the fixed and stable part of that joy is found in the force which, deep down in our consciousness, could render us happy still though misfortune wrapped us around. do not believe you are happy till you have been led by your happiness up to the heights whence itself disappears from your gaze, but leaving you still, unimpaired, the desire to live. . there are some profound thinkers, such as pascal, schopenhauer, hello, who seem not to have been happy, for all that the sense of the infinite, universal, eternal, was loftily throned in their soul. but it may well be an error to think that he who gives voice to the multitude's sorrow must himself always be victim to great personal despair. the horizon of sorrow, surveyed from the height of a thought that has ceased to be selfish, instinctive, or commonplace, differs but little from the horizon of happiness when this last is regarded from the height of a thought of similar nature, but other in origin. and after all, it matters but little whether the clouds be golden or gloomy that yonder float over the plain; the traveller is glad to have reached the eminence whence his eye may at last repose on illimitable space. the sea is not the less marvellous and mysterious to us though white sails be not for ever flitting over its surface; and neither tempest nor day that is radiant and calm is able to bring enfeeblement unto the life of our soul. enfeeblement comes through our dwelling, by night and by day, in the airless room of our cold, self-satisfied, trivial, ungenerous thoughts, at a time when the sky all around our abode is reflecting the light of the ocean. but there is a difference perhaps between the sage and the thinker. it may be that sorrow will steal over the thinker as he stands on the height he has gained; but the sage by his side only smiles--and this smile is so loyal, so human and natural, that the humblest creature of all must needs understand, and will gladly welcome it to him, as it falls like a flower to the foot of the mountain. the thinker throws open the road "which leads from the seen to the unseen;" the sage throws open the highway that takes us from that which we love to-day to that which we yet shall love, and the paths that ascend from that which has ceased to console to that which, for long time to come, shall be laden with deep consolation. it is needful, but not all-sufficient, to have reflected deeply and boldly on man, and nature, and god; for the profoundest thought is of little avail if it contain no germ of comfort. indeed, it is only thought that the thinker, as yet, does nor wholly possess; as the other thoughts are, too, that remain outside our normal, everyday life. it is easier far to be sad and dwell in affliction than at once to do what time in the end will always compel us to do: to shake ourselves free from affliction. he who spends his days gloomily, in constant mistrust of his fellows, will often appear a profounder thinker than the other, who lives in the faith and honest simplicity wherein all men should dwell. is there a man can believe he has done all it lay in his power to do if, as he meditates thus, in the name of his brethren, on the sorrows of life, he hides from them--anxious, perhaps, not to weaken his grandiose picture of sorrow--the reasons wherefore he accepts life, reasons that must be decisive, since he himself continues to live? the thought must be incomplete surely whose object is not to console. it is easier for you to tell me the cause of your sorrow than, very simply, to speak of the deeper, the weightier reasons that induce your instinct to cling to this life whose distress you bemoan. which of us finds not, unsought, many thousands of reasons for sorrow? it is doubtless of service that the sage should point out those that are loftiest, for the loftiest reasons for sorrow must be on the eve of becoming reasons for gladness and joy. but reasons that have not within them these germs of greatness and happiness--and in moral life open spaces abound where greatness and happiness blend--these are surely not worthy of mention. before we can bring happiness to others, we first must be happy ourselves; nor will happiness abide within us unless we confer it on others. if there be a smile upon our lips, those around us will soon smile too; and our happiness will become the truer and deeper as we see that these others are happy. "it is not seemly that i, who, willingly, have brought sorrow to none, should permit myself to be sad," said marcus aurelius, in one of his noblest passages. but are we not saddening ourselves, and learning to sadden others, if we refuse to accept all the happiness offered to man? . the humble thought that connects a mere satisfied glance, an ordinary, everyday act of simple kindness, or an insignificant moment of happiness, with something eternal, and stable, and beautiful, is of far greater value, and infinitely nearer to the mystery of life, than the grand and gloomy meditation wherein sorrow, love, and despair blend with death and destiny and the apathetic forces of nature. appearances often deceive us. hamlet, bewailing his fate on the brink of the gulf, seems profounder, imbued with more passion, than antoninus pius, whose tranquil gaze rests on the self-same forces, but who accepts them and questions them calmly, instead of recoiling in horror and calling down curses upon them. our slightest gesture at nightfall seems more momentous by far than all we have done in the day; but man was created to work in the light, and not to burrow in darkness. . the smallest consoling idea has a strength of its own that is not to be found in the most magnificent plaint, the most exquisite expression of sorrow. the vast, profound thought that brings with it nothing but sadness is energy burning its wings in the darkness to throw light on the walls of its prison; but the timidest thought of hope, or of cheerful acceptance of inevitable law, in itself already is action in search of a foothold wherefrom to take flight into life. it cannot be harmful for us to acknowledge at times that action begins with reality only, though our thoughts be never so large and disinterested and admirable in themselves. 'for all that goes to build up what is truly our destiny is contained in those of our thoughts which, hurried along by the mass of ideas still obscure, indistinct, incomplete, have had strength sufficient--or been forced, it may be--to turn into facts, into gestures, into feelings and habits. we do not imply by this that the other thoughts should be neglected. those that surround our actual life may perhaps be compared with an army besieging a city. the city once taken, the bulk of the troops would probably not be permitted to pass through the gates. admission would be doubtless withheld from the irregular part of the army--barbarians, mercenaries, all those, in a word, whose natural tendencies would lead them to drunkenness, pillage, or bloodshed. and it might also very well happen that fully two-thirds of the troops would have taken no part in the final decisive battle. but there often is value in forces that appear to be useless; and the city would evidently not have yielded to panic and thrown open her gates, had the well-disciplined force at the foot of the walls not been flanked by the hordes in the valley. so is it in moral life, too. those thoughts are not wholly vain that have been unable to touch our actual life; they have helped on, supported, the others; yet is it these others alone that have fully accomplished their mission and therefore does it behove us to have in our service, drawn up in front of the crowded ranks of our sad and bewildered thoughts, a group of ideas more human and confident, ready at all times to penetrate vigorously into life. . even when our endeavour to emerge from reality is due to the purest desire for immaterial good, one gesture must still be worth more than a thousand intentions; nor is this that intentions are valueless, but that the least gesture of goodness, or courage, or justice, makes demands upon us far greater than a thousand lofty intentions. chiromantists pretend that the whole of our life is engraved on our palm; our life, according to them, being a certain number of actions which imprint ineffaceable marks on our flesh, before or after fulfilment; whereas not a trace will be left by either thoughts or intentions. if i have for many long days cherished projects of murder or treachery, heroism or sacrifice, my hand will tell nothing of these; but if i have killed some one--involuntarily perhaps, imagining he was about to attack me; or if i have rescued a child from the flames that enwrapped it--my hand will bear, all my life, the infallible sign of love or of murder. chiromancy maybe delusion or not--it matters but little; here we are concerned with the great moral truth that underlies this distinction. the place that i fill in the universe will never be changed by my thought; i shall be as i was to the day of my death; but my actions will almost invariably move me forwards or backwards in the hierarchy of man. thought is a solitary, wandering, fugitive force, which advances towards us today and perhaps on the morrow will vanish, whereas every deed presupposes a permanent army of ideas and desires which have, after lengthy effort, secured foot-hold in reality. . but we find ourselves here far away from the noble antigone and the eternal problem of unproductive virtue. it is certain that destiny--understood in the ordinary sense of the word as meaning the road that leads only to death--is wholly disregardful of virtue. this is the gulf, to which all systems of morality must come, as to a central reservoir, to be purified or troubled for ever; and here must each man decide whether he will justify fate or condemn it. antigone's sacrifice may well be regarded as the type of all such as are made in the cause of duty. do we not all of us know of heroic deeds whose reward has been only misfortune? a friend of my own, one day, as he lay on the bed he was never to leave save for that other one only which is eternal, pointed out to me, one after the other, the different stratagems fate had contrived to lure him to the distant city, where the draught of poisonous water awaited him that he was to swallow, wherefrom he must die. strangely clear were the countless webs that destiny had spun round this life; and the most trivial event seemed endowed with marvellous malice and forethought. yet had my friend journeyed forth to that city in fulfilment of one of those duties that only the saint, or the hero, the sage, detects on the horizon of conscience. what can we say? but let us leave this point for the moment, to return to it later. my friend, had he lived, would on the morrow have gone to another city, called thither by another duty; nor would he have paused to inquire whether it was indeed duty that summoned him. there are beings who do thus obey the commands that their heart whispers low. they fret not at fortune's injustice; they care not though virtue be thankless; theirs it is only to fight the injustice of men, which is the only injustice whereof they, as yet, seem aware. ought we never to hesitate, then? and is our duty most faithfully done when we ourselves are wholly unconscious that this thing that we do is a duty? is it most essential of all that we should attain a height whence duty no longer is looked on as the choice of our noblest feelings, but as the silent necessity of all the nature within us? . there are some who wait and question themselves, who ponder, consider, and then at length decide. they too are right, for it matters but little whether the duty fulfilled be result of instinct or intellect. the gestures of instinct will often recall the delicate, naive and vague, unexpected beauty that clings to the child's least movement, and touches us deeply; but the gestures of matured resolve have a beauty, too, of their own, more earnest and statelier, stronger. it is given to very few hearts to be naively perfect, nor should we go seek in them for the laws of duty. and besides, there is many a sober-hued duty that instinct will fail to perceive, that yet will be clearly espied by mature resolution, bereft though this be of illusion; and man's moral value is doubtless established by the number of duties he sees and sets forth to accomplish. it is well that the bulk of mankind should listen to the instinct that prompts them to sacrifice self on the altar of duty, and that without too close self-questioning; for long must the questioning be ere consciousness will give forth the same answer as instinct. and those who do thus close their eyes, and in all meekness follow their instinct, are in truth following the light that is borne at their head, though they know it not, see it not, by the best of their ancestors. but still this is not the ideal; and he who gives up the least thing of all for the sake of his brother, well knowing what it is he gives up and wherefore he does it, stands higher by far in the scale of morality than the other, who flings away life without throwing one glance behind. . in this world there are thousands of weak, noble creatures who fancy that sacrifice always must be the last word of duty; thousands of beautiful souls that know not what should be done, and seek only to yield up their life, holding that to be virtue supreme. they are wrong; supreme virtue consists in the knowledge of what should be done, in the power to decide for ourselves whereto we should offer our life. the duty each holds to be his is by no means his permanent duty. the paramount duty of all is to throw our conception of duty into clearest possible light. the word duty itself will often contain far more error and moral indifference than virtue. clytemnestra devoted her life to revenge--she murdered her husband for that he had slain iphigenia; orestes sacrificed his life in avenging agamemnon's death on clytemnestra. and yet it has only needed a sage to pass by, saying, "pardon your enemies," for all duties of vengeance to be banished for ever from the conscience of man. and so may it one day suffice that another sage shall pass by for many a duty of sacrifice too to be exiled. but in the meanwhile there are certain ideas that prevail on renouncement, resignation, and sacrifice, that are far more destructive to the most beautiful moral forces of man than great vices, or even than crimes. . there are some occasions in life, inevitable and of general bearing, that demand resignation, which is necessary then, and good; but there are many occasions when we still are able to fight; and at such times resignation is no more than veiled helplessness, idleness, ignorance. so is it with sacrifice too, which indeed is most often the withered arm resignation still shakes in the void. there is beauty in simple self-sacrifice when its hour has come unsought, when its motive is happiness of others; but it cannot be wise, or of use to mankind, to make sacrifice the aim of one's life, or to regard its achievement as the magnificent triumph of the spirit over the body. (and here let us add that infinitely too great importance is generally ascribed to the triumph of spirit over body, these pretended triumphs being most often the total defeat of life.) sacrifice may be a flower that virtue will pluck on its road, but it was not to gather this flower that virtue set forth on its travels. it is a grave, error to think that the beauty of soul is most clearly revealed by the eager desire for sacrifice; for the soul's fertile beauty resides in its consciousness, in the elevation and power of its life. there are some, it is true, that awake from their sleep at the call of sacrifice only; but these lack the strength and the courage to seek other forms of moral existence. it is, as a rule, far easier to sacrifice self--to give up, that is, our moral existence to the first one who chooses to take it--than to fulfil our spiritual destiny, to accomplish, right to the end, the task for which we were created. it is easier far, as a rule, to die morally, nay, even physically, for others, than to learn how best we should live for them. there are too many beings who thus lull to sleep all initiative, personal life, and absorb themselves wholly in the idea that they are prepared and ready for sacrifice. the consciousness that never succeeds in travelling beyond this idea, that is satisfied ever to seek an occasion for giving all that which it has, is a consciousness whose eyes are sealed, and that crouches be-numbed at the foot of the mountain. there is beauty in the giving of self, and indeed it is only by giving oneself that we do, at the end, begin to possess ourselves somewhat; but if all that we some day shall give to our brethren is the desire to give them ourselves, then are we surely preparing a gift of most slender value. before giving, let us try to acquire; for this last is a duty where from we are not relieved by the fact of our giving. let us wait till the hour of sacrifice sounds; till then, each man to his work. the hour will sound at last; but let us not waste all our time in seeking it on the dial of life. . there are many ways of sacrifice; and i speak not here of the self-sacrifice of the strong, who know, as antigone knew, how to yield themselves up when destiny, taking the form of their brothers' manifest happiness, calls upon them to abandon their own happiness and their life. i speak of the sacrifice here that is made by the feeble; that leans for support, with childish content, on the staff of its own inanity--that is as an old blind nurse, who would rock us in the palsied arms of renouncement and useless suffering. on this point let us note what john ruskin says, one of the best thinkers of our time: "the will of god respecting us is that we shall live by each other's happiness and life; not by each other's misery or death. a child may have to die for its parents; but the purpose of heaven is that it shall rather live for them; that not by sacrifice, but by its strength, its joy, its force of being, it shall be to them renewal of strength; and as the arrow in the hand of the giant. so it is in all other right relations. men help each other by their joy, not by their sorrow. they are not intended to slay themselves for each other, but to strengthen themselves for each other. and among the many apparently beautiful things which turn, through mistaken use, to utter evil, i am not sure but that the thoughtlessly meek and self-sacrificing spirit of good men must be named as one of the fatallest. they have so often been taught that there is a virtue in mere suffering, as such . . . that they accept pain and defeat as if these were their appointed portion; never understanding that their defeat is not the less to be mourned because it is more fatal to their enemies than to them." . you are told you should love your neighbour as yourself; but if you love yourself meanly, childishly, timidly, even so shall you love your neighbour. learn therefore to love yourself with a love that is wise and healthy, that is large and complete. this is less easy than it would seem. there is more active charity in the egoism of a strenuous clairvoyant soul than in all the devotion of the soul that is helpless and blind. before you exist for others it behoves you to exist for yourself; before giving, you first must acquire. be sure that, if deeply considered, more value attaches to the particle of consciousness gained than to the gift of your entire unconsciousness. nearly all the great things of this world have been done by men who concerned themselves not at all with ideas of self-sacrifice. plato's thoughts flew on--he paused not to let his tears fall with the tears of the mourners in athens; newton pursued his experiments calmly, nor left them to search for objects of pity or sorrow; and marcus aurelius above all (for here we touch on the most frequent and dangerous form of self-sacrifice) marcus aurelius essayed not to dim the brightness of his own soul that he might confer happiness on the inferior soul of faustina. and if this was right in the lives of these men, of plato and newton and marcus aurelius, it is equally right in the life of every soul; for each soul has, in its sphere, the same obligations to self as the soul of the greatest. we should tell ourselves, once and for all, that it is the first duty of the soul to become as happy, complete, independent, and great as lies in its power.' herein is no egoism, or pride. to become effectually generous and sincerely humble there must be within us a confident, tranquil, and clear comprehension of all that we owe to ourselves. to this end we may sacrifice even the passion for sacrifice; for sacrifice never should be the means of ennoblement, but only the sign of our being ennobled. . let us be ready to offer, when necessity beckons, our wealth, and our time, and our life, to our less fortunate brethren, making them thus an exceptional gift of a few exceptional hours; but the sage is not bound to neglect his happiness, and all that environs his life, in sole preparation for these few exceptional hours of greater or lesser devotion. the truest morality tells us to cling, above all, to the duties that return every day, to acts of inexhaustible brotherly kindness. and, thus considered, we find that in the everyday walk of life the solitary thing we can ever distribute among those who march by our side, be they joyful or sad, is the confidence, strength, the freedom and peace, of our soul. let the humblest of men, therefore, never cease to cherish and lift up his soul, even as though he were fully convinced that this soul of his should one day be called to console or gladden a god. when we think of preparing our soul, the preparation should never be other than befits a mission divine. in this domain only, and on this condition, can man truly give himself, can there be pre-eminent sacrifice. and think you that when the hour sounds the gift of a socrates or marcus aurelius--who lived many lives, for many a time had they compassed their whole life around--do you think such a gift is not worth a thousand times more than what would be given by him who had never stepped over the threshold of consciousness? and if god there be, will he value sacrifice only by the weight of the blood in our body; and the blood of the heart--its virtue, its knowledge of self, its moral existence--do you think this will all go for nothing? . it is not by self-sacrifice that loftiness comes to the soul; but as the soul becomes loftier, sacrifice fades out of sight, as the flowers in the valley disappear from the vision of him who toils up the mountain. sacrifice is a beautiful token of unrest; but unrest should not be nurtured within us for sake of itself. to the soul that is slowly awakening all appears sacrifice; but few things indeed are so called by the soul that at last lives the life whereof self-denial, pity, devotion, are no longer indispensable roots, but only invisible flowers. for in truth too many do thus feel the need of destroying--though it be without cause--a happiness, love, or a hope that is theirs, thereby to obtain clearer vision of self in the light of the consuming flame. it is as though they held in their hand a lamp of whose use they know nothing; as though, when the darkness comes on, and they are eager for light, they scatter its substance abroad on the fire of the stranger. let us beware lest we act as he did in the fable, who stood watch in the lighthouse, and gave to the poor in the cabins about him the oil of the mighty lanterns that served to illumine the sea. every soul in its sphere has charge of a lighthouse, for which there is more or less need. the humblest mother who allows her whole life to be crushed, to be saddened, absorbed, by the less important of her motherly duties, is giving her oil to the poor; and her children will suffer, the whole of their life, from there not having been, in the soul of their mother, the radiance it might have acquired. the immaterial force that shines in our heart must shine, first of all, for itself; for on this condition alone shall it shine for the others as well; but see that you give not away the oil of your lamp, though your lamp be never so small; let your gift be the flame, its crown. . in the soul that is noble altruism must, without doubt, be always the centre of gravity; but the weak soul is apt to lose itself in others, whereas it is in others that the strong soul discovers itself. here we have the essential distinction. there is a thing that is loftier still than to love our neighbour as we love ourselves; it is to love ourselves in our neighbour. some souls there are whom goodness walks before, as there are others that goodness follows. let us never forget that, in communion of soul, the most generous by no means are they who believe they are constantly giving. a strenuous soul never ceases to take, though it be from the poorest; a weak soul always is giving, even to those that have most; but there is a manner of giving which truly is only the gesture of powerless greed; and we should find, it may be, if reckoning were kept by a god, that in taking from others we give, and in giving we take away. often indeed will it so come about that the very first ray of enlightenment will descend on the commonplace soul the day it has met with another which took all that it had to give. . why not admit that it is not our paramount duty to weep with all those who are weeping, to suffer with all who are sad, to expose our heart to the passer-by for him to caress or stab? tears and suffering and wounds are helpful to us only when they do not discourage our life. let us never forget that whatever our mission may be in this world, whatever the aim of our efforts and hopes, and the result of our joys and our sorrows, we are, above all, the blind custodians of life. absolutely, wholly certain is that one thing only; it is there that we find the only fixed point of human morality. life has been given us--for a reason we know not--but surely not for us to enfeeble it, or carelessly fling it away. for it is a particular form of life that we represent on this planet--the life of feeling and thought; whence it follows perhaps that all that inclines to weaken the ardour of feeling and thought is, in its essence, immoral. our task let it be then to foster this ardour, to enhance and embellish it; let us constantly strive to acquire deeper faith in the greatness of man, in his strength and his destiny; or, we might equally say, in his bitterness, weakness, and wretchedness; for to be loftily wretched is no less soul-quickening than it is to be loftily happy. after all, it matters but little whether it be man or the universe that we admire, so long as something appear truly admirable to us, and exalt our sense of the infinite. every new star that is found in the sky will lend of its rays to the passions, and thoughts, and the courage, of man. whatever of beauty we see in all that surrounds us, within us already is beautiful; whatever we find in ourselves that is great and adorable, that do we find too in others. if my soul, on awaking this morning, was cheered, as it dwelt on its love, by a thought that drew near to a god--a god, we have said, who is doubtless no more than the loveliest desire of our soul--then shall i behold this same thought astir in the beggar who passes my window the moment thereafter; and i shall love him the more for that i understand him the better. and let us not think that love of this kind can be useless; for indeed, if one day we shall know the thing that has to be done, it will only be thanks to the few who love in this fashion, with an ever-deepening love. from the conscious and infinite love must the true morality spring, nor can there be greater charity than the effort to ennoble our fellows. but i cannot ennoble you if i have not become noble myself; i have no admiration to give you if there be naught in myself i admire. if the deed i have done be heroic, its truest reward will be my conviction that of an equal deed you are capable too; this conviction ever will tend to become more spontaneous within me, and more unconquerable. every thought that quickens my heart brings quickening, too, to the love and respect that i have for mankind. as i rise aloft, you rise with me. but if, the better to love you, i deem it my duty to tear off the wings from my love, your love being wingless as yet; then shall i have added in vain to the plaints and the tears in the valley, but brought my own love thereby not one whit nearer the mountain. our love should always be lodged on the highest peak we can attain. let our love not spring from pity when it can be born of love; let us not forgive for charity's sake when justice offers forgiveness; nor let us try to console there where we can respect. let our one never-ceasing care be to better the love that we offer our fellows. one cup of this love that is drawn from the spring on the mountain is worth a hundred taken from the stagnant well of ordinary charity. and if there be one whom you no longer can love because of the pity you feel, or the tears that he sheds; and if he ignore to the end that you love him because you ennobled him at the same time you ennobled yourself, it matters but little after all; for you have done what you held to be best, and the best is not always most useful. should we not invariably act in this life as though the god whom our heart desires with its highest desire were watching our every action? . in a terrible catastrophe that took place but a short time ago,[footnote: the fire at the bazar de la charite in paris.] destiny afforded yet another, and perhaps the most startling instance of what it pleases men to term her injustice, her blindness, or her irresponsibility. she seemed to have singled out for especial chastisement the solitary external virtue that reason has left us--our love for our fellow-man. there must have been some moderately righteous men amongst the victims, and it seems almost certain that there was at least one whose virtue was wholly disinterested and sincere. it is the presence of this one truly good man that warrants our asking, in all its simplicity, the terrible question that rises to our lips. had he not been there we might have tried to believe that this act of seemingly monstrous injustice was in reality composed of particles of sovereign justice. we might have whispered to ourselves that what they termed charity, out yonder, was perhaps only the arrogant flower of permanent injustice. we seem unwilling to recognise the blindness of the external forces, such as air, fire, water, the laws of gravity and others, with which we must deal and do battle. the need is heavy upon us to find excuses for fate; and even when blaming her, we seem to be endeavouring still to explain the causes of her past and her future action, conscious the while of a feeling of pained surprise, as though a man we valued highly had done some dreadful deed. we love to idealise destiny, and are wont to credit her with a sense of justice loftier far than our own; and however great the injustice whereof she may have been guilty, our confidence will soon flow back to her, the first feeling of dismay over; for in our heart we plead that she must have reasons we cannot fathom, that there must be laws we cannot divine. the gloom of the world would crush us were we to dissociate morality from fate. to doubt the existence of this high, protecting justice and virtue, would seem to us to be denying the existence of all justice and of all virtue. we are no longer able to accept the narrow morality of positive religion, which entices with reward and threatens with punishment; and yet we are apt to forget that, were fate possessed of the most rudimentary sense of justice, our conception of a lofty, disinterested morality would fade into thin air. what merit in being just ourselves if we be not convinced of the absolute injustice of fate? we no longer believe in the ideals once held by saints, and we are confident that a wise god will hold of as little account the duty done through hope of recompense, as the evil done for sake of gain; and this even though the recompense hoped for be nothing but the self-ensuing peace of mind. we say that god, who must be at least as high as the highest thoughts he has implanted in the best of men, will withhold his smile from those who have desired but to please him; and that they only who have done good for the sake of good and as though he existed not, they only who have loved virtue more than they loved god himself, shall be allowed to stand by his side. and yet, and for all this, no sooner does the event confront us, than we discover that we still are guided by the "moral maxims" of our childhood. of more avail would be a "list of chastised virtues." the soul that is quick with life would find its profit therein; the cause of virtue would gain in vigour and in majesty. let us not forget that it is from the very nonmorality of destiny that a nobler morality must spring into life; for here, as everywhere, man is never so strong with his own native strength as when he realises that he stands entirely alone. as we consider the crowning injustice of fate, it is the negation of high moral law that disturbs us; but from this negation there at once arises a moral law that is higher still. he who no longer believes in reward or punishment must do good for the sake of good. even though a moral law seem on the eve of disappearing, we need have no cause for disquiet; its place will be speedily filled by a law that is greater still. to attribute morality to fate is but to lessen the purity of our ideal; to admit the injustice of fate is to throw open before us the ever-widening fields of a still loftier morality. let us not think virtue will crumble, though god himself seem unjust. where shall the virtue of man find more everlasting foundation than in the seeming injustice of god? . let us not cavil, therefore, at nature's indifference to the sage. it is only because we are not yet wise enough that this indifference seems strange; for the first duty of wisdom is to throw into light the humbleness of the place in the universe that is filled by man. within his sphere he seems of importance, as the bee in its cell of honey; but it were idle to suppose that a single flower the more will blossom in the fields because the queen bee has proved herself a heroine in the hive. we need not fear that we depreciate ourselves when we extol the universe. whether it be ourselves or the entire world that we consider great, still will there quicken within our soul the sense of the infinite, which is of the life-blood of virtue. what is an act of virtue that we should expect such mighty reward? it is within ourselves that reward must be found, for the law of gravitation will not swerve. they only who know not what goodness is are ever clamouring for the wage of goodness. above all, let us never forget that an act of goodness is of itself always an act of happiness. it is the flower of a long inner life of joy and contentment; it tells of peaceful hours and days on the sunniest heights of our soul. no reward coming after the event can compare with the sweet reward that went with it. the upright man who perished in the catastrophe i mentioned was there because his soul had found a peace and strength in virtue that not happiness, love, or glory could have given him. were the flames to retreat before such men, were the waters to open and death to hesitate, what were righteousness or heroism then? would not the true happiness of virtue be destroyed? virtue that is happy because it is noble and pure, that is noble and pure because it desires no reward? there may be human joy in doing good with definite purpose, but they who do good expecting nothing in return know a joy that is divine. where we do evil our reasons mostly are known to us, but our good deed becomes the purer for our ignorance of its motive. would we know how to value the righteous man, we have but to question him as to the motives of his righteousness. he will probably be the most truly righteous who is least ready with his answer. some may suppose that as intellect widens many a motive for heroism will be lost to the soul; but it should be borne in mind that the wider intellect brings with it an ideal of heroism loftier and more disinterested still. and this much at least is certain: he who thinks that virtue stands in need of the approval of destiny or of worlds, has not yet within him the veritable sense of virtue. truly to act well we must do good because of our craving for good, a more intimate knowledge of goodness being all we expect in return. "with no witness save his heart alone," said st. just. in the eyes of a god there must surely be marked distinction between the soul of the man who believes that the rays of a virtuous deed shall shine through furthest space, and the soul of the other who knows they illumine his heart alone. there may be greater momentary strength in the overambitious truth, but the strength that is brought by the humble human truth is far more earnest and patient. is it wiser to be as the soldier who imagines that each blow he strikes brings victory nearer, or as the other who knows his little account in the combat but still fights sturdily on? the upright man would scorn to deceive his neighbour, but is ever unduly inclined to regard some measure of self-deception as inseparable from his ideal. if there were profit in virtue, then would the noblest of men be compelled to seek happiness elsewhere; and god would destroy their main object in life were he to reward them often. nothing is indispensable, perhaps, or even necessary; and it may be that if the joy of doing good for sake of good were taken from the soul, it would find other, purer joys; but in the meantime, it is the most beautiful joy we know, therefore let us respect it. let us not resent the misfortunes that sometimes befall virtue, lest we at the same time disturb the limpid essence of its happiness. the soul that has this happiness dreams no more of reward, than others expect punishment because of their wickedness. they only are ever clamouring for justice who know it not in their lives. . there is wisdom in the hindu saying: "work as they work, who are ambitious. respect life, as they respect it who desire it. be happy, as they are happy who live for happiness alone." and this is indeed the central point of human wisdom--to act as though each deed must bear wondrous, everlasting, fruit, and yet to realise the insignificance of a just action before the universe; to grasp the disproportion of things, and yet to march onwards as though the proportions were established by man; to keep our eyes fixed on the great sphere, and ourselves to move in the little sphere with as much confidence and earnestness, with as much assurance and satisfaction, as though the great sphere were contained within it. is there need of illusion to keep alive our desire for good? then must this desire stand confessed as foreign to the nature of man. it is a mistake to imagine that the heart will long cherish within it the ideas that reason has banished; but within the heart there is much that reason may take to itself. and at last the heart becomes the refuge to which reason is apt to fly, ever more and more simply, each time that the night steals upon it; for it is to the heart as a young, clairvoyant girl, who still at times needs advice from her blind, but smiling, mother. there comes a moment in life when moral beauty seems more urgent, more penetrating, than intellectual beauty; when all that the mind has treasured must be bathed in the greatness of soul, lest it perish in the sandy desert, forlorn as a river that seeks in vain for the sea. . but let us exaggerate nothing when dealing with wisdom, though it be wisdom itself. the external forces, we know, will not yield to the righteous man; but still he is absolute lord of most of the inner powers; and these are for ever spinning the web of nearly all our happiness and sorrow. we have said elsewhere that the sage, as he passes by, intervenes in countless dramas. indeed his mere presence suffices to arrest most of the calamities that arise from error or evil. they cannot approach him, or even those who are near him. a chance meeting with creature endowed with simple and loving wisdom has stayed the hands of men who else had committed countless acts of folly or wickedness; for in life most characters are subordinate, and it is chance alone that determines whether the track which they are to follow shall be that of suffering or peace. the atmosphere around jean-jacques rousseau was heavy with lamentation and treachery, delirium, deceit, and cunning; whereas jean paul moved in the midst of loyalty and nobility, the centre of peace and love. we subdue that in others which we have learned to subdue in ourselves. around the upright man there is drawn a wide circle of peace, within which the arrows of evil soon cease to fall; nor have his fellows the power to inflict moral suffering upon him. for indeed if our tears can flow because of our enemies' malice, it is only because we ourselves would fain make our enemies weep. if the shafts of envy can wound and draw blood, it is only because we ourselves have shafts that we wish to throw; if treachery can wring a groan from us, we must be disloyal ourselves, only those weapons can wound the soul that it has not yet sacrificed on the altar of love. . the dramas of virtue are played on a stage whose mysteries not even the wisest can fathom. it is only as the last word is spoken that the curtain is raised for an instant; we know nothing of all that preceded, of the brightness or gloom that enwrapped it. but of one thing at least the just man may be certain; it will be in an act of charity, or justice, that his destiny will meet him face to face. the blow must inevitably find him prepared, in a state of grace, as the christian calls it; in other words, in a state of inner happiness. and that in itself bars the door on evil destiny within us, and closes most of the gates by which external misfortune can enter. as our conception of duty and happiness gains in dignity, so does the sway of moral suffering become the more restricted and purer. and is not moral suffering the most tyrannical weapon in the armoury of destiny? our happiness mainly depends on the freedom that reigns within us; a freedom that widens with every good deed, and contracts beneath acts of evil. not metaphorically, but literally, does marcus aurelius free himself each time he discovers a new truth in indulgence, each time that he pardons, each time he reflects. still less of a metaphor is it to declare that macbeth enchains himself anew with every fresh crime. and if this be true of the great crimes of kings and the virtues of heroes, it is no less true of the humblest faults and most hidden virtues of ordinary life. many a youthful marcus aurelius is still about us; many a macbeth, who never stirs from his room. however imperfect our conception of virtue, still let us cling to it; for a moment's forgetfulness exposes us to all the malignant forces from without. the simplest lie to myself, buried though it may be in the silence of my soul, may yet be as dangerous to my inner liberty as an act of treachery on the marketplace. and from the moment that my inner liberty is threatened, destiny prowls around my external liberty as stealthily as a beast of prey that has long been tracking its victim. . can we conceive a situation in life wherein a man who is truly wise and noble can be made to suffer as profoundly as the man who follows evil? in this world it is far more certain that vice will be punished, than that virtue will meet with reward; yet we must bear in mind that it is the habit of crime to shriek aloud beneath its punishment, whereas virtue rewards itself in the silence that is the walled garden of its happiness. evil drags horrid catastrophe behind it; but an act of virtue is only a silent offering to the profoundest laws of life; and therefore, doubtless, does the balance of mighty justice seem more ready to incline beneath deeds of darkness than beneath those of light. but if we can scarcely believe that "happiness in crime" be possible, have we more warrant for faith in the "unhappiness of virtue"? we know that the executioner can stretch spinoza on the rack, and that terrible disease will spare antoninus pius no more than goneril or regan; but pain such as this belongs to the animal, not the human, side of man. wisdom has indeed sent science, the youngest of her sisters, into the realm of destiny, with the mission to bring the zone of physical suffering within ever-narrowing limits; but there are inaccessible regions within that realm, where disaster ever will rule. some stricken ones there will always be, victims to irreducible injustice; and yet will the true wisdom, in the midst of its sorrow, only be fortified thereby, only gain in self-reliance and humanity all that it, may lose in more mystic qualities. we become truly just only when it is finally borne home to us that we must search within ourselves for our model of justice. again, it is the injustice of destiny that restores man to his place in the universe. it is not well that he should for ever be pasting anxious glances about him, like the child that has strayed from its mother's side. nor need we believe that these disillusions must necessarily give rise to moral discouragement; for the truth that seems discouraging does in reality only transform the courage of those strong enough to accept it; and, in any event, a truth that disheartens, because it is true, is still of far more value than the most stimulating of falsehoods. but indeed no truth can discourage, whereas much that passes as courage only bears the semblance thereof. the thing that enfeebles the weak will but help to strengthen the strong. "do you remember the day," wrote a woman to her lover, "when we sat together by the window that looked on to the sea, and watched the meek procession of white-sailed ships as they followed each other into harbour? . . . ah! how that day comes back to me! . . . do you remember that one ship had a sail that was nearly black, and that she was the last to come in? and do you remember, too, that the hour of separation was upon us, and that the arrival of the last boat of all was to be our signal for departure? we might perhaps have found cause for sadness in the gloomy sail that fluttered at her mast; but we who loved each other had 'accepted' life, and we only smiled as we once more recognised the kinship of our thoughts." yes, it is thus we should act; and though we cannot always smile as the black sail heaves in sight, yet is it possible for us to find in our life something that shall absorb us to the exclusion of sadness, as her love absorbed the woman whose words i have quoted. complaints of injustice grow less frequent as the brain and the heart expand. it is well to remind ourselves that in this world, whose fruit we are, all that concerns us must necessarily be more conformable with our existence than the most beneficent law of our imagination. the time has arrived perhaps when man must learn to place the centre of his joys and pride elsewhere than within himself. as this idea takes firmer root within us, so do we become more conscious of our helplessness beneath its overwhelming force; yet is it at the same time borne home to us that of this force we ourselves form part; and even as we writhe beneath it, we are compelled to admire, as the youthful telemachus admired the power of his father's arm. our own instinctive actions awaken within us an eager curiosity, an affectionate, pleased surprise: why should we not train ourselves thus to regard the instinctive actions of nature? we love to throw the dim light of our reason on to our unconsciousness: why not let it play on what we term the unconsciousness of the universe? we are no less deeply concerned with the one than the other. "after he has become acquainted with the power that is in him," said a philosopher, "one of the highest privileges of man is to realise his individual powerlessness. out of the very disproportion between the infinite which kills us and this nothing that we are, there arises within us a sensation that is not without grandeur; we feel that we would rather be crushed by a mountain than done to death by a pebble, as in war we would rather succumb beneath the charge of thousands than fall victim to a single arm. and as our intellect lays bare to us the immensity of our helplessness, so does it rob defeat of its sting." who knows? we are already conscious of moments when the something that has conquered us seems nearer to ourselves than the part of us that has yielded. of all our characteristics, self-esteem is the one that most readily changes its home, for we are instinctively aware that it has never truly formed part of us. the self-esteem of the courtier who waits on the mighty king soon finds more splendid lodging in the king's boundless power; and the disgrace that may befall him will wound his pride the less for that it has descended from the height of a throne. were nature to become less indifferent, it would no longer appear so vast. our unfettered sense of the infinite cannot afford to dispense with one particle of the infinite, with one particle of its indifference; and there will ever remain something within our soul that would rather weep at times in a world that knows no limit, than enjoy perpetual happiness in a world that is hemmed in. if destiny were invariably just in her dealings with the wise, then doubtless would the existence of such a law furnish sufficient proof of its excellence; but as it is wholly indifferent, it is better so, and perhaps even greater; for what the actions of the soul may lose in importance thereby does but go to swell the dignity of the universe. and loss of grandeur to the sage there is none; for he is as profoundly sensitive to the greatness of nature as to the greatness that lurks within man. why harass our soul with endeavour to locate the infinite? as much of it as can be given to man will go to him who has learned to wonder. . do you know a novel of balzac, belonging to the "celibataires" series, called pierrette? it is not one of balzac's masterpieces, but it has points of much interest for us. it is the story of an orphaned breton girl, a sweet, innocent child, who is suddenly snatched away, by her evil star, from the grandparents who adore her, and transferred to the care of an aunt and uncle. monsieur rogron and his sister sylvia. a hard, gloomy couple, these two; retired shopkeepers, who live in a dreary house in the back streets of a dreary country town. their celibacy weighs heavily upon them; they are miserly, and absurdly vain; morose, and instinctively full of hatred. the poor inoffensive girl has hardly set foot in the house before her martyrdom begins. there are terrible questions of money and economy, ambitions to be gratified, marriages to be prevented, inheritances to be turned aside: complications of every kind. the neighbours and friends of the rogrons behold the long and painful sufferings of the victim with unruffled tranquillity, for their every natural instinct leads them to applaud the success of the stronger. and at last pierrette dies, as unhappily as she has lived; while the others all triumph--the rogrons, the detestable lawyer vinet, and all those who had helped them; and the subsequent happiness of these wretches remains wholly untroubled. fate would even seem to smile upon them; and balzac, carried away in spite of himself by the reality of it all, ends his story, almost regretfully, with these words: "how the social villainies of this world would thrive under our laws if there were no god!" we need not go to fiction for tragedies of this kind; there are many houses in which they are matters of daily occurrence. i have borrowed this instance from balzac's pages because the story lay there ready to hand; the chronicle, day by day, of the triumph of injustice. the very highest morality is served by such instances, and a great lesson is taught; and perhaps the moralists are wrong who try to weaken this lesson by finding excuses for the iniquities of fate. some are satisfied that god will give innocence its due reward. others tell us that in this case it is not the victim who has the greatest claim upon our sympathy. and these are doubtless right, from many points of view; for little pierrette, miserable though she was, and cruelly tormented, did yet experience joys that her tyrants never would know. in the midst of her sorrow, she remained gentle, and tender, and loving; and therein lies greater happiness than in hiding cruelty, hatred, and selfishness beneath a smile. it is sad to love and be unloved, but sadder still to be unable to love. and how great is the difference between the petty, sordid desires, the grotesque delights, of the rogrons, and the mighty longing that filled the child's soul as she looked forward to the time when injustice at last should cease! little wistful pierrette was perhaps no wiser than those about her; but before such as must bear unmerited suffering there stretches a wide horizon, which here and again takes in the joys that only the loftiest know; even as the horizon of the earth, though not seen from the mountain peak, would appear at times to be one with the corner-stone of heaven. the injustice we commit speedily reduces us to petty, material pleasures; but, as we revel in these, we envy our victim; for our tyranny has thrown open the door to joys whereof we cannot deprive him--joys that are wholly beyond our reach, joys that are purely spiritual. and the door that opens wide to the victim is sealed in the tyrant's soul; and the sufferer breathes a purer air than he who has made him suffer. in the hearts of the persecuted there is radiance, where those who persecute have only gloom; and is it not on the light within us that the wellbeing of happiness depends? he who brings sorrow with him stifles more happiness within himself than in the man he overwhelms. which of us, had he to choose, but would rather be pierrette than rogron? the instinct of happiness within us needs no telling that he who is morally right must be happier than he who is wrong, though the wrong be done from the height of a throne. and, even though the rogrons be unaware of their injustice, it alters nothing; for, be we aware or unaware of the evil we commit, the air we breathe will still be heavily charged. nay, more--to him who knows he does wrong there may come, perhaps, the desire to escape from his prison; but the other will die in his cell, without even his thoughts having travelled beyond the gloomy walls that conceal from him the true destiny of man. . why seek justice where it cannot be? and where can it be, save in our soul? its language is the natural language of the spirit of man; but this spirit must learn new words ere it can travel in the universe. justice is the very last thing of all wherewith the universe concerns itself. it is equilibrium that absorbs its attention; and what we term justice is truly nothing but this equilibrium transformed, as honey is nothing but a transformation of the sweetness found in the flower. outside man there is no justice; within him injustice cannot be. the body may revel in ill--gotten pleasure, but virtue alone can bring contentment to the soul. our inner happiness is measured out to us by an incorruptible judge and the mere endeavour to corrupt him still further reduces the sum of the final, veritable happiness he lets fall into the shining scale. it is lamentable enough that a rogron should be able to torture a helpless child, and darken the few hours of life the chance of the world had given; but injustice there would be only if his wickedness procured him the inner happiness and peace, the elevation of thought and habit, that long years spent in love and meditation had procured for spinoza and marcus aurelius. some slight intellectual satisfaction there may be in the doing of evil; but none the less does each wrongful deed clip the wings of our thoughts, till at length they can only crawl amidst all that is fleeting and personal. to commit an act of injustice is to prove we have not yet attained the happiness within our grasp. and in evil--reduce things to their primal elements, and you shall find that even the wicked are seeking some measure of peace, a certain up-lifting of soul. they may think themselves happy, and rejoice for such dole as may come to them; but would it have satisfied marcus aurelius, who knew the lofty tranquillity, the great quickening of the soul? show a vast lake to the child who has never beheld the sea, it will clap its hands and be glad, and think the sea is before it; but therefore none the less does the veritable sea exist. it may be that a man will find happiness in the puny little victories that his vanity, envy, or indifference win for him day after day. shall we begrudge him such happiness, we, whose eyes can see further? shall we strive for his consciousness of life, for the religion that pleases his soul, for the conception of the universe that justifies his cares? yet out of these things are the banks made between which happiness flows; and as they are, so shall the river be, in shallowness or in depth. he may believe that there is a god, or that there is no god; that all ends in this world, or that it is prolonged into the next; that all is matter, or that all is spirit. he will believe these things much as wise men believe them; but do you think his manner of belief can be the same? to look fearlessly upon life; to accept the laws of nature, not with meek resignation, but as her sons, who dare to search and question; to have peace and confidence within our soul--these are the beliefs that make for happiness. but to believe is not enough; all depends on how we believe. i may believe that there is no god, that i am self-contained, that my brief sojourn here serves no purpose; that in the economy of this world without limit my existence counts for as little as the evanescent hue of a flower--i may believe all this, in a deeply religious spirit, with the infinite throbbing within me; you may believe in one all-powerful god, who cherishes and protects you, yet your belief may be mean, and petty, and small. i shall be happier than you, and calmer, if my doubt is greater, and nobler, and more earnest than is your faith; if it has probed more deeply into my soul, traversed wider horizons, if there are more things it has loved. and if the thoughts and feelings on which my doubt reposes have become vaster and purer than those that support your faith, then shall the god of my disbelief become mightier and of supremer comfort than the god to whom you cling. for, indeed, belief and unbelief are mere empty words; not so the loyalty, the greatness and profoundness of the reasons wherefore we believe or do not believe. . we do not choose these reasons; they are rewards that have to be earned. those we have chosen are only slaves we have happened to buy; and their life is but feeble; they hold themselves shyly aloof, ever watching for a chance to escape. but the reasons we have deserved stand faithfully by us; they are so many pensive antigones, on whose help we may ever rely. nor can such reasons as these be forcibly lodged in the soul; for indeed they must have dwelt there from earliest days, have spent their childhood there, nourished on our every thought and action; and tokens recalling a life of devotion and love must surround them on every side. and as they throw deeper root--as the mists clear away from our soul and reveal a still wider horizon, so does the horizon of happiness widen also; for it is only in the space that our thoughts and our feelings enclose that our happiness can breathe in freedom. it demands no material space, but finds ever too narrow the spiritual fields we throw open; wherefore we must unceasingly endeavour to enlarge its territory, until such time as, soaring up on high, it finds sufficient aliment in the space which it does of itself fling open. then it is, and then only, that happiness truly illumines the most eternal, most human part of man; and indeed all other forms of happiness are merely unconscious fragments of this great happiness, which, as it reflects and looks before it, is conscious of no limit within itself or in all that surrounds it. . this space must dwindle daily in those who follow evil, seeing that their thoughts and feelings must of necessity dwindle also. but the man who has risen somewhat will soon forsake the ways of evil; for look deep down enough and you shall ever find its origin in straitened feeling and stunted thought. he does evil no longer, because his thoughts are purer and higher; and now that he is incapable of evil, his thoughts will become purer still. and thus do our thoughts and actions, having won their way into the placid heaven where no barrier restrains the soul, become as inseparable as the wings of a bird; and what to the bird was only a law of equilibrium is here transformed into a law of justice. . who can tell whether the satisfaction derived from evil can ever penetrate to the soul, unless there mingle with it a vague desire, a promise, a distant hope, of goodness or of pity? the joy of the wretch whose victim lies in his power is perhaps unredeemed in its gloom and futility, save by the thought of mercy that flashes across him. evil at times would seem compelled to beg a ray of light from virtue, to shed lustre on its triumph. is it possible for a man to smile in his hatred and not borrow the smile of love? but the smile will be short-lived, for here, as everywhere, there is no inner injustice. within the soul the high-water mark of happiness is always level with that of justice or charity--which words i use here indifferently, for indeed what is charity or love but justice with naught to do but count its jewels? the man who goes forth to seek his happiness in evil does merely prove thereby that he is less happy than the other who watches, and disapproves. and yet his object is identical with that of the upright man. he too is in search of happiness, of some sort of peace and certainty. of what avail to punish him? we do not blame the poor because their home is not a palace; it is sad enough to be compelled to live in a hovel. he whose eyes can see the invisible, knows that in the soul of the most unjust man there is justice still: justice, with all her attributes, her stainless garments and holy activity. he knows that the soul of the sinner is ever balancing peace and love, and the consciousness of life, no less scrupulously than the soul of philosopher, saint, or hero; that it watches the smiles of earth--and sky, and is no less aware of all whereby those smiles are destroyed, degraded, and poisoned. we are not wrong, perhaps, to be heedful of justice in the midst of a universe that heeds not at all; as the bee is not wrong to make honey in a world that itself can make none. but we are wrong to desire an external justice, since we know that it does not exist. let that which is in us suffice. all is for ever being weighed and judged in our soul. it is we who shall judge ourselves; or rather, our happiness is our judge. . it may be urged that virtue is subject to defeat and disappointment, no less than vice; but the defeats and disappointments of virtue bring with them no gloom or distress, for they do but tend to soothe and enlighten our thoughts. an act of virtue may sink into the void, but it is then, most of all, that we learn to gauge the depths of life and of soul; and often will it fall into these depths like a radiant stone, beside which our thoughts loom pale. with every vicious scheme that fails before the innocence of pierrette, madame rogron's soul shrivels anew; whereas the clemency of titus, falling on thankless soil, docs but induce him to lift his eyes on high, far beyond love or pardon. there is no gain in shutting out the world, though it be with walls of righteousness. the last gesture of virtue should be that of an angel flinging open the door. we should welcome our disillusions; for were it the will of destiny that our pardon should always transform an enemy into a brother, then should we go to our grave still unaware of all that springs to light within us beneath the act of unwise clemency, whose unwisdom we never regret. we should die without once having matched all that is best in our soul against the forces that hedge life around. the kindly deed that is wasted, the lofty or only loyal thought that falls on barren ground--these too have their value, for the light they throw differs far from the radiance triumphant virtue suffuses; and thus may we see many things in their differing aspect. there were surely much joy in the thought that love must invariably triumph; but greater joy is there still in tearing aside this illusion, am marching straight on to the truth. "man has been but too prone," said a philosopher, whom death carried off too soon--"man has been but too prone, through all the course of his history, to lodge his dignity within his errors, and to look upon truth as a thing that depreciated himself. it may sometimes seem less glorious than illusion, but it has the advantage of being true. in the whole domain of thought there is nothing loftier than truth." and there is no bitterness herein, for indeed to the sage truth can never be bitter. he, too, has had his longings in the past, has conceived that truth might move mountains, that a loving act might for ever soften the hearts of men; but to-day he has learned to prefer that this should not be so. nor is it overweening pride that thus has changed him; he does not think himself more virtuous than the universe; it is his insignificance in the universe that has been made clear to him. it is no longer for the spiritual fruit it bears that he tends the love of justice he has found implanted in his soul, but for the living flowers that spring up within him, and because of his deep respect for all created things. he has no curses for the ungrateful friend, nor even for ingratitude itself. he does not say, "i am better than that man," or "i shall not fall into that vice." but he is taught by ingratitude that benevolence contains joys that are greater than those that gratitude can bestow; joys that are less personal, but more in harmony with life as a whole. he finds more pleasure in the attempt to understand that which is, than in the struggle to believe that which he desires. for a long time he has been like the beggar who was suddenly borne away from his hut and lodged in a magnificent palace. he awoke and threw uneasy glances about him, seeking, in that immense hall, for the squalid things he remembered to have had in his tiny room. where were the hearth, the bed, the table, stool, and basin? the humble torch of his vigils still trembled by his side, but its light could not reach the lofty ceiling. the little wings of flame threw their feeble flicker on to a pillar close by, which was all that stood out from the darkness. but little by little his eyes grew accustomed to his new abode. he wandered through room after room, and rejoiced as profoundly at all that his torch left in darkness as at all that it threw into light. at first he could have wished in his heart that the doors had been somewhat less lofty, the staircases not quite so ample, the galleries less lost in gloom; but as he went straight before him, he felt all the beauty and grandeur of that which was yet so unlike the home of his dream. he rejoiced to discover that here bed and table were not the centre round which all revolved, as it had been with him in his hut. he was glad that the palace had not been built to conform with the humble habits his misery had forced upon him. he even learned to admire the things that defeated his hopes, for they enabled his eyes to see deeper. the sage is consoled and fortified by everything that exists, for indeed it is of the essence of wisdom to seek out all that exists, and to admit it within its circle. . wisdom even admits the rogrons; for she holds life of profounder interest than even justice or virtue; and where her attention is disputed by a virtue lost in abstraction, and by a humble, walled-in life, she will incline to the humble life, and not to the magnificent virtue that holds itself proudly aloof. it is of the nature of wisdom to despise nothing; indeed, in this world there is perhaps only one thing truly contemptible, and that thing is contempt itself. thinkers too often are apt to despise those who go through life without thinking. thought is doubtless of high value; our first endeavour should be to think as often and as well as we can; but, for all that, it is somewhat beside the mark to believe that the possession, or lack, of a certain faculty for handling general ideas can interpose an actual barrier between men. after all, the difference between the greatest thinker and the smallest provincial burgher is often only the difference between a truth that can sometimes express itself and a truth that can never crystallise into form. the difference is considerable--a gap, but not a chasm. the higher our thoughts ascend, the vainer and the more arbitrary seems the distinction between him who is thinking always and him who thinks not yet. the little burgher is full of prejudice and of passions at which we smile; his ideas are small and petty, and sometimes contemptible enough; and yet, place him side by side with the sage, before essential circumstance of life, before love, grief, death, before something that calls for true heroism, and it shall happen more than once that the sage will turn to his humble companion as to the guardian of a truth no less profound, no less deeply human, than his own. there are moments when the sage realises, that his spiritual treasures are naught; that it is only a few words, or habits, that divide him from other men; there are moments when he even doubts the value of those words. those are the moments when wisdom flowers and sends forth blossom. thought may sometimes deceive; and the thinker who goes astray must often retrace his footsteps to the spot whence those who think not have never moved away, where they still remain faithfully seated round the silent, essential truth. they are the guardians of the watch-fires of the tribe; the others take lighted torches and go wandering abroad; but when the air grows heavy and threatens the feeble flame, then is it well to turn back and draw close to the watch-fires once more. these fires seem never to stir from the spot where they always have been; but in truth they ever are moving, keeping time with the worlds; and their flame marks the hour of humanity on the dial of the universe. we know exactly how much the inert forces owe to the thinker; we forget the deep indebtedness of the thinker to inert force. in a world where all were thinkers, more than one indispensable truth might perhaps for ever be lost. for indeed the thinker must never lose touch with those who do not think, as his thoughts would then quickly cease to be just or profound. to disdain is only too easy, not so to understand; but in him who is truly wise there passes no thought of disdain, but it will, sooner or later, evolve into full comprehension. the thought that can travel scornfully over the heads of that great silent throng without recognising its myriad brothers and sisters that are slumbering there in its midst, is only too often merely a sterile, vicious dream. we do well to remind ourselves at times that the spiritual, no less than the physical, atmosphere demands more nitrogen than oxygen for the air to be breathed by man. . it need not surprise us that thinkers like balzac should have loved to dwell on these humble lives. eternal sameness runs through them, and yet does each century mark profoundest change in the atmosphere that enwraps them. the sky above has altered, but these simple lives have ever the self-same gestures; and it is these unchanging gestures that tell of the altered sky. a great deed of heroism fascinates us; our eye cannot travel beyond the act itself; but insignificant thoughts and deeds lead us on to the horizon beyond them; and is not the shining star of human wisdom always situate on the horizon? if we could see these things as nature sees them, with her thoughts and feelings, we should realise that the uniform mediocrity that runs through these lives cannot truly be mediocre, from the mere fact of its uniformity. and indeed this matters but little; we can never judge another soul above the high-water mark of our own; and however insignificant a creature may seem to us at first, as our own soul emerges from shadow, so does the shadow lift from him. there is nothing our eyes behold that is too small to deserve our love; and there where we cannot love, we have only to raise our lamp till it reaches the level of love, and then throw its light around. let only one ray of this light go forth every day from our soul, we may then be content. it matters not where the light falls. there is not a thing in this world whereupon your glance or your thought can rest but contains within it more treasure than either of these can fathom; nor is there a thing so small but it has a vastness within that the light that a soul can spare can, at best, but faintly illumine. . is not the very essence of human destiny, stripped of the details that bewilder us, to be found in the most ordinary lives? the mighty struggle of morality on the heights is glorious to witness; but so will a keen observer profoundly admire a magnificent tree that stands alone in a desert, and, his contemplation over, once more go back to the forest, where there are no marvellous trees, but trees in countless abundance. the immense forest is doubtless made up of ordinary branches and stems; but is it not vast, is it not as it should be, seeing that it is the forest? not by the exceptional shall the last word ever be spoken; and indeed what we call the sublime should be only a clearer, profounder insight into all that is perfectly normal. it is of service, often, to watch those on the peaks who do battle; but it is well, too, not to forget those in the valley below, who fight not at all. as we see all that happens to these whose life knows no struggle; as we realise how much must be conquered in us before we can rightly distinguish their narrower joys from the joy known to them who are striving on high, then perhaps does the struggle itself appear to become less important; but, for all that, we love it the more. and the reward is the sweeter to us for the silence that enwraps its coming; nor is this from a desire to keep our happiness secret--such as a crafty courtier might feel who hugs fortune's favours to him--but, perhaps, because it is only when happiness thus whispers low in our ear, and no other men know, that it is not according us joys that are filched from our brother's share. then do we no longer say to ourselves, as we look on those brothers: "how great is the distance between such as these and myself," but in all simplicity do we murmur at last to ourselves: "the loftier my thoughts become, the less is there to divide me from the humblest of my fellow-creatures, from those who are most plentiful on earth; and every step that i take towards an uncertain ideal, is a step that brings me the nearer to those whom i once despised, in the vanity and ignorance of my earliest days." after all, what is a humble life? it is thus we choose to term the life that ignores itself, that drains itself dry in the place of its birth--a life whose feelings and thoughts, whose desires and passions, entwine themselves around the most insignificant things. but it suffices to look at a life for that life to seem great. a life in itself can be neither great nor small; the largeness is all in the eye that surveys it; and an existence that all men hold to be lofty and vast, is one that has long been accustomed to look loftily on itself from within. if you have never done this, your life must be narrow; but the man who watches you live will discern, in the very obscurity of the corner you fill, an element of horizon, a foothold to cling to, whence his thoughts will rise with surer and more human strength. there is not an existence about us but at first seems colourless, dreary, lethargic: what can our soul have in common with that of an elderly spinster, a slow-witted ploughman, a miser who worships his gold? can any connection exist between such as these and a deep-rooted feeling, a boundless love for humanity, an interest time cannot stale? but let a balzac step forward and stand in the midst of them, with his eyes and ears on the watch; and the emotion that lived and died in an old-fashioned country parlour shall as mightily stir our heart, shall as unerringly find its way to the deepest sources of life, as the majestic passion that ruled the life of a king and shed its triumphant lustre from the dazzling height of a throne. "there are certain little agitations," says balzac in the cure de tours, the most admirable of all his studies of humble life--"there are certain little agitations that are capable of generating as much passion within the soul as would suffice to direct the most important social interests. is it not a mistake to imagine that time only flies swiftly with those whose hearts are devoured by mighty schemes, which fret and fever their life? not an hour sped past the abbe troubert but was as animated, as laden with its burden of anxious thought, as lined with pleading hope and deep despair, as could be the most desperate hour of gambler, plotter, or lover. god alone can tell how much energy is consumed in the triumphs we achieve over men, and things, and ourselves. we may not be always aware whither our steps are leading, but are only too fully conscious of the wearisomeness of the journey. and yet--if the historian may be permitted to lay aside, for one moment, the story he is telling, and to assume the role of the critic--as you cast your eyes on the lives of these old maids and these two priests, seeking to learn the cause of the sorrow which twisted their heartstrings, it will be revealed to you, perhaps, that certain passions must be experienced by man for there to develop within him the qualities that make a life noble, that widen its area, and stifle the egoism natural to all." he speaks truly. not for its own sake, always, should we love the light, but for the sake of what it illumines. the fire on the mountain shines brightly, but there are few men on the mountain; and more service may often be rendered by the torchlight, there where the crowd is. it is in the humble lives that is found the substance of great lives; and by watching the narrowest feelings does enlargement come to our own. nor is this from any repugnance these feelings inspire, but because they no longer accord with the majestic truth that controls us. it is well to have visions of a better life than that of every day, but it is the life of every day from which elements of a better life must come. we are told we should fix our eyes on high, far above life; but perhaps it is better still that our soul should look straight before it, and that the heights whereupon it should yearn to lay all its hopes and its dreams should be the mountain peaks that stand clearly out from the clouds that gild the horizon. . this brings us back once again to external destiny; but the tears that external suffering wrings from us are not the only tears known to man. the sage whom we love must dwell in the midst of all human passions, for only on the passions known to the heart can his wisdom safely be nourished. they are nature's artisans, sent by her to help us construct the palace of our consciousness--of our happiness, in other words; and he who rejects these workers, deeming that he is able, unaided, to raise all the stones of life, will be compelled for ever to lodge his soul in a bare and gloomy cell. the wise man learns to purify his passions; to stifle them can never be proof of wisdom. and, indeed, these things are all governed by the position we take as we stand on the stairs of time. to some of us moral infirmities are so many stairs tending downwards; to others they represent steps that lead us on high. the wise man perchance may do things that are done by the unwise man also; but the latter is forced by his passions to become the abject slave of his instincts, whereas the sage's passions will end by illumining much that was vague in his consciousness. to love madly, perhaps, is not wise; still, should he love madly, more wisdom will doubtless come to him than if he had always loved wisely. it is not wisdom, but the most useless form of pride that can flourish in vacancy and inertia. it is not enough to know what should be done, not though we can unerringly declare what saint or hero would do. such things a book can teach in a day. it is not enough to intend to live a noble life and then retire to a cell, there to brood over this intention. no wisdom thus acquired can truly guide or beautify the soul; it is of as little avail as the counsels that others can offer. "it is in the silence that follows the storm," says a hindu proverb, "and not in the silence before it, that we should search for the budding flower." . the earnest wayfarer along the paths of life does but become the more deeply convinced, as his travels extend, of the beauty, the wisdom, and truth of the simplest and humblest laws of existence. their uniformity, the mere fact of their being so general, such matter of every day, are in themselves enough to compel his admiration. and little by little he holds the abnormal ever less highly, and neither seeks nor desires it; for it is soon borne home to him, as he reflects on the vastness of nature, with her slow, monotonous movement, that the ridiculous pretensions our ignorance and vanity put forth are the most truly abnormal of all. he no longer vexes the hours as they pass with prayer for strange or marvellous adventure; for these come only to such as have not yet learned to have faith in life and themselves. he no longer awaits, with folded arms, the chance for superhuman effort; for he feels that he exists in every act that is human. he no longer requires that death, or friendship, or love should come to him decked out with garlands illusion has woven, or escorted by omen, coincidence, presage; but they come in their bareness and simpleness, and are always sure of his welcome. he believes that all that the weak, and the idle, and thoughtless consider sublime and exceptional, that the fall equivalent for the most heroic deed, can be found in the simple life that is bravely and wholly faced. he no longer considers himself the chosen son of the universe; but his happiness, consciousness, peace of mind, have gained all that his pride has lost. and, this point once attained, then will the miraculous adventures of a st. theresa or jean-de-la-croix, the ecstasy of the mystics, the supernatural incidents of legendary loves, the star of an alexander or a napoleon--then will all these seem the merest childish illusions compared with the healthy wisdom of a loyal, earnest man, who has no craving to soar above his fellows so as to feel what they cannot feel, but whose heart and brain find the light that they need in the unchanging feelings of all. the truest man will never be he who desires to be other than man. how many there are that thus waste their lives, scouring the heavens for sight of the comet that never will come; but disdaining to look at the stars, because these can be seen by all, and, moreover, are countless in number! this craving for the extraordinary is often the special weakness of ordinary men, who fail to perceive that the more normal, and ordinary, and uniform events may appear to us, the more are we able to appreciate the profound happiness that this uniformity enfolds, and the nearer are we drawn to the truth and tranquillity of the great force by which we have being. what can be less abnormal than the ocean, which covers two-thirds of the globe; and yet, what is there more vast? there is not a thought or a feeling, not an act of beauty or nobility, whereof man is capable, but can find complete expression in the simplest, most ordinary life; and all that cannot be expressed therein must of necessity belong to the falsehoods of vanity, ignorance, or sloth. . does this mean that the wise man should expect no more from life than other men; that he should love mediocrity and limit his desires; content himself with little and restrict the horizon of his happiness, because of the fear lest happiness escape him? by no means; for the wisdom is halting and sickly that can too freely renounce a legitimate human hope. many desires in man may be legitimate still, notwithstanding the disapproval of reason, sometimes unduly severe. but the fact that our happiness does not seem extraordinary to those about us by no means warrants our thinking that we are not happy. the wiser we are, the more readily do we perceive that happiness lies in our grasp; that it has no more enviable gift than the uneventful moments it brings. the sage has learnt to quicken and love the silent substance of life. in this silent substance only can faithful joys be found, for abnormal happiness never ventures to go with us to the tomb. the day that comes and goes without special whisper of hope or happiness should be as dear to us, and as welcome, as any one of its brothers. on its way to us it has traversed the same worlds and the self-same space as the day that finds us on a throne or enthralled by a mighty love. the hours are less dazzling, perhaps, that its mantle conceals; but at least we may rely more fully on their humble devotion. there are as many eternal minutes in the week that goes by in silence, as in the one that tomes boldly towards us with mighty shout and clamour. and indeed it is we who tell ourselves all that the hour would seem to say; for the hour that abides with us is ever a timid and nervous guest, that will smile if its host be smiling, or weep if his eyes be wet. it has been charged with no mission to bring happiness to us; it is we who should comfort the hour that has sought refuge within our soul. and he is wise who always finds words of peace that he can whisper low to his guest on the threshold. we should let no opportunity for happiness escape us, and the simplest causes of happiness should be ever stored in our soul. it is well, at first, to know happiness as men conceive it, so that, later, we may have good reason for preferring the happiness of our choice. for, herein, it is not unlike what we are told of love. to know what real love should be we must have loved profoundly, and that first love must have fled. it is well to know moments of material happiness, since they teach us where to look for loftier joys; and all that we gain, perhaps, from listening to the hours that babble aloud in their wantonness is that we are slowly learning the language of the hours whose voice is hushed. and of these there are many; they come in battalions, so close on the heels of each other that treachery and flight cannot be; wherefore it is on them alone that the sage should depend. for he will be happy whose eyes have learned to detect the hidden smile and mysterious jewels of the myriad, nameless hours; and where are these jewels to be found, if not in ourselves? . but there is a kind of ignoble discretion that has least in common, of all things, with the wisdom we speak of here; for we had far better spend our energy round even fruitless happiness, than slumber by the fireside awaiting joys that never may come. only the joys that have been offered to all, and none have accepted, will knock at his door who refuses himself to stir forth. nor is the other man wise who holds the reins too tight on his feelings, and halts them when reason commands, or experience whispers. the friend is not wise who will not confide in his friend, remembering always that friendships may come to an end; nor the lover, who draws back for fear lest he may find shipwreck in love. for here, were we twenty times unfortunate, it is still only the perishable portion of our energy for happiness that suffers; and what is wisdom after all but this same energy for happiness cleansed of all that is impure? to be wise we must first learn to be happy, that we may attach ever smaller importance to what happiness may be in itself. we should be as happy as possible, and our happiness should last as long as is possible; for those who can finally issue forth from self by the portal of happiness, know infinitely wider freedom than those who pass through the gate of sadness. the joy of the sage illumines his heart and his soul alike, whereas sadness most often throws light on the heart alone. one might almost compare the man who had never been happy with a traveller whose every journey had been taken by night. moreover, there is in happiness a humility deeper and nobler, purer and wider, than sorrow can ever procure. there is a certain humility that ranks with parasitic virtues, such as sterile self-sacrifice, arbitrary chastity, blind submission, fanatic renouncement, penitence, false shame, and many others, which have from time immemorial turned aside from their course the waters of human morality, and forced them into a stagnant pool, around which our memory still lingers. nor do i speak of a cunning humility that is often mere calculation, or, taken at its best, a timidity that has its root in pride--a loan at usury that our vanity of to-day extends to our vanity of to-morrow. and even the sage at times conceives it well to lower himself in his own self-esteem, and to deny superior merits that are his when comparing himself with other men. humility of this kind may throw a charm around our ways of life, but yet, sincere as it doubtless may be, it nevertheless attacks the loyalty due to ourselves, which we should value high above all. and it surely implies a certain timidity of conscience; whereas the conscience of the sage should harbour neither timidity nor shame. but by the side of this too personal humility there exists another humility that extends to all things, that is lofty and strong, that has fed on all that is best in our brain and our heart and our soul. it is a humility that defines the limit of the hopes and adventures of men; that lessens us only to add to the grandeur of all we behold; that teaches us where we should look for the true importance of man, which lies not in that which he is, but in that which his eyes can take in, which he strives to accept and to grasp. it is true that sorrow will also bring us to the realm of this humility; but it hastens us through, branching off on the road to a mysterious gate of hope, on whose threshold we lose many days; whereas happiness, that after the first few hours has nothing else left to do, will lead us in silence through path after path till we reach the most unforeseen, inaccessible places of all. it is when the sage knows he possesses at last all man is allowed to possess, that he begins to perceive that it is his manner of regarding what man may never possess, that determines the value of such things as he truly may call his own. and therefore must we long have sunned ourselves in the rays of happiness before we can truly conceive an independent view of life. we must be happy, not for happiness' sake, but so that we may learn to see distinctly that which vain expectation of happiness would for ever hide from our gaze. . economy avails us nothing in the region of the heart, for it is there that men gather the harvest of life's very substance, it were better that nothing were done there than that things should be done by halves; and that which we have not dared to risk is most surely lost of all. to limit our passions is only to limit ourselves, and we are the losers by just so much as we hoped to gain. there are certain fastnesses within our soul that lie buried so deep that love alone dare venture down; and it returns laden with undreamed-of jewels, whose lustre can only be seen as they pass from our open hand to the hand of one we love. and indeed it would seem that so clear a light springs from our hands as they open thus to give, that it penetrates substance too opaque to yield to the mysterious rays just discovered. . it avails us nothing unduly to bemoan our errors or losses. for happen what may to the man of simple faith, still, at the last minute of the sorrow-laden hour, at the end of the week or year, still will he find some cause for gladness as he turns his eyes within. little by little he has learned to regret without tears. he is as a father might be who returns to his home in the evening, his day's work done. he may find his children in tears perhaps, or playing dangerous, forbidden games; the furniture scattered, glasses broken, a lamp overturned; but shall he therefore despair? it would certainly have been better had the children been more obedient, had they quietly learned their lessons---this would have been more in keeping with every moral theory; but how unreasonable the father who, in the midst of his harsh rebuke, could withhold a smile as he turned his head away! the children have acted unwisely, perhaps, in their exuberance of life; but why should this distress him? all is well, so long as he return home at night, so long as he ever keep about him the key of the guardian dwelling. as we look into ourselves, and pass in review what our heart, and brain, and soul have attempted and carried through while we were away, the benefit lies far more in the searching glance itself than in the actual inspection. and if the hours have not once let fall their mysterious girdle on their way past our threshold; if the rooms be as empty as on the day of departure, and those within have but sat with folded arms and worked not at all---still, as we enter, shall something be learned from our echoing footsteps, of the extent, and the clearness, and the fidelity, of our home. . no day can be uneventful, save in ourselves alone; but in the day that seems most uneventful of all, there is still room for the loftiest destiny; for there is far more scope for such destiny within ourselves than on the whole continent of europe. not by the extent of empire is the range of destiny governed, but, indeed, by the depth of our soul. it is in our conception of life that real destiny is found; when at last there is delicate balance between the insoluble questions of heaven and the wavering response of our soul. and these questions become the more tranquil as they seem to comprise more and more; and to the sage, whatever may happen will still widen the scope of the questions, still give deeper confidence to the reply. speak not of destiny when the event that has brought you joy or sadness has still altered nothing in your manner of regarding the universe. all that remains to us when love and glory are over, when adventures and passions have faded into the past, is but a deeper and ever-deepening sense of the infinite; and if we have not that within us, then are we destitute indeed. and this sense of the infinite is more than a mere assemblage of thoughts, which, indeed, are but the innumerable steps that thither lead. there is no happiness in happiness itself, unless it help our comprehension of the rest, unless it help us in some measure to conceive that the very universe itself must rejoice in existence. the sage who has attained a certain height will find peace in all things that happen; and the event that saddens him, as other men, tarries but an instant ere it goes to strengthen his deep perception of life. he who has learned to see in all things only matter for unselfish wonder, can be deprived of no satisfaction whatever without there spring to sudden life within him, from the mere feeling that this joy can be dispensed with, a high protecting thought that enfolds him in its light. that destiny is beautiful wherein each event, though charged with joy or sadness, has brought reflection to us, has added something to our range of soul, has given us greater peace wherewith to cling to life. and, indeed, the accident that robs us of our love, that leads us along in triumph, or even that seats us on a throne, reveals but little of the workings of destiny; which, indeed, lie far more in the thoughts that arise in our mind as we look at the men around us, at the woman we love; as we dwell on the feelings within us; as we fix our eyes on the evening sky with its crown of indifferent stars. . a woman of extraordinary beauty and talent, possessed of the rarest qualities of mind and soul, was one day asked by a friend, to whom she seemed the most perfect creature on earth: "what are your plans? can any man be worthy of your love? your future puzzles me. i cannot conceive a destiny that shall be lofty enough for a soul such as yours." he knew but little of destiny. to him, as to most men, it meant thrones, triumphs, dazzling adventures: these things seemed to him the sum of a human destiny; whereby he did but prove that he knew not what destiny was. and, in the first place, why this disdain of to-day? to disdain to-day is to prove that yesterday has been misunderstood. to disdain to-day is to declare oneself a stranger, and what can you hope to do in a world where you shall ever pass as a stranger? to-day has this advantage over yesterday, that it exists and was made for us. be to-day what it will, it has wider knowledge than yesterday; and by that alone does it become more beautiful, and vaster. why should we think that the woman i speak of would have known a more brilliant destiny in venice, florence, or rome? her presence might have been sought at magnificent festival, and her beauty have found a fitting surrounding in exquisite landscape. she might have had princes and kings, the elect of the world, at her feet; and perhaps it had needed but one of her smiles to add to a great nation's gladness, to ennoble or chasten the thought of an epoch. whereas here all her life will be spent among four or five people--four or five souls that know of her soul, and love her. it may be that she never shall stir from her dwelling; that of her life, of her thoughts, and the strength that is in her, there will remain not a trace among men. it may be that her beauty, her force and her instinct for good, will be buried within her: in her heart and the hearts of the few who are near. and even then, and if this be so, the soul of this woman doubtless shall find its own thing to do. the mighty gates through which we must pass to a helpful and noteworthy life no longer grate on their hinges with the deafening clamour of old. they are smaller, perhaps, than they were; less vast and imposing; but their number is greater to-day, and they admit us, in silence, to paths that extend very far. and even though the home of this woman be not brightened by one single gleam from without, will she have failed to fulfil her destiny because her life is lived in the shade? cannot destiny be beautiful and complete in itself, without help from without? as the soul that has truly conquered surveys the triumphs of the past, it is glad of those only that brought with them a deeper knowledge of life and a nobler humility; of those that lent sweeter charm to the moments when love, glory, and enthusiasm having faded away, the fruit that a few hours of boiling passion had ripened was gathered in meditation and silence. when the feasting is over: when charity, kindness and valorous deed all lie far behind us: what is there left to the soul but some stray recollections, a gain of some consciousness, and a feeling that helps us to look on our place in the world with more knowledge and less apprehension--a feeling blent with some wisdom, from the numberless things it has learned? when the hour for rest has sounded--as it must sound every night and at every moment of solitude--when the gaudy vestments of love, and glory, and power fall helplessly round us; what is it we can take with us as we seek refuge within ourselves, where the happiness of each day is measured by the knowledge the day has brought us, by the thoughts and the confidence it has helped us to acquire? is our true destiny to be found in the things which take place about us, or in that which abides in our soul? "be a man's power or glory never so great," said a philosopher, "his soul soon learns how to value the feelings that spring from external events; and as he perceives that no increase has come to his physical faculties, that these remain wholly unchanged, neither altered nor added to, then does the sense of his nothingness burst full upon him. the king who should govern the world must still, like the rest of his brothers, revolve in a limited circle, whose every law must be obeyed; and on his impressions and thoughts must his happiness wholly depend." the impressions his memory retains, we might add, because they have chastened his mind; for the souls that we deal with here will retain such impressions only as have quickened their sense of goodness, as have made them a little more noble. is it impossible to find--it matters not where, nor how great be the silence--the same undlssolvable matter that lurks in the cup of the noblest external existence? and seeing that nothing is truly our own till it faithfully follow us into the darkness and silence, why should the thing that has sprung to life there be less faithful in silence and darkness? but we will pursue this no farther, for it leads to a wisdom of over-much theory. for all that a brilliant exterior destiny is not indispensable, still should we always regard it as wholly desirable, and pursue it as keenly as though we valued it highly. it behoves the sage to knock at the door of every temple of glory, of every dwelling where happiness, love, and activity are to be found. and if his strenuous effort and long expectation remain unrewarded, if no door fly open, still may he find, perhaps, in the mere expectation and effort an equivalent for all the emotions and light that he sought. "to act," says barres, "is to annex to our thoughts vaster fields of experience." it is also, perhaps, to think more quickly than thought, as more completely; for we no longer think with the brain alone, but with every atom of life. it is to wrap round with dream the profoundest sources of thought, and then to confront them with fact. but to act is not always to conquer. to attempt, to be patient, and wait--these, too, may be action; as also, to hear, to watch, and be silent. if the lot of the woman we speak of had been cast in athens, or florence, or rome, there had been, in her life, certain motives of grandeur, occasions for beauty and happiness, that she may well never meet with to-day. and she is the poorer for lacking the efforts she might have put forth, the memory of what might have been done; for in these lies a force that is precious and vital, that often indeed will transform many more things within us, than a thought which is morally, mentally worth many thousand such efforts and memories. and indeed it is therefore alone that we should desire a brilliant, feverish destiny; because it summons to life certain forces and feelings that would otherwise never emerge from the slumberous peace of an over-tranquil existence. but from the moment we know, or even suspect, that these feelings lie dormant within us, we are already giving life to all that is best in those feelings; and it is as though we were, for one brief moment, looking down upon a glorious external destiny from heights such destiny shall only attain at the end of its days; as though we were prematurely gathering the fruit of the tree, which it shall itself still find barren until many a storm has passed. . last night, re-reading saint-simon--with whom we seem to ascend a lofty tower, whence our gaze rests on hundreds of human destinies, astir in the valley below--i understood what a beautiful destiny meant to the instinct of man. it would doubtless have puzzled saint-simon himself to have told what it was that he loved and admired in some of his heroes, whom he enwraps in a sort of resigned, and almost unconscious, respect. thousands of virtues that he esteemed highly have ceased to exist to-day, and many a quality now seems petty indeed that he commended in some of his great ones. and yet are there, unperceived as it were by him, four or five men in the midst of the glittering crowd hard by the monarch's throne, four or five earnest benevolent faces on whom our eye still rests gladly; though saint-simon gives them no special attention or thought, for in his heart he looks with disfavour on the ideas that govern their life. fenelon is there; the dukes of chevreuse and beauvilliers; there is monsieur le dauphin. their happiness is no greater than that of the rest of mankind. they achieve no marked success, they gain no resplendent victory, they live as the others live--in the fret and expectation of the thing that we choose to call happiness, because it has yet to come. fenelon incurs the displeasure of the crafty, bigoted king, who, for all his pride, would resent the most trivial offence with the humbleness of humblest vanity; who was great in small things, and petty in all that was great--for such was louis xiv. fenelon is condemned, persecuted, exiled. the dukes of chevreuse and beauvilliers continue to hold important office at court, but none the less deem it prudent to live in a kind of voluntary retirement. the dauphin is not in favour with the king; a powerful, envious clique are for ever intriguing against him, and they finally succeed in crushing his youthful military glory. he lives in the midst of disgrace, misadventure, disaster, that seem irreparable in the eyes of that vain and servile court; for disgrace and disaster assume the proportions the manners of the day accord. finally he dies, a few days after the death of the wife he had loved so tenderly. he dies--poisoned, perhaps, as she too; the thunderbolt falling just as the very first rays of kingly favour, whereon he had almost ceased to count, were stealing over his threshold. such were the troubles and misfortunes, the sorrows and disappointments, that wrapped these lives round; and yet, as we look on this little group, standing firm and silent in the midst of the feverish, intermittent glitter of the rest, then do these four destinies seem truly beautiful to us, and enviable. through all their vicissitudes one common light shines through them. the great soul of fenelon illumines them all. fenelon is faithful to his loftiest thoughts of piety, meekness, wonder, justice, and love; and the other three are faithful to him, who was their master and friend. and what though the mystic ideas of fenelon be no longer shared by us: what though the ideas that we cling to ourselves, and deem the profoundest and noblest--the ideas that live at the root of our every conviction of life, that have served as the basis of all our moral happiness--what though these should one day fall in ruins behind us, and only arouse a smile among such as believe that they have found other thoughts still, which to them seem more human, and final? thought, of itself, is possessed of no vital importance; it is the feelings awakened within us by thought that ennoble and brighten our life. thought is our aim, perhaps; but it may be with this as with many a journey we take--the place we are bound for may interest us less than the journey itself, the people we meet on the road, the unforeseen that may happen. here, as everywhere, it is only the sincerity of human feeling that abides. as for a thought, we know not, it may be deceptive; but the love, wherewith we have loved it, will surely return to our soul; nor can a single drop of its clearness or strength be abstracted by error. of that perfect ideal that each of us strives to build up in himself, the sum total of all our thoughts will help only to model the outline; but the elements that go to construct it, and keep it alive, are the purified passion, unselfishness, loyalty, wherein these thoughts have had being. the extent of our love for the thing which we hold to be true is of greater importance than even the truth itself. does not love bring more goodness to us than thought can ever convey? loyally to love a great error may well be more helpful than meanly to serve a great truth; for in doubt, no less than in faith, are passion and love to be found. some doubts are as generous and passionate as the very noblest convictions. be a thought of the loftiest, surest, or of the most profoundly uncertain, the best that it has to offer is still the chance that it gives us of loving some one thing wholly, without reserve. whether it be to man, or a god; to country, to world or to error, that i truly do yield myself up, the precious ore that shall some day be found buried deep in the ashes of love will have sprung from the love itself, and not from the thing that i loved. the sincerity of an attachment, its simplicity, firmness, and zeal--these leave a track behind them that time can never efface. all passes away and changes; it may be that all is lost, save only the glow of this ardour, fertility, and strength of our heart. . "never did man possess his soul in such peace as he," says saint-simon of one of them, who was surrounded on all sides by malice, and scheming, and snares. and further on he speaks of the "wise tranquillity" of another, and this "wise tranquillity" pervades every one of those whom he terms the "little flock." the "little flock," truly, of fidelity to all that was noblest in thought; the "little flock" of friendship, loyalty, self-respect, and inner contentment, that pass along, radiant with peace and simplicity, in the midst of the lies and ambitions, the follies and treacheries, of versailles. they are not saints, in the vulgar sense of the word. they have not fled to the depths of forest or desert, or sought egotistic shelter in narrow cells. they are sages, who remain within life and the things that are real. it is not their piety that saves them; it is not in god alone that their soul has found strength. to love god, and to serve him with all one's might, will not suffice to bring peace and strength to the soul of man. it is only by means of the knowledge and thought we have gained and developed by contact with men that we can learn how god should be loved; for, notwithstanding all things, the human soul remains profoundly human still. it may be taught to cherish the invisible, but it will ever find far more actual nourishment in the virtue or feeling that is simply and wholly human, than in the virtue or passion divine. if there come towards us a man whose soul is truly tranquil and calm, we may be certain that human virtues have given him his tranquillity and his calmness. were we permitted to peer into the secret recesses of hearts that are now no more, we might discover, perhaps, that the fountain of peace whereat fenelon slaked his thirst every night of his exile lay rather in his loyalty to madame guyon in her misfortune, in his love for the slandered, persecuted dauphin, than in his expectation of eternal reward; rather in the irreproachable human conscience within him, overflowing with fidelity and tenderness, than in the hopes he cherished as a christian. . admirable indeed is the serenity of this "little flock!" no virtue, here, to kindle dazzling fires on the mountain, but heart and soul that are alive with flame. no heroism but that of love, of confidence and sincerity, that remember and are content to wait. some men there are whose virtue issues from them with a noise of clanging gates; in others it dwells as silent as the maid who never stirs from home, who sits thoughtfully by the fireside, always ready to welcome those who enter from the cold without. there is less need of heroic hours, perhaps, in a beautiful life, than of weeks that are grave, and uniform, and pure. it may be that the soul that is loyal and perfectly just is more precious than the one that is tender or full of devotion it will enter less wholly perhaps, and with less exaltation, into the more exuberant adventures of life; but in the events that occur every day we can trust it more fully, rely more completely upon it; and is there a man, after all, no matter how strange and delirious and brilliant his life may have been, who has not spent the great bulk of his time in the midst of most ordinary incident? in our very sublimest hour, as we stand in the midst of the dazzling circles it throws, are we not startled to find that the habits and thoughts of our soberest hour are whirling around with the rest? we must always come back to our normal life, that is built on the solid earth and primitive rock. we are not called upon to contest each day with dishonour, despair, or death; but it is imperative, perhaps, that i should be able to tell myself, at every hour of sadness, that there exists, somewhere, an unchangeable, unconquerable soul that has drawn near to my soul--a soul that is faithful and silent, blind to all that it deems not conformable with the truth. we can only have praise for heroism, and for surpassingly generous deeds; but more praise still--as it demands a more vigilant strength--for the man who never allows an inferior thought to seduce him; who leads a less glorious life, perhaps, but one of more uniform worth. let us sometimes, in our meditations, bring our desire for moral perfection to the level of daily truth, and be taught how far easier it is to confer occasional benefit than never to do any harm; to bring occasional happiness than never be cause of tears. . their refuge, their "firm rock," as saint-simon calls it, lay in each other, and, above all, in themselves; and all that was blameless within their soul became steadfastness in the rock. a thousand substances go to form the foundations of this "firm rock," but all that we hold to be blameless within us will sink to its centre and base. it is true that our standard of conduct may often be sadly at fault; and the vilest of men has a moment each night when he proudly surveys some detestable thought, that seems wholly blameless to him. but i speak of a virtue, here, that is higher than everyday virtue; and the most ordinary man is aware what a virtue becomes, when it is ordinary virtue no longer. moral beauty, indeed, though it be of the rarest kind, never passes the comprehension of the most narrow-minded of men; and no act is so readily understood as the act that is truly sublime. we may admire a deed profoundly, perhaps, and yet not rise to its height; but it is imperative that we should not abide in the darkness that covers the thing we blame. many a happiness in life, as many a disaster, is due to chance alone; but the peace within us can never be governed by chance. some souls, i know, for ever are building; others have preference for ruins; and others, still, will wander, their whole life through, seeking shelter beneath strange roofs. and difficult as it may be to transform the instincts that dwell in the soul, it is well that those who build not should be made aware of the joy that the others experience as they incessantly pile stone upon stone. their thoughts, and attachments, and love; their convictions, deceptions, and even their doubts--all stand in good service; and when the passing storm has demolished their mansion, they build once again with the ruins, a little distance away, something less stately perhaps, but better adapted to all the requirements of life. what regret, disillusion, or sadness can shatter the homestead of him who, in choosing the stones for his dwelling, was careful to keep all the wisdom and strength that regret, disillusion, and sadness contain? or might we not say that it is with the roots of the happiness we cherish within as with roots of great trees? the oaks that are subject the most to the stress of the storm thrust their roots the most staunchly and firmly, deep down in eternal soil; and the fate that unjustly pursues us is no more aware of what comes to pass in our soul, than the wind is aware of what happens below in the earth. . here let us note how great is the power, how mysterious the attraction, of veritable happiness. something of a hush comes over saint-simon's stirring narrative as one of the members of the "little flock" passes through the careless, triumphant crowd, unceasingly busy with intrigue and salutation, petty love and petty triumph, amidst the marble staircases and magnificent halls of versailles. saint-simon goes calmly on with his story; but for one second we seem to have compared all this jubilant vanity and ephemeral rejoicing, this brazen-tongued falsehood that secretly trembles, with the serene, unvarying loftiness of those strenuous, tranquil souls. it is as though there should suddenly appear in the midst of a band of children--who are plucking flowers, it may be, stealing fruit, or playing forbidden games--a priest or an aged man, who should go on his way, letting fall not one word of rebuke. the games are suddenly stopped; startled conscience awakens; and unbidden thoughts of duty, reality, truth, rush in on the mind; but with men no more than with children are impressions of long duration, though they spring from the priest, or the sage, or only the thought that has passed and gone on its way. but it matters not, they have seen; and the human soul, for all that the eyes are only too willing to close or turn away, is nobler than most men would wish it to be, for it often troubles their peace; and the soul is quick to declare its preference for that it has seen, and fain would abandon its enforced and wearisome idleness. and although we may smile and make merry as the sage disappears in the distance, he has, though he know it not, left a clear track in the midst of our error and folly, where, haply, it still will abide for a long time to come. and when the sudden hour of tears bursts upon us, then most of all shall we see it enwrapped in light. we find again and again, in saint-simon's story, that sorrow no sooner invades a soul somewhat loftier than others, somewhat nearer to life perhaps, than it speedily flies for comfort to one it has thus seen pass by in the midst of the uneasy silence and almost malevolent wonder, that in this world too often attend the footsteps of a blameless life. it is not our wont to question happiness closely in the days when we deem ourselves happy; but when sorrow draws nigh, our memory flies to the peace that somewhere lies hidden: the peace that depends not on the rays of the sun, or the kiss that has been withheld, or the disapproval of kings. at such moments we go not to those who are happy, as we once were happy; for we know that this happiness melts away before the first fretful gesture of fate. would you learn where true happiness dwells, you have only to watch the movements of those who are wretched, and seek consolation. sorrow is like the divining-rod that used to avail the seekers of treasure or of clear running water; for he who may have it about him unerringly makes for the house where profoundest peace has its home. and this is so true that we should be wise, perhaps, not to dwell with too much satisfaction on our own peace of mind and tranquillity, on the sincerity of our own acquiescence in the great laws of life, or rely too complacently on the duration of our own happiness, until such time as the instinct of those who suffer impels them to knock at our door, and their eyes can behold, shining bright on the threshold, the steady, unwavering flame of the lamp that burns on for ever. yes; only they, it may be, have the right to deem themselves safe to whose arms there come to weep those whose eyes are heavy with tears. and indeed there are not a few in this world whose inner smile we can only behold when our eyes have been cleansed by the tears that lay bare the mysterious sources of vision; and then only do we begin to detect the presence of happiness that springs not from the favour or gleam of an hour, but from widest acceptance of life. here, as in much beside, desire and necessity quicken our senses. the hungry bee will discover the honey, be it hid never so deep in the cavern; and the soul that mourns will spy out the joy that lies hidden in its retreat, or in most impenetrable silence. . destiny begins when consciousness wakes, and bestirs itself within man; not the passive, impoverished consciousness of most souls, but the active consciousness that will accept the event, whatever it may be, as an imprisoned queen will accept a gift that is offered to her in her cell. if nothing should happen, your consciousness yet may create important event from the manner in which it regards the mere dearth of event; but perhaps to each man there occurs vastly more than is needed to satisfy the thirstiest, most indefatigable consciousness. i have at this moment before me the history of a mighty and passionate soul, whom every adventure that makes for the sorrow or gladness of man would seem to have passed by with averted head. it is of emily bronte i speak, than whom the first fifty years of this century produced no woman of greater or more incontestable genius. she has left but one book behind her, a novel, called "wuthering heights," a curious title, which seems to suggest a storm on a mountain peak. she was the daughter of an english clergyman, the rev. patrick bronte, who was the most insignificant, selfish, lethargic, pretentious creature the mind can conceive. there were only two things in life that seemed of importance to him--the purity of his greek profile, and solicitude for his digestion. as for emily's unfortunate mother, her whole life would seem to have been spent in admiring this greek profile and in studying this digestion. but there is scarcely need to dwell upon her existence, for she died only two years after emily's birth. it is of interest to note, however--if only to prove once again that, in ordinary life, the woman is usually superior to the man she has had to accept--that long after the death of the patient wife a bundle of letters was found, wherein it was clearly revealed that she who had always been silent was fully alive to the indifference and fatuous self-love of her vain and indolent husband. we may, it is true, be conscious of faults in others from which we are ourselves not exempt; although to discover a virtue, perhaps, we must needs have a germ of it in us. such were emily's parents. around her, four sisters and one brother gravely watched the monotonous flight of the hours. the family dwelling, where emily's whole life was spent, was in the heart of the yorkshire moors, at a place called haworth, a gloomy, desolate village; barren, forsaken, and lonely. there can never have been a childhood and youth so friendless, monotonous, and dreary as that of emily and her sisters. there came to them none of those happy little adventures, bright gleams from the unexpected, which we broider and magnify as the years go by, and store at last in our soul as the one inexhaustible treasure acquired by the smiling memory of life. each day was the same, from first to last--lessons, meals, household duties, work beside an old aunt, and long solitary walks that these grave little girls would take hand in hand, speaking but seldom, across the heather now gay with blossom, now white beneath the snow. at home the father they scarcely saw, who was wholly indifferent, who took his meals in his room, and would come down at night to the rectory parlour and read aloud the appallingly dreary debates of the house of commons: without, the silence of the adjoining graveyard, the great treeless desert, and the moors that from autumn to summer were swept by the pitiless wind from the north. the hazard of life--for in every life some effort is put forth by fate--the hazard of life removed emily three or four times from the desert she had grown to love, and to consider--as will happen to those who remain too long in one spot--the only place in the world where the plants, and the earth, and the sky were truly real and delightful. but after a few weeks' absence the light would fade from her ardent, beautiful eyes; she pined for home; and one or another of the sisters must hasten to bring her back to the lonely vicarage. in --she was then twenty-five--she returned once again, never more to go forth until summoned by death. not an event, or a smile, or a whisper of love in the whole of her life to the day of this final return. nor was her memory charged with one of those griefs or deceptions, which enable the weaklings, or those who demand too little of life, to imagine that passive fidelity to something that has of itself collapsed is an act of virtue; that inactivity is justified by the tears wherein it is bathed; and that the duty of life is accomplished when suffering has been made to yield up all its resignation and sorrow. here, in this virgin soul, whose past was a blank, there was nothing for memory or resignation to cling to; nothing before that last journey, as nothing after; unless it be mournful vigils by the side of the brother she nursed--the almost demented brother, whose life was wrecked by his idleness and a great unfortunate passion; who became an incurable opium-eater and drunkard. then, shortly before her twenty-ninth birthday, on a december afternoon, as she sat in the little whitewashed parlour combing her long black hair, the comb slipped from the fingers that were too weak to retain it, and fell into the fire; and death came to her, more silent even than life, and bore her away from the pale embraces of the two sisters whom fortune had left her. . "no touch of love, no hint of fame, no hours of ease lie for you across the knees of fate," exclaims miss mary robinson, who has chronicled this existence, in a fine outburst of sorrow. and truly, viewed from without, what life could be more dreary and colourless, more futile and icily cold, than that of emily bronte? but where shall we take our stand, when we pass such a life in review, so as best to discover its truth, to judge it, approve it, and love it? how different it all appears as we leave the little parsonage, hidden away on the moors, and let our eyes rest on the soul of our heroine! it is rare indeed that we thus can follow the life of a soul in a body that knew no adventure; but it is less rare than might be imagined that a soul should have life of its own, which hardly depends, if at all, on incident of week or of year. in "wuthering heights"--wherein this soul gives to the world its passions, desires, reflections, realisations, ideals, which is, in a word, its real history--in "wuthering heights" there is more adventure, more passion, more energy, more ardour, more love, than is needed to give life or fulfilment to twenty heroic existences, twenty destinies of gladness or sorrow. not a single event ever paused as it passed by her threshold; yet did every event she could claim take place in her heart, with incomparable force and beauty, with matchless precision and detail. we say that nothing ever happened; but did not all things really happen to her much more directly and tangibly than unto most of us, seeing that everything that took place about her, everything that she saw or heard, was transformed within her into thoughts and feelings, into indulgent love, admiration, adoration of life? what matter whether the event fall on our neighbour's roof or our own? the rain-drops the cloud brings with it are for him who will hold out his vessel; and the gladness, the beauty, the peace, or the helpful disquiet that is found in the gesture of fate, belongs only to him who has learned to reflect. love never came to her: there fell never once on her ear the lover's magical footfall; and, for all that, this virgin, who died in her twenty-ninth year, has known love, has spoken of love, has penetrated its most impenetrable secrets to such a degree, that those who have loved the most deeply must sometimes uneasily wonder what name they should give to the passion they feel, when she pours forth the words, exaltation and mystery of a love beside which all else seems pallid and casual. where, if not in her heart, has she heard the matchless words of the girl, who speaks to her nurse of the man who is hated and harassed by all, but whom she wholly adores? "my great miseries in this world have been heathcliff's miseries, and i watched and felt each from the beginning; my great thought in living is himself. if all else perished, and he remained, _i_ should still continue to be; and if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger; i should not seem a part of it. my love for linton is like the foliage in the woods: time will change it, i'm well aware, as winter changes the trees. my love for heathcliff resembles the eternal rocks beneath--a source of little visible delight, but necessary. nelly, i am heathcliff! he's always, always in my mind: not as a pleasure, any more than i am always a pleasure to myself, but as my own being. ... i do not love him because he's handsome, but because he's more myself than i am. whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same." ... she has but little acquaintance with the external realities of love, and these she handles so innocently at times as almost to provoke a smile; but where can she have acquired her knowledge of those inner realities, that are interwoven with all that is profoundest and most illogical in passion, with all that is most unexpected, most impossible, and most eternally true? we feel that one must have lived for thirty years beneath burning chains of burning kisses to learn what she has learned; to dare so confidently set forth, with such minuteness, such unerring certainty, the delirium of those two predestined lovers of "wuthering heights"; to mark the self-conflicting movements of the tenderness that would make suffer and the cruelty that would make glad, the felicity that prayed for death and the despair that clung to life; the repulsion that desired, the desire drunk with repulsion--love surcharged with hatred, hatred staggering beneath its load of love. ... and yet it is known to us--for in this poor life of hers all lies open--that she neither loved nor was loved. may it be true then that the last word of an existence is only a word that destiny whispers low to what lies most hidden in our heart? have we indeed an inner life that yields not in reality to the outer life; that is no less susceptible of experience and impression? can we live, it matters not where, and love, and hate, listening for no footfall, spurning no creature? is the soul self-sufficient; and is it always the soul that decides, a certain height once gained? is it only to those whose conscience still slumbers that events can seem sad or sterile? did not love and beauty, happiness and adventure--did not all that we go in search of along the ways of life congregate in emily bronte's heart? day after day passed by, with never a joy or emotion; never a smile that the eye could see or the hand could touch; wherefore none the less did her destiny find its fulfilment, for the confidence within her, the eagerness, hope, animation, all were astir; and her heart was flooded with light, and radiant with silent gladness. of her happiness none can doubt. not in the soul of the best of all those whose happiness has lasted the longest, been the most active, diversified, perfect, could more imperishable harvest be found than in the soul emily bronte lays bare. if to her there came nothing of all that passes in joy and in love, in sorrow, passion, and anguish, still did she possess all that abides when emotion has faded away. which of the two will know more of the marvellous palace--the blind man who lives there, or the other, with wide-open eyes, who perhaps only enters it once? "to live, not to live"--we must not let mere words mislead us. it is surely possible to live without thought, but not to think, without active life. the essence of the joy or sorrow the event contains lies in the idea the event gives birth to: our own idea, if we are strong; that of others, if we are weak. on your way to the grave there may come a thousand external events towards you, whereof not one, it may be, shall find within you the force that it needs to turn to moral event. then may you truthfully say, and then only, "i have perhaps not lived." the intimate happiness of our heroine, as of every human being, was in exact proportion to her morality and her sense of the universe; and these indeed are the clearings in the forest of accidents whose area it is well we should know when we seek to measure the happiness a life has experienced. who that had gained the altitude of peace and comprehension whereon her soul reposed would still be wrought to feeble, bitter, unrefreshing tears by the cares and troubles and deceptions of ordinary life? who would not then understand why it was that she shed no tears, unlike so many of her sisters, who spend their lives in plaintive wanderings from one broken joy to another? the joy that is dead weighs heavy, and bids fair to crush us, if we cause it to be with us for ever; which is as though a wood-cutter should refuse to lay down his load of dead wood. for dead wood was not made to be eternally borne on the shoulder, but indeed to be burned, and give forth brilliant flame. and as we behold the names that soar aloft in emily's soul, then are we as heedless as she was of the sorrows of the dead wood. no misfortune but has its horizon, no sadness but shall know comfort, for the man who in the midst of his suffering, in the midst of the grief that must come to him as to all, has learned to espy nature's ample gesture beneath all sorrow and suffering, and has become aware that this gesture alone is real. "the sage, who is lord of his life, can never truly be said to suffer." wrote an admirable woman, who had known much sorrow herself. "it is from the heights above that he looks down on his life, and if to-day he should seem to suffer, it is only because he has allowed his thoughts to incline towards the less perfect part of his soul." emily bronte not only breathes life into tenderness, loyalty, and love, but into hatred and wickedness also; nay, into the very fiercest revengeful ness, the most deliberate perfidy; nor does she deem it incumbent upon her to pardon, for pardon implies only incomplete comprehension. she sees, she admits, and she loves. she admits the evil as well as the good, she gives life to both; well knowing that evil, when all is said, is only righteousness strayed from the path. she reveals to us--not with the moralist's arbitrary formula, but as men and years reveal the truths we have wit to grasp--the final helplessness of evil, brought face to face with life; the final appeasement of all things in nature as well as in death, "which is only the triumph of life over one of its specialised forms." she shows how the dexterous lie, begotten of genius and strength, is forced to bow down before the most ignorant, puniest truth; she shows the self-deception of hatred that sows, all unwilling, the seeds of gladness and love in the life that it anxiously schemes to destroy. she is, perhaps, the first to base a plea for indulgence on the great law of heredity; and when, at the end of her book, she goes to the village churchyard and visits the eternal resting-place of her heroes, the grass grows green alike over grave of tyrant and martyr; and she wonders how "any one could ever imagine unquiet slumbers for the sleepers in that quiet earth." . i am well aware that here we are dealing with a woman of genius; but genius only throws into bolder relief all that can, and actually does, take place in the lives of all men; otherwise were it genius no longer, but incoherence or madness. it becomes clear to us, after a time, that genius is by no means confined to the extraordinary; and that veritable superiority is composed of elements that every day offers to every man. but we are not considering literature now; and indeed, not by her literary gifts, but by her inner life, was emily bronte comforted; for it by no means follows that moral activity waits on brilliant literary powers. had she remained silent, nor ever grasped a pen, still had there been no diminution of the power within her, of the smile and the fulness of love; still had she worn the air of one who knew whither her steps were tending; and the profound certainty that dwelt within her still had proclaimed that she had known how to make her peace, far up on the heights, with the great disquiet and misery of the world. we should never have known of her--that is all. there is much to be learned from this humble life, and yet were it perhaps not well to hold it forth as an example to such as already incline overmuch to resignation, for these it might mislead. it is a life that would seem to have been wholly passive--and to be passive is not good for all. she died a virgin in her twenty-ninth year: and it is sad to die a virgin. is it not the paramount duty of every human being to offer to his destiny all that can be offered to the destiny of man? and indeed we had far better leave behind us work unfinished than life itself incomplete. it is good to be indifferent to vain or idle pleasures; but we have no right almost voluntarily to neglect the most important chances of indispensable happiness. the soul that is unhappy may have within it cause for noble regret. to look largely on the sadness of one's life is to make essay, in the darkness, of the wings that shall one day enable us to soar high above this sadness. effort was lacking, perhaps, in emily bronte's life. (in her soul there was wealth of passion and freedom and daring, but in her life timidity, silence, inertness, conventions, and prejudice; the very things that in thought she despised.) this is the history often of the too-meditative soul. but it is difficult to pass judgment on an entire existence; and here there were much to be said of the devotion wherewith she sacrificed the best years of her youth to an undeserving, though unfortunate, brother. our remarks then, in a case such as this, must be understood generally only; but still, how long and how narrow is the path that leads from the soul to life! our thoughts of love, of justice and loyalty, our thoughts of bold ambition--what are all these but acorns that fall from the oak in the forest? and must not thousands and tens of thousands be lost and rot in the lichen ere a single tree spring to life? "she had a beautiful soul," said, speaking of another woman, the woman whose words i quoted above, "a wide intellect, and tender heart, but ere these qualities could issue forth into life they had perforce to traverse a straitened character. again and again have i wondered at this want of self-knowledge, of return to self. the man who would wish us to see the deepest recess of his life will begin by telling us all that he thinks and he feels, will lead as to his point of view; we are conscious, perhaps, of much elevation of soul; then, as we enter with him still further into his life, he tells of his conduct, his joys and his sorrows; and in these we detect not a gleam of the soul that had shone through his thoughts and desires. when the trumpet is sounded for action, the instincts rush in, the character hastens between; but the soul stands aloof: the soul, which is man's very highest, being like the princess who elects to live on in arrogant penury rather than soil her hands with ordinary labour." yes, alas, all is useless till such time as we have learned to harden our hands; to transform the gold and silver of thought into a key that shall open, not the ivory gate of our dreams, but the very door of this our dwelling--into a cup that shall hold, not only the wondrous water of dreams, but the living water that falls, drop by drop, on our roof--into scales, not content vaguely to balance schemes for the future, but that record, with unerring accuracy, what we have done to-day. the very loftiest ideal has taken no root within us, so long as it penetrate not every limb, so long as it palpitate not at our finger-tip. some there are whose intellect profits by this return to self; with others, the character gains. the first have clearest vision for all that concerns not themselves, that calls them not to action; but it is above all when stern reality confronts them, and time for action has come, that the eyes of the others glow bright. one might almost believe in there being an intellectual consciousness, languidly resting for ever upon an immovable throne, whence she issues commands to the will through faithless or indolent envoys, and a moral consciousness, incessantly stirring, afoot, at all times ready to march. it may be that this latter consciousness depends on the former--indeed who shall say that she is not the former, wearied from long repose, wherein she has learned all that was to be learned; that has at last determined to rise, to descend the steps of inactivity and sally forth into life? and all will be well, if only she have not tarried so long that her limbs refuse their office. is it not preferable sometimes to act in opposition to our thoughts than never dare to act in accord with them? rarely indeed is the active error irremediable; men and things are quickly on the spot, eager to set it right; but they are helpless before the passive error that has shunned contact with the real. let all this, however, by no means be construed into meaning that the intellectual consciousness must be starved, or its growth arrested, for fear lest it outpace the moral consciousness. we need have no fear; no ideal conceived by man can be too admirable for life to conform with it. to float the smallest act of justice or love requires a very torrent of desire for good. for our conduct only to be honest we must have thoughts within us ten times loftier than our conduct. even to keep somewhat clear of evil bespeaks enormous craving for good. of all the forces in the world there is none melts so quickly away as the thought that has to descend into everyday life; wherefore we must needs be heroic in thought for our deeds to pass muster, or at the least be harmless. . let us once again, and for the last time, return to obscure destinies. they teach us that, physical misfortune apart, there is remedy for all; and that to complain of destiny is only to expose our own feebleness of soul. we are told in the history of rome how a certain julius sabinus, a senator from gaul, headed a revolt against the emperor vespasian, and was duly defeated. he might have sought refuge among the germans, but only by leaving his young wife, eponina, behind him, and he had not the heart to forsake her. at moments of disaster and sorrow we learn the true value of life; nor did julius sabinus welcome the idea of death. he possessed a villa, beneath which there stretched vast subterranean caverns, known only to him and two freedmen. this villa he caused to be burned, and the rumour was spread that he had sought death by poison, and that his body was consumed by the flames. eponina herself was deceived, says plutarch, whose story i follow, with the additions made thereto by the comte de champagny, the historian of antoninus; and when martialis the freedman told her of her husband's self-slaughter, she lay for three days and three nights on the ground, refusing all nourishment. when sabinus heard of her grief, he took pity and caused her to know that he lived. she none the less mourned and shed floods of tears, in the daytime, when people were near, but when night fell she sought him below in his cavern. for seven long months did she thus confront the shades, every night, to be with her husband; she even attempted to help him escape; she shaved off his hair and his beard, wrapped his head round with fillets, disguised him, and then had him sent, in a bundle of clothes, to her own native city. but his stay there becoming unsafe, she soon brought him back to his cavern; and herself divided her stay between town and the country, spending her nights with him, and from time to time going to town to be seen by her friends. she became big with child, and, by means of an unguent wherewith she anointed her body, her condition remained unsuspected by even the women at the baths, which at that time were taken in common. and when her confinement drew nigh she went down to her cavern, and there, with no midwife, alone, she gave birth to two sons, as a lioness throws off her cubs. she nourished her twins with her milk, she nursed them through childhood; and for nine years she stood by her husband in the gloom and the darkness. but sabinus at last was discovered and taken to rome. he surely would seem to have merited vespasian's pardon. eponina led forth the two sons she had reared in the depths of the earth, and said to the emperor, "these have i brought into the world and fed on my milk, that we might one day be more to implore thy forgiveness." tears filled the eyes of all who were there; but caesar stood firm, and the brave gaul at last was reduced to demand permission to die with her husband. "i have known more happiness with him in the darkness," she cried, "than thou ever shalt know, o caesar, in the full glare of the sunshine, or in all the splendour of thy mighty empire." who that has a heart within him can doubt the truth of her words, or think without longing of the darkness that so great a love illumined? many a dreary, miserable hour must have crawled by as they crouched in their hiding-place; but are there any, even among those who care only for the pettiest pleasures of life, who would not rather love with such depth and fervour in what was almost a tomb, than flaunt a frigid affection in the heat and light of the sun? eponina's magnificent cry is the cry of all those whose hearts have been touched by love; as it is also the cry of those whose soul has discovered an interest, duty, or even a hope, in life. the flame that inspired eponina inspires the sage also, lost in monotonous hours as she in her gloomy retreat. love is the unconscious sun of our soul; and it is when its beams are most ardent, and purest, that they bear most surprising resemblance to those that the soul, aglow with justice and truth, with beauty and majesty, has kindled within itself, and adds to, incessantly. is not the happiness that accident brought to the heart of eponina within reach of every heart, so the will to possess it be there? is not all that was sweetest in this love of hers--the devotion of self, the transformation of regret into happiness, of pleasure renounced into joy that abides in the heart for ever; the interest awakened each day by the feeblest glimmer of light, so it fall on a thing one admires; the immersion in radiance, in happiness susceptible of infinite expansion, for one has only to worship the more--are not all these, and a thousand other forces no less helpful, no less consoling, to be found in the intensest life of our soul, of our heart, of our thoughts? and was eponina's love other than a sudden lightning flash from this life of the soul, come to her, all unconscious and unprepared? love does not always reflect; often indeed does it need no reflection, no search into self, to enjoy what is best in thought; but, none the less, all that is best in love is closely akin to all that is best in thought. suffering seemed ever radiant in aspect to eponina, because of her love; but cannot this thing that love brings about, all unknowing, by fortunate accident, be also achieved by thought, meditation, by the habit of looking beyond our immediate trouble, and being more joyous than fate would seem to demand? to eponina there came not a sorrow but kindled yet one more torch in the gloom of her cavern; and does not the sadness that forces the soul back into itself, to the retreat it has made, kindle deep consolation there? and, as the noble eponina has taken us back to the days of persecution, may we not liken such sorrow to the pagan executioner who, suddenly touched by grace, or perhaps admiration, in the very midst of the torture that he was inflicting, flung himself down headlong at the feet of his victim, speaking words of tenderest sympathy; who demanded to share her suffering, and finally besought, in a kiss, to be told the way to her heaven. . go where we will, the plentiful river of life flows on, beneath the canopy of heaven. it flows between prison walls, where the sun never gleams on its waters; as it flows by the palace steps, where all is gladness and glory. not our concern the depth of this river, or its width, or the strength of its current, as it streams on for ever, pertaining to all; but of deepest importance to us is the size and the purity of the cup that we plunge in its waters. for whatever of life we absorb must needs take the form of this cup, as this, too, has taken the form of our thoughts and our feelings; being modelled, indeed, on the breast of our intimate destiny as the breast of a goddess once served for the cup of the sculptor of old. every man has the cup of his fashioning, and most often the cup he has learned to desire. when we murmur at fate, let our grievance be only that she grafted not in our heart the wish for, or thought of, a cup more ample and perfect. for indeed in the wish alone does inequality lie, but this inequality vanishes the moment it has been perceived. does the thought that our wish might be nobler not at once bring nobility with it; does not the breast of our destiny throb to this new aspiration, thereby expanding the docile cup of the ideal--the cup whose metal is pliable, still to the cold stern hour of death? no cause for complaint has he who has learned that his feelings are lacking in generous ardour, or the other who nurses within him a hope for a little more happiness, a little more beauty, a little more justice. for here all things come to pass in the way that they tell us it happens with the felicity of the elect, of whom each one is robed in gladness, and wears the garment befitting his stature. nor can he desire a happiness more perfect than the happiness which he possesses, without the desire wherewith he desired at once bringing fulfilment with it. if i envy with noble envy the happiness of those who are able to plunge a heavier cup, and more radiant than mine, there where the great river is brightest, i have, though i know it not, my excellent share of all that they draw from the river, and my lips repose by the side of their lips on the rim of the shining cup. . it may be remembered perhaps that, before these digressions, we spoke of a woman whose friend asked her, wonderingly, "can any man be worthy of your love?" the same question might have been asked of emily bronte, as indeed of many others; and in this world there are thousands of souls, of loftiest intention, that do yet forfeit the best years of love in constant self-interrogation as to the future of their affections. nay, more--in the empire of destiny it is to the image of love that the great mass of complaints and regrets come flocking; the image of love around which hover sluggish desire, extravagant hope, and fears engendered of vanity. at root of all this is much pride, and counterfeit poetry, and falsehood. the soul that is misunderstood is most often the one that has made the least effort to gain some knowledge of self. the feeblest ideal, the one that is narrowest, straitest, most often will thrive on deception and fear, on exaction and petty contempt. we dread above all lest any should slight, or pass by unnoticed, the virtues and thoughts, the spiritual beauty, that exist only in our imagination. it is with merits of this nature as it is with our material welfare--hope clings most persistently to that which we probably never shall have the strength to acquire. the cheat through whose mind some momentary thought of amendment has passed, is amazed that we offer not instant, surpassing homage to the feeling of honour that has, for brief space, found shelter within him. but if we are truly pure, and sincere, and unselfish; if our thoughts soar aloft of themselves, in all simpleness, high above vanity or instinctive selfishness, then are we far less concerned than those who are near us should understand, should approve, or admire. epictetus, marcus aurelius, antoninus pius are not known to have ever complained that men could not understand them. they hugged no belief to themselves that something extraordinary, incomprehensible, lay buried within them; they held, on the contrary, that whatever was best in their virtue was that which it needed no effort for all men to grasp and admit. but there are some morbid virtues that are passed by unnoticed, and not without reason--for there will almost always be some superior reason for the powerlessness of a feeling--morbid virtues to which we often ascribe far too great an importance; and that virtue will surely be morbid that we rate over highly and hold to deserve the respectful attention of others. in a morbid virtue there is often more harm than there is in a healthy vice; in any event it is farther removed from truth; and there is but little to hope for when we are divided from truth. as our ideal becomes loftier so does it become more real; and the nobler our soul, the less does it dread that it meet not a soul of its stature; for it must have drawn near unto truth, in whose neighbourhood all things must take of its greatness. when dante had gained the third sphere, and stood in the midst of the heavenly lights, all shining with uniform splendour, he saw that around him naught moved, and wondered was he standing motionless there, or indeed drawing nearer unto the seat of god? so he cast his eyes upon beatrice; and she seemed more beautiful to him; wherefore he knew that he was approaching his goal. and so can we too count the steps that we take on the highway of truth, by the increase of love that comes for all that goes with us in life; the increase of love and of glad curiosity, of respect and of deep admiration. . men, as a rule, sally forth from their homes seeking beauty and joy, truth and love; and are glad to be able to say to their children, on their return, that they have met nothing. to be for ever complaining argues much pride; and those who accuse love and life are the ones who imagine that these should bestow something more than they can acquire for themselves. love, it is true, like all else, claims the highest possible ideal; but every ideal that conforms not with some strenuous inward, reality is nothing but falsehood--sterile and futile, obsequious falsehood. two or three ideals, that lie out of our reach, will suffice to paralyse life. it is wrong to believe that loftiness of soul is governed by the loftiness of desire or dream. the dreams of the weak will be often more numerous, lovelier, than are those of the strong; for these dreams absorb all their energy, all their activity. the perpetual craving for loftiness does not count in our moral advancement if it be not the shadow thrown by the life we have lived, by the firm and experienced will that has come in close kinship with man. then, indeed, as one places a rod at the foot of the steeple to tell of its height by the shadow, so may we lead forth this craving of ours to the midst of the plain that is lit by the sun of external reality, that thus we may tell what relation exists between the shadow thrown by the hour and the dome of eternity. . it is well that a noble heart should await a great love; better still that this heart, all expectant, should cease not from loving; and that, as it loves, it should scarcely be conscious of its desire for more exquisite love. in love as in life, expectation avails us but little; through loving we learn to love; and it is the so-called disillusions of pettier love that will, the most simply and faithfully, feed the immovable flame of the mightier love that shall come, it may be, to illumine the rest of our life. we treat disillusions often with scantiest justice. we conceive them of sorrowful countenance, pale and discouraged; whereas they are really the very first smiles of truth. why should disillusion distress you, if you are a man of honest intention, if you strive to be just, and of service; if you seek to be happy and wise? would you rather live on in the world of your dreams and your errors than in the world that is real? only too often does many a promising nature waste its most precious hours in the struggle of beautiful dream against inevitable law, whose beauty is only perceived when every vestige of strength has been sapped by the exquisite dream. if love has deceived you, do you think that it would have been better for you all your life to regard love as something it is not, and never can be? would such an illusion not warp your most significant actions; would it not for many days hide from you some part of the truth that you seek? or if you imagine that greatness lay in your grasp, and disillusion has taken you back to your place in the second rank; have you the right, for the rest of your life, to curse the envoy of truth? for, after all, was it not truth your illusion was seeking, assuming it to have been sincere? we should try to regard disillusions as mysterious, faithful friends, as councillors none can corrupt, and should there be one more cruel than the rest, that for an instant prostrates you, do not murmur to yourself through your tears that life is less beautiful than you had dreamed it to be, but rather that in your dream there must have been something lacking, since real life has failed to approve. and indeed the much-vaunted strength of the strenuous soul is built up of disillusions only, that this soul has cheerfully welcomed. every deception and love disappointed, every hope that has crumbled to dust, is possessed of a strength of its own that it adds to the strength of your truth; and the more disillusions there are that fall to the earth at your feet, the more surely and nobly will great reality shine on you--even as the rays of the sun are beheld the more clearly in winter, as they pierce through the leafless branches of the trees of the forest. . and if it be a great love that you seek, how can you believe that a soul shall be met with of beauty as great as you dream it to be, if you seek it with nothing but dreams? have you the right to expect that definite words and positive actions shall offer themselves in exchange for mere formless desire, and yearning, and vision? yet thus it is most of us act. and if some fortunate chance at last accords our desire, and places us in presence of the being who is all we had dreamed her to be--are we entitled to hope that our idle and wandering cravings shall long be in unison with her vigorous, established reality? our ideal will never be met with in life unless we have first achieved it within us to the fullest extent in our power. do you hope to discover and win for yourself a loyal, profound, inexhaustible soul, loving and quick with life, faithful and powerful, unconstrained, free: generous, brave, and benevolent--if you know less well than this soul what all these qualities mean? and how should you know, if you have not loved them and lived in their midst, as this soul has loved and lived? most exacting of all things, unskilful, thick-sighted, is the moral beauty, perfection, or goodness that is still in the shape of desire. if it be your one hope to meet with an ideal soul, would it not be well that you yourself should endeavour to draw nigh to your own ideal? be sure that by no other means will you ever obtain your desire. and as you approach this ideal it will dawn on you more and more clearly how fortunate and wisely ordained it has been that the ideal should ever be different from what our vague hopes were expecting. so too when the ideal takes shape, as it comes into contact with life, will it soften, expand, and lose its rigidity, incessantly growing more noble. and then will you readily perceive, in the creature you love, all that which is eternally true in yourself, and solidly righteous, and essentially beautiful; for only the good in our heart can advise us of the goodness that hides by our side. then, at last, will the imperfections of others no longer seem of importance to you, for they will no longer be able to wound your vanity, selfishness, and ignorance; imperfections, that is, which have ceased to resemble your own; for it is the evil that lies in ourselves that is ever least tolerant of the evil that dwells within others. . let us have the same confidence in love that we have in life; for confidence is of our essence; and the thought that works the most harm in all things is the one that inclines us to look with mistrust on reality. i have known more than one life that love broke asunder; but if it had not been love, these lives would no doubt have been broken no less by friendship or apathy, by doubt, hesitation, indifference, inaction. for that only which in itself is fragile can be rent in the heart by love; and where all is broken that the heart contains, then must all have been far too frail. there exists not a creature but must more than once have believed that his life was crushed; but they whose life has indeed been shattered, and has fallen to ruin, owe their misfortune often to some strange vanity of the very ruin. fortunate and unfortunate hazards there must of necessity be in love as in all the rest of our destiny. it may so come about that one whose spirit and heart are abounding with tenderness, energy, and the noblest of human desires, shall meet, on his first setting forth, all unsought, the soul that shall satisfy each single craving of love in the ecstasy of permanent joy; the soul that shall content the loftiest yearning no less than the lowliest: the vastest, the mightiest no less than the daintiest, sweetest: the most eternal no less than the most evanescent. he, it may be, shall instantly find the heart whereto he can give--the heart which will ever receive--all that is best in himself. it may happen that he shall at once have attained the soul that perchance is unique; the soul that is satisfied always, and always filled with desire; the soul that can ever receive many thousand times more than is given, and that never fails to return many thousand times more than it receives. for the love that the years cannot alter is built up of exchanges like these, of sweet inequality; and naught do we ever truly possess but that which we give in our love; and whatever our love bestows, we are no longer alone to enjoy. . destinies sometimes are met with that thus are perfectly happy; and each man, it may be, is entitled to hope that such may one day be his; yet must his hope be never permitted to fasten chains on his life. all he can do is to make preparation one day to deserve such a love; and he will be most patient and tranquil who incessantly strives to this end. it might so have happened that he whom we spoke of just now should, day after day, from youth to old age, have passed by the side of the wall behind which his happiness lay waiting, enwrapped in too secret a silence. but if happiness lie yonder side of the wall, must despair and disaster of necessity dwell on the other? is not something of happiness to be found in our thus being able to pass by the side of our happiness? is it not better to feel that a mere slender chance--transparent, one almost might call it--is all that extends between us and the exquisite love that we dream of, than to be divided for ever therefrom by all that is worthless within us, undeserving, inhuman, abnormal? happy is he who can gather the flower, and bear it away in his bosom; yet have we no cause to pity the other who walks until nightfall, steeped in the glorious perfume of the flower no eyes can behold. must the life be a failure, useless and valueless, that is not as completely happy as it possibly might have been? it is you yourself would have brought what was best in the love you regret; and if, as we said, the soul at the end possess only what it has given, does not something already belong to us when we are incessantly seeking for chances of giving? ah yes--i declare that the joy of a perfect, abiding love is the greatest this world contains; and yet, if you find not this love, naught will be lost of all you have done to deserve it, for this will go to deepen the peace of your heart, and render still braver and purer the calm of the rest of your days. . and, besides, we always can love. if our own love be admirable, most of the joys of admirable love will be ours. in the most perfect love, the lovers' happiness will not be exactly the same, be their union never so close; for the better of the two needs must love with a love that is deeper; and the one that loves with a deeper love must be surely the happier. let your task be to render yourself worthy of love--and this even more for your own happiness than for that of another. for be sure that when love is unequal, and the hours come clouded with sorrow, it is not the wiser of the two who will suffer the most--not the one that shows more generosity, justice, more high-minded passion. the one who is better will rarely become the victim deserving our pity. for, indeed, to be truly a victim it must be our own faults, our injustice, wrongdoing, beneath which we suffer. however imperfect you be, you still may suffice for the love of a marvellous being; but for your love, if you are not perfect, that being will never suffice. if fortune one day should lead to your dwelling the woman adorned with each gift of heart and of intellect--such a woman as history tells of, a heroine of glory, happiness, love--you will still be all unaware if you have not learned, yourself, to detect and to love these gifts in actual life; and what is actual life to each man but the life that he lives himself? all that is loyal within you will flower in the loyalty of the woman you love; whatever of truth there abides in your soul will be soothed by the truth that is hers; and her strength of character can be only enjoyed by that which is strong in you. and when a virtue of the being we love finds not, on the threshold of our heart, a virtue that resembles it somewhat, then is it all unaware to whom it shall give the gladness it brings. . and whatever the fate your affections may meet with, do you never lose courage; above all, do not think that, love's happiness having passed by you, you will never, right up to the end, know the great joy of human life. for though happiness appear in the form of a torrent, or a river that flows underground, of a whirlpool or tranquil lake, its source still is ever the same that lies deep down in our heart; and the unhappiest man of all men can conceive an idea of great joy. it is true that in love there is ecstasy that he doubtless never will know; but this ecstasy would leave deep melancholy only in the earnest and faithful heart, if there were not in veritable love something more stable than ecstasy, more profound and more steadfast; and all that in love is profoundest, most stable and steadfast, is profoundest in noble lives too--is most stable and steadfast in them. not to all men is it given to be hero or genius, victorious, admirable always, or even to be simply happy in exterior things; but it lies in the power of the least favoured among us to be loyal, and gentle, and just, to be generous and brotherly; he that has least gifts of all can learn to look on his fellows without envy or hatred, without malice or futile regret; the outcast can take his strange, silent part (which is not always that of least service) in the gladness of those who are near him; he that has barely a talent can still learn to forgive an offence with an ever nobler forgiveness, can find more excuses for error, more admiration for human word and deed; and the man there are none to love can love, and reverence, love. and, acting thus, he too will have drawn near the source whither happy ones flock--oftener far than one thinks, and in the most ardent hours of happiness even--the source over which they bend, to make sure that they truly are happy. far down, at the root of love's joys--as at the root of the humble life of the upright man from whom fate has withheld her smile--it is confidence, sincerity, generosity, tenderness, that alone are truly fixed and unchangeable. love throws more lustre still on these points of light, and therefore must love be sought. for the greatest advantage of love is that it reveals to us many a peaceful and gentle truth. the greatest advantage of love is that it gives us occasion to love and admire in one person, sole and unique, what we should have had neither knowledge nor strength to love and admire in the many; and that thus it expands our heart for the time to come, and at the root of the most marvellous love there never is more than the simplest felicity, an adoration, a tenderness within the understanding of all, a security, faith, and fidelity all can acquire an intensely human admiration, devotion--and all these the eager, unfortunate heart could know too, in its sorrowful life, had it only a little less impatience and bitterness, a little more initiative and energy. the end by william rotella angelic wisdom concerning the divine love and the divine wisdom by emanuel swedenborg standard edition swedenborg foundation incorporated new york -------- established first published in latin, amsterdam, first english translation published in u.s.a., th printing, isbn - - - library of congress catalog card number - manufactured in the united states of america translator's note the previous translation of this work has been carefully revised. in this revision the translator has had the valuable assistance of suggestions by the rev. l.h. tafel and others. the new renderings of _existere_ and _fugere_ are suggestions adopted by the editorial committee and accepted by the translator, but for which he does not wish to be held solely responsible. . part first. love is the life of man. man knows that there is such a thing as love, but he does not know what love is. he knows that there is such a thing as love from common speech, as when it is said, he loves me, a king loves his subjects, and subjects love their king, a husband loves his wife, a mother her children, and conversely; also, this or that one loves his country, his fellow citizens, his neighbor; and likewise of things abstracted from person, as when it is said, one loves this or that thing. but although the word love is so universally used, hardly anybody knows what love is. and because one is unable, when he reflects upon it, to form to himself any idea of thought about it, he says either that it is not anything, or that it is merely something flowing in from sight, hearing, touch, or interaction with others, and thus affecting him. he is wholly unaware that love is his very life; not only the general life of his whole body, and the general life of all his thoughts, but also the life of all their particulars. this a man of discernment can perceive when it is said: if you remove the affection which is from love, can you think anything, or do anything? do not thought, speech, and action, grow cold in the measure in which the affection which is from love grows cold? and do they not grow warm in the measure in which this affection grows warm? but this a man of discernment perceives simply by observing that such is the case, and not from any knowledge that love is the life of man. . what the life of man is, no one knows unless he knows that it is love. if this is not known, one person may believe that man's life is nothing but perceiving with the senses and acting, and another that it is merely thinking; and yet thought is the first effect of life, and sensation and action are the second effect of life. thought is here said to be the first effect of life, yet there is thought which is interior and more interior, also exterior and more exterior. what is actually the first effect of life is inmost thought, which is the perception of ends. but of all this hereafter, when the degrees of life are considered. . some idea of love, as being the life of man, may be had from the sun's heat in the world. this heat is well known to be the common life, as it were, of all the vegetations of the earth. for by virtue of heat, coming forth in springtime, plants of every kind rise from the ground, deck themselves with leaves, then with blossoms, and finally with fruits, and thus, in a sense, live. but when, in the time of autumn and winter, heat withdraws, the plants are stripped of these signs of their life, and they wither. so it is with love in man; for heat and love mutually correspond. therefore love also is warm. . god alone, consequently the lord, is love itself, because he is life itself and angels and men are recipients of life. this will be fully shown in treatises on divine providence and on life; it is sufficient here to say that the lord, who is the god of the universe, is uncreate and infinite, whereas man and angel are created and finite. and because the lord is uncreate and infinite, he is being [esse] itself, which is called "jehovah," and life itself, or life in itself. from the uncreate, the infinite, being itself and life itself, no one can be created immediately, because the divine is one and indivisible; but their creation must be out of things created and finited, and so formed that the divine can be in them. because men and angels are such, they are recipients of life. consequently, if any man suffers himself to be so far misled as to think that he is not a recipient of life but is life, he cannot be withheld from the thought that he is god. a man's feeling as if he were life, and therefore believing himself to be so, arises from fallacy; for the principal cause is not perceived in the instrumental cause otherwise than as one with it. that the lord is life in himself, he himself teaches in john: as the father hath life in himself, so also hath he given to the son to have life in himself ( : ) he declares also that he is life itself (john : ; : ). now since life and love are one (as is apparent from what has been said above, n. , ), it follows that the lord, because he is life itself, is love itself. . but that this may reach the understanding, it must needs be known positively that the lord, because he is love in its very essence, that is, divine love, appears before the angels in heaven as a sun, and that from that sun heat and light go forth; the heat which goes forth therefrom being in its essence love, and the light which goes forth therefrom being in its essence wisdom; and that so far as the angels are recipients of that spiritual heat and of that spiritual light, they are loves and wisdoms; not loves and wisdoms from themselves, but from the lord. that spiritual heat and that spiritual light not only flow into angels and affect them, but they also flow into men and affect them just to the extent that they become recipients; and they become recipients in the measure of their love to the lord and love towards the neighbor. that sun itself, that is, the divine love, by its heat and its light, cannot create any one immediately from itself; for one so created would be love in its essence, which love is the lord himself; but it can create from substances and matters so formed as to be capable of receiving the very heat and the very light; comparatively as the sun of the world cannot by its heat and light produce germinations on the earth immediately, but only out of earthy matters in which it can be present by its heat and light, and cause vegetation. in the spiritual world the divine love of the lord appears as a sun, and from it proceed the spiritual heat and the spiritual light from which the angels derive love and wisdom, as may be seen in the work on heaven and hell (n. - ). . since, then, man is not life, but is a recipient of life, it follows that the conception of a man from his father is not a conception of life, but only a conception of the first and purest form capable of receiving life; and to this, as to a nucleus or starting-point in the womb, are successively added substances and matters in forms adapted to the reception of life, in their order and degree. . the divine is not in space. that the divine, that is, god, is not in space, although omnipresent and with every man in the world, and with every angel in heaven, and with every spirit under heaven, cannot be comprehended by a merely natural idea, but it can by a spiritual idea. it cannot be comprehended by a natural idea, because in the natural idea there is space; since it is formed out of such things as are in the world, and in each and all of these, as seen by the eye, there is space. in the world, everything great and small is of space; everything long, broad, and high is of space; in short, every measure, figure and form is of space. this is why it has been said that it cannot be comprehended by a merely natural idea that the divine is not in space, when it is said that the divine is everywhere. still, by natural thought, a man may comprehend this, if only he admit into it something of spiritual light. for this reason something shall first be said about spiritual idea, and thought therefrom. spiritual idea derives nothing from space, but it derives its all from state. state is predicated of love, of life, of wisdom, of affections, of joys therefrom; in general, of good and of truth. an idea of these things which is truly spiritual has nothing in common with space; it is higher and looks down upon the ideas of space which are under it as heaven looks down upon the earth. but since angels and spirits see with eyes, just as men in the world do, and since objects cannot be seen except in space, therefore in the spiritual world where angels and spirits are, there appear to be spaces like the spaces on earth; yet they are not spaces, but appearances; since they are not fixed and constant, as spaces are on earth; for they can be lengthened or shortened; they can be changed or varied. thus because they cannot be determined in that world by measure, they cannot be comprehended there by any natural idea, but only by a spiritual idea. the spiritual idea of distances of space is the same as of distances of good or distances of truth, which are affinities and likenesses according to states of goodness and truth. . from this it may be seen that man is unable, by a merely natural idea, to comprehend that the divine is everywhere, and yet not in space; but that angels and spirits comprehend this clearly; consequently that a man also may, provided he admits into his thought something of spiritual light; and this for the reason that it is not his body that thinks, but his spirit, thus not his natural, but his spiritual. . but many fail to comprehend this because of their love of the natural, which makes them unwilling to raise the thoughts of their understanding above the natural into spiritual light; and those who are unwilling to do this can think only from space, even concerning god; and to think according to space concerning god is to think concerning the expanse of nature. this has to be premised, because without a knowledge and some perception that the divine is not in space, nothing can be understood about the divine life, which is love and wisdom, of which subjects this volume treats; and hence little, if anything, about divine providence, omnipresence, omniscience, omnipotence, infinity and eternity, which will be treated of in succession. . it has been said that in the spiritual world, just as in the natural world, there appear to be spaces, consequently also distances, but that these are appearances according to spiritual affinities which are of love and wisdom, or of good and truth. from this it is that the lord, although everywhere in the heavens with angels, nevertheless appears high above them as a sun. furthermore, since reception of love and wisdom causes affinity with the lord, those heavens in which the angels are, from reception, in closer affinity with him, appear nearer to him than those in which the affinity is more remote. from this it is also that the heavens, of which there are three, are distinct from each other, likewise the societies of each heaven; and further, that the hells under them are remote according to their rejection of love and wisdom. the same is true of men, in whom and with whom the lord is present throughout the whole earth; and this solely for the reason that the lord is not in space. . god is very man. in all the heavens there is no other idea of god than that he is a man. this is because heaven as a whole and in part is in form like a man, and because it is the divine which is with the angels that constitutes heaven and inasmuch as thought proceeds according to the form of heaven, it is impossible for the angels to think of god in any other way. from this it is that all those in the world who are conjoined with heaven think of god in the same way when they think interiorly in themselves, that is, in their spirit. from this fact that god is a man, all angels and all spirits, in their complete form, are men. this results from the form of heaven, which is like itself in its greatest and in its least parts. that heaven as a whole and in part is in form like a man may be seen in the work on heaven and hell (n. - ); and that thoughts proceed according to the form of heaven (n. , ). it is known from genesis ( : , ), that men were created after the image and likeness of god. god also appeared as a man to abraham and to others. the ancients, from the wise even to the simple, thought of god no otherwise than as being a man; and when at length they began to worship a plurality of gods, as at athens and rome, they worshiped them all as men. what is here said may be illustrated by the following extract from a small treatise already published: the gentiles, especially the africans, who acknowledge and worship one god, the creator of the universe, have concerning god the idea that he is a man, and declare that no one can have any other idea of god. when they learn that there are many who cherish an idea of god as something cloud-like in the midst of things, they ask where such persons are; and on being told that they are among christians, they declare it to be impossible. they are informed, however, that this idea arises from the fact that god in the word is called "a spirit," and of a spirit they have no other idea than of a bit of cloud, not knowing that every spirit and every angel is a man. an examination, nevertheless, was made, whether the spiritual idea of such persons was like their natural idea, and it was found not to be so with those who acknowledge the lord interiorly as god of heaven and earth. i heard a certain elder from the christians say that no one can have an idea of a human divine; and i saw him taken about to various gentile nations, and successively to such as were more and more interior, and from them to their heavens, and finally to the christian heaven; and everywhere their interior perception concerning god was communicated to him, and he observed that they had no other idea of god than that he is a man, which is the same as the idea of a human divine (c.l.j. n. ). . the common people in christendom have an idea that god is a man, because god in the athanasian doctrine of the trinity is called a "person." but those who are more learned than the common people pronounce god to be invisible; and this for the reason that they cannot comprehend how god, as a man, could have created heaven and earth, and then fill the universe with his presence, and many things besides, which cannot enter the understanding so long as the truth that the divine is not in space is ignored. those, however, who go to the lord alone think of a human divine, thus of god as a man. . how important it is to have a correct idea of god can be known from the truth that the idea of god constitutes the inmost of thought with all who have religion, for all things of religion and all things of worship look to god. and since god, universally and in particular, is in all things of religion and of worship, without a proper idea of god no communication with the heavens is possible. from this it is that in the spiritual world every nation has its place allotted in accordance with its idea of god as a man; for in this idea, and in no other, is the idea of the lord. that man's state of life after death is according to the idea of god in which he has become confirmed, is manifest from the opposite of this, namely, that the denial of god, and, in the christian world, the denial of the divinity of the lord, constitutes hell. . in god-man esse and existere* are one distinctly** where there is esse [being] there is existere [taking form]; one is not possible apart from the other. for esse is by means of existere, and not apart from it. this the rational mind comprehends when it thinks whether there can possibly be any esse [being] which does not exist [take form], and whether there can possibly be existere except from esse. and since one is possible with the other, and not apart from the other, it follows that they are one, but one distinctly. they are one distinctly, like love and wisdom; in fact, love is esse, and wisdom is existere; for there can be no love except in wisdom, nor can there be any wisdom except from love; consequently when love is in wisdom, then it exists. these two are one in such a way that they may be distinguished in thought but not in operation, and because they may be distinguished in thought though not in operation, it is said that they are one distinctly.*** esse and existere in god-man are also one distinctly like soul and body. there can be no soul apart from its body, nor body apart from its soul. the divine soul of god-man is what is meant by divine esse, and the divine body is what is meant by divine existere. that a soul can exist apart from a body, and can think and be wise, is an error springing from fallacies; for every man's soul is in a spiritual body after it has cast off the material coverings which it carried about in the world. * to be and to exist. swedenborg seems to use this word "exist" nearly in the classical sense of springing or standing forth, becoming manifest, taking form. the distinction between esse and existere is essentially the same as between substance and form. ** for the meaning of this phrase. "distincte unum," see below in this paragraph, also n. , , , , and dp . *** it should be noticed that in latin, distinctly is the adverb of the verb distinguish. if translated distinguishably, this would appear. . esse is not esse unless it exists, because until then it is not in a form, and if not in a form it has no quality; and what has no quality is not anything. that which exists from esse, for the reason that it is from esse, makes one with it. from this there is a uniting of the two into one; and from this each is the others mutually and interchangeably, and each is all in all things of the other as in itself. . from this it can be seen that god is a man, and consequently he is god-existing; not existing from himself but in himself. he who has existence in himself is god from whom all things are. . in god-man infinite things are one distinctly. that god is infinite is well known, for he is called the infinite; and he is called the infinite because he is infinite. he is infinite not from this alone, that he is very esse and existere in itself, but because in him there are infinite things. an infinite without infinite things in it, is infinite in name only. the infinite things in him cannot be called infinitely many, nor infinitely all, because of the natural idea of many and of all; for the natural idea of infinitely many is limited, and the natural idea of infinitely all, though not limited, is derived from limited things in the universe. therefore man, because his ideas are natural, is unable by any refinement or approximation, to come into a perception of the infinite things in god; and an angel, while he is able, because he is in spiritual ideas, to rise by refinement and approximation above the degree of man, is still unable to attain to that perception. . that in god there are infinite things, any one may convince himself who believes that god is a man; for, being a man, he has a body and every thing pertaining to it, that is, a face, breast, abdomen, loins and feet; for without these he would not be a man. and having these, he also has eyes, ears, nose, mouth, and tongue; also the parts within man, as the heart and lungs, and their dependencies, all of which, taken together, make man to be a man. in a created man these parts are many, and regarded in their details of structure are numberless; but in god-man they are infinite, nothing whatever is lacking, and from this he has infinite perfection. this comparison holds between the uncreated man who is god and created man, because god is a man; and he himself says that the man of this world was created after his image and into his likeness (gen. : , ). . that in god there are infinite things, is still more evident to the angels from the heavens in which they dwell. the whole heaven, consisting of myriads of myriads of angels, in its universal form is like a man. so is each society of heaven, be it larger or smaller. from this, too, an angel is a man, for an angel is a heaven in least form. (this is shown in the work heaven and hell, n. - .) heaven as a whole, in part, and in the individual, is in that form by virtue of the divine which angels receive; for in the measure in which an angel receives from the divine is he in complete form a man. from this it is that angels are said to be in god, and god in them; also, that god is their all. how many things there are in heaven cannot be told; and because the divine is what makes heaven, and consequently these unspeakably many things are from the divine, it is clearly evident that there are infinite things in very man, who is god. . from the created universe a like conclusion may be drawn when it is regarded from uses and their correspondences. but before this can be understood some preliminary illustrations must be given. . because in god-man there are infinite things which appear in heaven, in angel, and in man, as in a mirror; and because god-man is not in space (as was shown above, n. - ), it can, to some extent, be seen and comprehended how god can be omnipresent, omniscient, and all-providing; and how, as man, he could create all things, and as man can hold the things created by himself in their order to eternity. . that in god-man infinite things are one distinctly, can also be seen, as in a mirror, from man. in man there are many and numberless things, as said above; but still man feels them all as one. from sensation he knows nothing of his brains, of his heart and lungs, of his liver, spleen, and pancreas; or of the numberless things in his eyes, ears, tongue, stomach, generative organs, and the remaining parts; and because from sensation he has no knowledge of these things, he is to himself as a one. the reason is that all these are in such a form that not one can be lacking; for it is a form recipient of life from god-man (as was shown above, n. - ). from the order and connection of all things in such a form there comes the feeling, and from that the idea, as if they were not many and numberless, but were one. from this it may be concluded that the many and numberless things which make in man a seeming one, a very man who is god, are one distinctly, yea, most distinctly. . there is one god-man, from whom all things come. all things of human wisdom unite, and as it were center in this, that there is one god, the creator of the universe: consequently a man who has reason, from the general nature of his understanding, does not and cannot think otherwise. say to any man of sound reason that there are two creators of the universe, and you will be sensible of his repugnance, and this, perhaps, from the mere sound of the phrase in his ear; from which it appears that all things of human reason unite and center in this, that god is one. there are two reasons for this. first, the very capacity to think rationally, viewed in itself, is not man's, but is god's in man; upon this capacity human reason in its general nature depends, and this general nature of reason causes man to see as from himself that god is one. secondly, by means of that capacity man either is in the light of heaven, or he derives the generals of his thought therefrom; and it is a universal of the light of heaven that god is one. it is otherwise when man by that capacity has perverted the lower parts of his understanding; such a man indeed is endowed with that capacity, but by the twist given to these lower parts, he turns it contrariwise, and thereby his reason becomes unsound. . every man, even if unconsciously, thinks of a body of men as of one man; therefore he instantly perceives what is meant when it is said that a king is the head, and the subjects are the body, also that this or that person has such a place in the general body, that is, in the kingdom. as it is with the body politic, so is it with the body spiritual. the body spiritual is the church; its head is god-man; and from this it is plain how the church thus viewed as a man would appear if instead of one god, the creator and sustainer of the universe, several were thought of. the church thus viewed would appear as one body with several heads; thus not as a man, but as a monster. if it be said that these heads have one essence, and that thus together they make one head, the only conception possible is either that of one head with several faces or of several heads with one face; thus making the church, viewed as a whole, appear deformed. but in truth, the one god is the head, and the church is the body, which acts under the command of the head, and not from itself; as is also the case in man; and from this it is that there can be only one king in a kingdom, for several kings would rend it asunder, but one is able to preserve its unity. . so would it be with the church scattered throughout the whole globe, which is called a communion, because it is as one body under one head. it is known that the head rules the body under it at will; for understanding and will have their seat in the head; and in conformity to the understanding and will the body is directed, even to the extent that the body is nothing but obedience. as the body can do nothing except from the understanding and will in the head, so the man of the church can do nothing except from god. the body seems to act of itself, as if the hands and feet in acting are moved of themselves; or the mouth and tongue in speaking vibrate of themselves, when, in fact, they do not in the slightest degree act of themselves, but only from an affection of the will and the consequent thought of the understanding in the head. suppose, now, one body to have several heads and each head to be free to act from its own understanding and its own will, could such a body continue to exist? for among several heads singleness of purpose, such as results from one head would be impossible. as in the church, so in the heavens; heaven consists of myriads of myriads of angels, and unless these all and each looked to one god, they would fall away from one another and heaven would be broken up. consequently, if an angel of heaven but thinks of a plurality of gods he is at once separated; for he is cast out into the outmost boundary of the heavens, and sinks downward. . because the whole heaven and all things of heaven have relation to one god, angelic speech is such that by a certain unison flowing from the unison of heaven it closes in a single cadence - a proof that it is impossible for the angels to think otherwise than of one god; for speech is from thought. . who that has sound reason can help seeing that the divine is not divisible? also that a plurality of infinites, of uncreates, of omnipotents, and of gods, is impossible? suppose one destitute of reason were to declare that a plurality of infinites, of uncreates, of omnipotents, and of gods is possible, if only they have one identical essence, and this would make of them one infinite, uncreate, omnipotent, and god, would not the one identical essence be one identity? and one identity is not possible to several. if it should be said that one is from the other, the one who is from the other is not god in himself; nevertheless, god in himself is the god from whom all things are (see above, n. ). . the divine essence itself is love and wisdom sum up all things you know and submit them to careful inspection, and in some elevation of spirit search for the universal of all things, and you cannot conclude otherwise than that it is love and wisdom. for these are the two essentials of all things of man's life; everything of that life, civil, moral, and spiritual, hinges upon these two, and apart from these two is nothing. it is the same with all things of the life of the composite man, which is, as was said above, a society, larger or smaller, a kingdom, an empire, a church, and also the angelic heaven. take away love and wisdom from these, and consider whether they be anything, and you will find that apart from love and wisdom as their origin they are nothing. . love together with wisdom in its very essence is in god. this no one can deny; for god loves every one from love in himself, and leads every one from wisdom in himself. the created universe, too, viewed in relation to its order, is so full of wisdom coming forth from love that all things in the aggregate may be said to be wisdom itself. for things limitless are in such order, successively and simultaneously, that taken together they make a one. it is from this, and this alone, that they can be held together and continually preserved. . it is because the divine essence itself is love and wisdom that man has two capacities for life; from one of these he has understanding, from the other will. the capacity from which he has understanding derives everything it has from the influx of wisdom from god, and the capacity from which he has will derives everything it has from the influx of love from god. man's not being truly wise and not loving rightly does not take away these capacities, but merely closes them up; and so long as they are closed up, although the understanding is still called understanding and the will is called will, they are not such in essence. if these two capacities, therefore, were to be taken away, all that is human would perish; for the human is to think and to speak from thought, and to will and to act from will. from this it is clear that the divine has its seat in man in these two capacities, the capacity to be wise and the capacity to love (that is, that one may be wise and may love). that in man there is a possibility of loving [and of being wise], even when he is not wise as he might be and does not love as he might, has been made known to me from much experience, and will be abundantly shown elsewhere. . it is because the divine essence itself is love and wisdom, that all things in the universe have relation to good and truth; for everything that proceeds from love is called good, and everything that proceeds from wisdom is called truth. but of this more hereafter. . it is because the divine essence itself is love and wisdom, that the universe and all things in it, alive and not alive, have unceasing existence from heat and light; for heat corresponds to love, and light corresponds to wisdom; and therefore spiritual heat is love and spiritual light is wisdom. but of this, also, more hereafter. . from divine love and from divine wisdom, which make the very essence that is god, all affections and thoughts with man have their rise-affections from divine love, and thoughts from divine wisdom; and each and all things of man are nothing but affection and thought; these two are like fountains of all things of man's life. all the enjoyments and pleasantnesses of his life are from these-enjoyments from the affection of his love, and pleasantnesses from the thought therefrom. now since man was created to be a recipient, and is a recipient in the degree in which he loves god and from love to god is wise, in other words, in the degree in which he is affected by those things which are from god and thinks from that affection, it follows that the divine essence, which is the creator, is divine love and divine wisdom. . divine love is of divine wisdom, and divine wisdom is of divine love. in god-man divine esse [being] and divine existere [taking form] are one distinctly (as may be seen above, n. - ). and because divine esse is divine love, and divine existere is divine wisdom, these are likewise one distinctly. they are said to be one distinctly, because love and wisdom are two distinct things, yet so united that love is of wisdom, and wisdom is of love, for in wisdom love is, and in love wisdom exists; and since wisdom derives its existere from love (as was said above, n. ), therefore divine wisdom also is esse. from this it follows that love and wisdom taken together are the divine esse, but taken distinctly love is called divine esse, and wisdom divine existere. such is the angelic idea of divine love and of divine wisdom. . since there is such a union of love and wisdom and of wisdom and love in god-man, there is one divine essence. for the divine essence is divine love because it is of divine wisdom and is divine wisdom, because it is of divine love. and since there is such a union of these, the divine life also is one. life is the divine essence. divine love and divine wisdom are a one because the union is reciprocal, and reciprocal union causes oneness. of reciprocal union, however, more will be said elsewhere. . there is also a union of love and wisdom in every divine work; from which it has perpetuity, yea, its everlasting duration. if there were more of divine love than of divine wisdom, or more of divine wisdom than of divine love, in any created work, it could have continued existence only in the measure in which the two were equally in it, anything in excess passing off. . the divine providence in the reforming, regenerating and saving of men, partakes equally of divine love and of divine wisdom. from more of divine love than of divine wisdom or from more of divine wisdom than of divine love, man cannot be reformed, regenerated and saved. divine love wills to save all, but it cam save only by means of divine wisdom; to divine wisdom belong all the laws through which salvation is effected; and these laws love cannot transcend, because divine love and divine wisdom are one and act in unison. . in the word, divine love and divine wisdom are meant by "righteousness" and "judgment," divine love by "righteousness," and divine wisdom by "judgment;" for this reason "righteousness" and "judgment" are predicated in the word of god; as in david: righteousness and judgment are the support of thy throne (ps. : ). jehovah shall bring forth righteousness as the light, and judgment as the noonday (ps. : ). in hosea: i will betroth thee unto me for ever, in righteousness, and in judgment ( : ). in jeremiah: i will raise unto david a righteous branch, who shall reign as king and shall execute judgment and righteousness in the earth ( : ). in isaiah: he shall sit upon the throne of david, and upon his kingdom, to establish it in judgment and in righteousness ( : ). jehovah shall be exalted, because he hath filled the earth with judgment and righteousness ( : ). in david: when i shall have learned the judgments of thy righteousness. seven times a day do i praise thee, because of the judgments of thy righteousness (ps. : , ). the same is meant by "life" and "light" in john: in him was life, and the life was the light of men ( : ). by "life" in this passage is meant the lord's divine love, and by "light" his divine wisdom. the same also is meant by "life" and "spirit" in john: jesus said, the words which i speak unto you, they are spirit, and they are life ( : ). . in man love and wisdom appear as two separate things, yet in themselves they are one distinctly, because with man wisdom is such as the love is, and love is such as the wisdom is. the wisdom that does not make one with its love appears to be wisdom, but it is not; and the love that does not make one with its wisdom appears to be the love of wisdom, but it is not; for the one must derive its essence and its life reciprocally from the other. with man love and wisdom appear as two separate things, because with him the capacity for understanding may be elevated into the light of heaven, but not the capacity for loving, except so far as he acts according to his understanding. any apparent wisdom, therefore, which does not make one with the love of wisdom, sinks back into the love which does make one with it; and this may be a love of unwisdom, yea, of insanity. thus a man may know from wisdom that he ought to do this or that, and yet he does not do it, because he does not love it. but so far as a man does from love what wisdom teaches, he is an image of god. . divine love and divine wisdom are substance and are form. the idea of men in general about love and about wisdom is that they are like something hovering and floating in thin air or ether or like what exhales from something of this kind. scarcely any one believes that they are really and actually substance and form. even those who recognize that they are substance and form still think of the love and the wisdom as outside the subject and as issuing from it. for they call substance and form that which they think of as outside the subject and as issuing from it, even though it be something hovering and floating; not knowing that love and wisdom are the subject itself, and that what is perceived outside of it and as hovering and floating is nothing but an appearance of the state of the subject in itself. there are several reasons why this has not hitherto been seen, one of which is, that appearances are the first things out of which the human mind forms its understanding, and these appearances the mind can shake off only by the exploration of the cause; and if the cause lies deeply hidden, the mind can explore it only by keeping the understanding for a long time in spiritual light; and this it cannot do by reason of the natural light which continually withdraws it. the truth is, however, that love and wisdom are the real and actual substance and form that constitute the subject itself. . but as this is contrary to appearance, it may seem not to merit belief unless it be proved; and since it can be proved only by such things as man can apprehend by his bodily senses, by these it shall be proved. man has five external senses, called touch, taste, smell, hearing and sight. the subject of touch is the skin by which man is enveloped, the very substance and form of the skin causing it to feel whatever is applied to it. the sense of touch is not in the things applied, but in the substance and form of the skin, which are the subject; the sense itself is nothing but an affecting of the subject by the things applied. it is the same with taste; this sense is only an affecting of the substance and form of the tongue; the tongue is the subject. it is the same with smell; it is well known that odor affects the nostrils, and that it is in the nostrils, and that the nostrils are affected by the odoriferous particles touching them. it is the same with hearing, which seems to be in the place where the sound originates; but the hearing is in the ear, and is an affecting of its substance and form; that the hearing is at a distance from the ear is an appearance. it is the same with sight. when a man sees objects at a distance, the seeing appears to be there; yet the seeing is in the eye, which is the subject, and is likewise an affecting of the subject. distance is solely from the judgment concluding about space from things intermediate, or from the diminution and consequent indistinctness of the object, an image of which is produced interiorly in the eye according to the angle of incidence. from this it is evident that sight does not go out from the eye to the object, but that the image of the object enters the eye and affects its substance and form. thus it is just the same with sight as with hearing; hearing does not go out from the ear to catch the sound, but the sound enters the ear and affects it. from all this it can be seen that the affecting of the substance and form which causes sense is not a something separate from the subject, but only causes a change in it, the subject remaining the subject then as before and afterwards. from this it follows that seeing, hearing, smell, taste, and touch, are not a something volatile flowing from their organs, but are the organs themselves, considered in their substance and form, and that when the organs are affected sense is produced. . it is the same with love and wisdom, with this difference only, that the substances and forms which are love and wisdom are not obvious to the eyes as the organs of the external senses are. nevertheless, no one can deny that those things of wisdom and love, which are called thoughts, perceptions, and affections, are substances and forms, and not entities flying and flowing out of nothing, or abstracted from real and actual substance and form, which are subjects. for in the brain are substances and forms innumerable, in which every interior sense which pertains to the understanding and will has its seat. the affections, perceptions, and thoughts there are not exhalations from these substances, but are all actually and really subjects emitting nothing from themselves, but merely undergoing changes according to whatever flows against and affects them. this may be seen from what has been said above about the external senses. of what thus flows against and affects more will be said below. . from all this it may now first be seen that divine love and divine wisdom in themselves are substance and form; for they are very esse and existere; and unless they were such esse and existere as they are substance and form, they would be a mere thing of reasoning, which in itself is nothing. . divine love and divine wisdom are substance and form in itself, thus the very and the only. that divine love and divine wisdom are substance and form has been proved just above; and that divine esse [being] and existere [taking form] are esse and existere in itself, has also been said above. it cannot be said to be esse and existere from itself, because this involves a beginning, and a beginning from something within in which would be esse and existere in itself. but very esse and existere in itself is from eternity. very esse and existere in itself is also uncreated, and everything created must needs be from an uncreate. what is created is also finite, and the finite can exist only from the infinite. . he who by exercise of thought is able to grasp the idea of and to comprehend, esse and existere in itself, can certainly perceive and comprehend that it is the very and the only. that is called the very which alone is; and that is called the only from which every thing else proceeds. now because the very and the only is substance and form, it follows that it is the very and only substance and form. because this very substance and form is divine love and divine wisdom, it follows that it is the very and only love, and the very and only wisdom; consequently, that it is the very and only essence, as well as the very and only life: for life is love and wisdom. . from all this it can be seen how sensually (that is, how much from the bodily senses and their blindness in spiritual matters) do those think who maintain that nature is from herself. they think from the eye, and are not able to think from the understanding. thought from the eye closes the understanding, but thought from the understanding opens the eye. such persons cannot think at all of esse and existere in itself, and that it is eternal, uncreate, and infinite; neither can they think at all of life, except as a something fleeting and vanishing into nothingness; nor can they think otherwise of love and wisdom, nor at all that from these are all things of nature. neither can it be seen that from these are all things of nature, unless nature is regarded, not from some of its forms, which are merely objects of sight, but from uses in their succession and order. for uses are from life alone, and their succession and order are from wisdom and love alone; while forms are only containants of uses. consequently, if forms alone are regarded, nothing of life, still less anything of love and wisdom, thus nothing of god, can be seen in nature. . divine love and divine wisdom must necessarily have being [esse] and have form [existere] in others created by itself. it is the essential of love not to love self, but to love others, and to be conjoined with others by love. it is the essential of love, moreover, to be loved by others, for thus conjunction is effected. the essence of all love consists in conjunction; this, in fact, is its life, which is called enjoyment, pleasantness, delight, sweetness, bliss, happiness, and felicity. love consists in this, that its own should be another's; to feel the joy of another as joy in oneself, that is loving. but to feel one's own joy in another and not the other's joy in oneself is not loving; for this is loving self, while the former is loving the neighbor. these two kinds of love are diametrically opposed to each other. either, it is true, conjoins; and to love one's own, that is, oneself, in another does not seem to divide; but it does so effectually divide that so far as any one has loved another in this manner, so far he afterwards hates him. for such conjunction is by its own action gradually loosened, and then, in like measure, love is turned to hate. . who that is capable of discerning the essential character of love cannot see this? for what is it to love self alone, instead of loving some one outside of self by whom one may be loved in return? is not this separation rather than conjunction? conjunction of love is by reciprocation; and there can be no reciprocation in self alone. if there is thought to be, it is from an imagined reciprocation in others. from this it is clear that divine love must necessarily have being (esse) and have form (existere) in others whom it may love, and by whom it may be loved. for as there is such a need in all love, it must be to the fullest extent, that is, infinitely in love itself. . with respect to god: it is impossible for him to love others and to be loved reciprocally by others in whom there is anything of infinity, that is, anything of the essence and life of love in itself, or anything of the divine. for if there were beings having in them anything of infinity, that is, of the essence and life of love in itself, that is, of the divine, it would not be god loved by others, but god loving himself; since the infinite, that is, the divine, is one only, and if this were in others, itself would be in them, and would be the love of self itself; and of that love not the least trace can possibly be in god, since it is wholly opposed to the divine essence. consequently, for this relation to be possible there must be others in whom there is nothing of the divine in itself. that it is possible in beings created from the divine will be seen below. but that it may be possible, there must be infinite wisdom making one with infinite love; that is, there must be the divine love of divine wisdom, and the divine wisdom of divine love (concerning which see above, n. - ) . upon a perception and knowledge of this mystery depend a perception and knowledge of all things of existence, that is, creation; also of all things of continued existence, that is, preservation by god; in other words, of all the works of god in the created universe; of which the following pages treat. . but do not, i entreat you, confuse your ideas with time and with space, for so far as time and space enter into your ideas when you read what follows, you will not understand it; for the divine is not in time and space. this will be seen clearly in the progress of this work, and in particular from what is said of eternity, infinity, and omnipresence. . all things in the universe were created from the divine love and the divine wisdom of god-man. so full of divine love and divine wisdom is the universe in greatest and least, and in first and last things, that it may be said to be divine love and divine wisdom in an image. that this is so is clearly evident from the correspondence of all things of the universe with all things of man. there is such correspondence of each and every thing that takes form in the created universe with each and every thing of man, that man may be said to be a sort of universe. there is a correspondence of his affections, and thence of his thoughts, with all things of the animal kingdom; of his will, and thence of his understanding, with all things of the vegetable kingdom; and of his outmost life with all things of the mineral kingdom. that there is such a correspondence is not apparent to any one in the natural world, but it is apparent to every one who gives heed to it in the spiritual world. in that world there are all things that take form in the natural world in its three kingdoms, and they are correspondences of affections and thoughts, that is, of affections from the will and of thoughts from the understanding, also of the outmost things of the life, of those who are in that world, around whom all these things are visible, presenting an appearance like that of the created universe, with the difference that it is in lesser form. from this it is very evident to angels, that the created universe is an image representative of god-man, and that it is his love and wisdom which are presented, in an image, in the universe. not that the created universe is god-man, but that it is from him; for nothing whatever in the created universe is substance and form in itself, or life in itself, or love and wisdom in itself, yea, neither is man a man in himself, but all is from god, who is man, wisdom and love, also form and substance, in itself. that which has being-in-itself is uncreate and infinite; but whatever is from very being, since it contains in it nothing of being-in-itself, is created and finite, and this exhibits an image of him from whom it has being and has form. . of things created and finite esse [being] and existere [taking form] can be predicated, likewise substance and form, also life, and even love and wisdom; but these are all created and finite. this can be said of things created and finite, not because they possess anything divine, but because they are in the divine, and the divine is in them. for everything that has been created is, in itself, inanimate and dead, but all things are animated and made alive by this, that the divine is in them, and that they are in the divine. . the divine is not in one subject differently from what it is in another, but one created subject differs from another; for no two things can be precisely alike, consequently each thing is a different containant. on this account, the divine as imaged forth presents a variety of appearances. its presence in opposites will be discussed hereafter. . all things in the created universe are recipients of the divine love and the divine wisdom of god-man. it is well known that each and all things of the universe were created by god; hence the universe, with each and every thing pertaining to it, is called in the word the work of the hands of jehovah. there are those who maintain that the world, with everything it includes, was created out of nothing, and of that nothing an idea of absolute nothingness is entertained. from absolute nothingness, however, nothing is or can be made. this is an established truth. the universe, therefore, which is god's image, and consequently full of god, could be created only in god from god; for god is esse itself, and from esse must be whatever is. to create what is, from nothing which is not, is an utter contradiction. but still, that which is created in god from god is not continuous from him; for god is esse in itself, and in created things there is not any esse in itself. if there were in created things any esse in itself, this would be continuous from god, and that which is continuous from god is god. the angelic idea of this is, that what is created in god from god, is like that in man which has been derived from his life, but from which the life has been withdrawn, which is of such a nature as to be in accord with his life, and yet it is not his life. the angels confirm this by many things which have existence in their heaven, where they say they are in god, and god is in them, and still that they have, in their esse, nothing of god which is god. many things whereby they prove this will be presented hereafter; let this serve for present information. . every created thing, by virtue of this origin, is such in its nature as to be a recipient of god, not by continuity, but by contiguity. by the latter and not the former comes its capacity for conjunction. for having been created in god from god, it is adapted to conjunction; and because it has been so created, it is an analogue, and through such conjunction it is like an image of god in a mirror. . from this it is that angels are angels, not from themselves, but by virtue of this conjunction with god-man; and this conjunction is according to the reception of divine good and divine truth, which are god, and which seem to proceed from him, though really they are in him. this reception is according to their application to themselves of the laws of order, which are divine truths, in the exercise of that freedom of thinking and willing according to reason, which they possess from the lord as if it were their own. by this they have a reception, as if from themselves, of divine good and of divine truth, and by this there is a reciprocation of love; for, as was said above, love is impossible unless it is reciprocal. the same is true of men on the earth. from what has been said it can now first be seen that all things of the created universe are recipients of the divine love and the divine wisdom of god-man. . it cannot yet be intelligibly explained how all other things of the universe which are unlike angels and men, that is, the things below man in the animal kingdom, and the things below these in the vegetable kingdom, and the things still below these in the mineral kingdom, are also recipients of the divine love and of the divine wisdom of god-man; for many things need to be said first about degrees of life, and degrees of the recipients of life. conjunction with these things is according to their uses; for no good use has any other origin than through a like conjunction with god, but yet different according to degrees. this conjunction in its descent becomes successively such that nothing of freedom is left therein, because nothing of reason, and therefore nothing of the appearance of life; but still they are recipients. because they are recipients, they are also re-agents; and forasmuch as they are re-agents, they are containants. conjunction with uses which are not good will be discussed when the origin of evil has been made known. . from the above it can be seen that the divine is in each and every thing of the created universe, and consequently that the created universe is the work of the hands of jehovah, as is said in the word; that is, the work of divine love and divine wisdom, for these are meant by the hands of jehovah. but though the divine is in each and all things of the created universe there is in their esse nothing of the divine in itself; for the created universe is not god, but is from god; and since it is from god, there is in it an image of him like the image of a man in a mirror, wherein indeed the man appears, but still there is nothing of the man in it. . i heard several about me in the spiritual world talking together, who said that they were quite willing to acknowledge that the divine is in each and every thing of the universe, because they behold therein the wonderful works of god, and these are the more wonderful the more interiorly they are examined. and yet, when they were told that the divine is actually in each and every thing of the universe, they were displeased; which is a proof that although they assert this they do not believe it. they were therefore asked whether this cannot be seen simply from the marvelous power which is in every seed, of producing its own vegetable form in like order, even to new seeds; also because in every seed an idea of the infinite and eternal is presented; since there is in seeds an endeavor to multiply themselves and to fructify infinitely and eternally? is not this evident also in every living creature, even the smallest? in that there are in it organs of sense, also brains, a heart, lungs, and other parts; with arteries, veins, fibers, muscles, and the activities proceeding therefrom; besides the surpassing marvels of animal nature, about which whole volumes have been written. all these wonderful things are from god; but the forms with which they are clothed are from earthy matters, out of which come plants, and in their order, men. therefore it is said of man, that he was created out of the ground, and that he is dust of the earth, and that the breath of lives was breathed into him (genesis : ). from which it is plain that the divine is not man's own, but is adjoined to him. . all created things have relation in a kind of image to man. this can be seen from each and all things of the animal kingdom, from each and all things of the vegetable kingdom, and from each and all things of the mineral kingdom. a relation to man in each and all things of the animal kingdom is evident from the following. animals of every kind have limbs by which they move, organs by which they feel, and viscera by which these are exercised; these they have in common with man. they have also appetites and affections similar to man's natural appetites and affections; and they have inborn knowledges corresponding to their affections, in some of which there appears a resemblance to what is spiritual, which is more or less evident in beasts of the earth, and birds of the air, and in bees, silk-worms, ants, etc. from this it is that merely natural men consider the living creatures of this kingdom to be like themselves, except in the matter of speech. a relation to man arising out of each and all things of the vegetable kingdom is evident from this: they spring forth from seed, and thereafter proceed step by step through their periods of growth; they have something akin to marriage, followed by prolification; their vegetative soul is use, and they are forms thereof; besides many other particulars which have relation to man. these also have been described by various authors. a relation to man deducible from each and every thing of the mineral kingdom is seen only in an endeavor to produce forms which exhibit such a relation (which forms, as said above, are each and all things of the vegetable kingdom), and in an endeavor to perform uses thereby. for when first a seed falls into the bosom of the earth, she cherishes it, and out of herself provides it with nourishment from every source, that it may shoot up and present itself in a form representative of man. that such an endeavor exists also in its solid parts is evident from corals at the bottom of the seas and from flowers in mines, where they originate from minerals, also from metals. this endeavor towards vegetating, and performing uses thereby, is the outmost derivation from the divine in created things. . as there is an endeavor of the minerals of the earth towards vegetation, so there is an endeavor of the plants towards vivification: this accounts for insects of various kinds corresponding to the odors emanating from plants. this does not arise from the heat of this world's sun, but from life operating through that heat according to the state of its recipients (as will be seen in what follows). . that there is a relation of all things of the created universe to man may be known from the foregoing statements, yet it can be seen only obscurely; whereas in the spiritual world this is seen clearly. in that world, also, there are all things of the three kingdoms, and in the midst of them the angel; he sees them about him, and also knows that they are representations of himself; yea, when the inmost of his understanding is opened he recognizes himself in them, and sees his image in them, hardly otherwise than as in a mirror. . from these and from many other concurring facts which there is not time to adduce now, it may be known with certainty that god is a man; and that the created universe is an image of him; for there is a general relation of all things to him, as well as a particular relation of all things to man. . the uses of all created things ascend by degrees from last things to man, and through man to god the creator, from whom they are. last things, as was said above, are each and all things of the mineral kingdom, which are materials of various kinds, of a stony, saline, oily, mineral, or metallic nature, covered over with soil formed of vegetable and animal matters reduced to the finest dust. in these lie concealed both the end and the beginning of all uses which are from life. the end of all uses is the endeavor to produce uses, and the beginning is the acting force from that endeavor. these pertain to the mineral kingdom. middle things are each and all things of the vegetable kingdom, such as grasses and herbs of every kind, plants and shrubs of every kind, and trees of every kind. the uses of these are for the service of each and all things of the animal kingdom, both imperfect and perfect. these they nourish, delight, and vivify; nourishing the bellies of animals with their vegetable substances, delighting the animal senses with taste, fragrance, and beauty, and vivifying their affections. the endeavor towards this is in these also from life. first things are each and all things of the animal kingdom. those are lowest therein which are called worms and insects, the middle are birds and beasts, and the highest, men; for in each kingdom there are lowest, middle and highest things, the lowest for the use of the middle, and the middle for the use of the highest. thus the uses of all created things ascend in order from outmost things to man, who is first in order. . in the natural world there are three degrees of ascent, and in the spiritual world there are three degrees of ascent. all animals are recipients of life. the more perfect are recipients of the life and the three degrees of the natural world, the less perfect of the life of two degrees of that world, and the imperfect of one of its degrees. but man alone is a recipient of the life both of the three degrees of the natural world and of the three degrees of the spiritual world. from this it is that man can be elevated above nature, while the animal cannot. man can think analytically and rationally of the civil and moral things that are within nature, also of the spiritual and celestial things that are above nature, yea, he can be so elevated into wisdom as even to see god. but the six degrees by which the uses of all created things ascend in their order even to god the creator, will be treated of in their proper place. from this summary, however, it can be seen that there is an ascent of all created things to the first, who alone is life, and that the uses of all things are the very recipients of life; and from this are the forms of uses. . it shall also be stated briefly how man ascends, that is, is elevated, from the lowest degree to the first. he is born into the lowest degree of the natural world; then, by means of knowledges, he is elevated into the second degree; and as he perfects his understanding by knowledges he is elevated into the third degree, and then becomes rational. the three degrees of ascent in the spiritual world are in man above the three natural degrees, and do not appear until he has put off the earthly body. when this takes place the first spiritual degree is open to him, afterwards the second, and finally the third; but this only with those who become angels of the third heaven; these are they that see god. those become angels of the second heaven and of the last heaven in whom the second degree and the last degree can be opened. each spiritual degree in man is opened according to his reception of divine love and divine wisdom from the lord. those who receive something thereof come into the first or lowest spiritual degree those who receive more into the second or middle spiritual degree, those who receive much into the third or highest degree. but those who receive nothing thereof remain in the natural degrees, and derive from the spiritual degrees nothing more than an ability to think and thence to speak, and to will and thence to act, but not with intelligence. . of the elevation of the interiors of man, which belong to his mind, this also should be known. in everything created by god there is reaction. in life alone there is action; reaction is caused by the action of life. because reaction takes place when any created thing is acted upon, it appears as if it belonged to what is created. thus in man it appears as if the reaction were his, because he has no other feeling than that life is his, when yet man is only a recipient of life. from this cause it is that man, by reason of his hereditary evil, reacts against god. but so far as man believes that all his life is from god, and that all good of life is from the action of god, and all evil of life from the reaction of man, so far his reaction comes to be from [god's] action, and man acts with god as if from himself. the equilibrium of all things is from action and simultaneous reaction, and in equilibrium everything must be. these things have been said lest man should believe that he himself ascends toward god from himself, and not from the lord. . the divine, apart from space, fills all spaces of the universe. there are two things proper to nature - space and time. from these man in the natural world forms the ideas of his thought, and thereby his understanding. if he remains in these ideas, and does not raise his mind above them, he is in no wise able to perceive things spiritual and divine, for these he involves in ideas drawn from space and time; and so far as that is done the light [lumen] of his understanding becomes merely natural. to think from this lumen in reasoning about spiritual and divine things, is like thinking from the thick darkness of night about those things that appear only in the light of day. from this comes naturalism. but he who knows how to raise his mind above ideas of thought drawn from space and time, passes from thick darkness into light, and has discernment in things spiritual and divine, and finally sees the things which are in and from what is spiritual and divine; and then from that light he dispels the thick darkness of the natural lumen, and banishes its fallacies from the middle to the sides. every man who has understanding is able to transcend in thought these properties of nature, and actually does so; and he then affirms and sees that the divine, because omnipresent, is not in space. he is also able to affirm and to see the things that have been adduced above. but if he denies the divine omnipresence, and ascribes all things to nature, then he has no wish to be elevated, though he can be. . all who die and become angels put off the two above- mentioned properties of nature, namely, space and time; for they then enter into spiritual light, in which objects of thought are truths, and objects of sight are like those in the natural world, but are correspondent to their thoughts. the objects of their thought which, as just said, are truths, derive nothing at all from space and time; and though the objects of their sight appear as if in space and in time, still the angels do not think from space and time. the reason is, that spaces and times there are not fixed, as in the natural world, but are changeable according to the states of their life. in the ideas of their thought, therefore, instead of space and time there are states of life, instead of spaces such things as have reference to states of love, and instead of times such things as have reference to states of wisdom. from this it is that spiritual thought, and spiritual speech therefrom, differ so much from natural thought and natural speech therefrom, as to have nothing in common except as regards the interiors of things, which are all spiritual. of this difference more will be said elsewhere. now, because the thoughts of angels derive nothing from space and time, but everything from states of life, when it is said that the divine fills spaces angels evidently cannot comprehend it, for they do not know what spaces are; but when, apart from any idea of space, it is said that the divine fills all things, they clearly comprehend it. . to make it clear that the merely natural man thinks of spiritual and divine things from space, and the spiritual man apart from space, let the following serve for illustration. the merely natural man thinks by means of ideas which he has acquired from objects of sight, in all of which there is figure partaking of length, breadth, and height, and of shape determined by these, either angular or circular. these [conceptions] are manifestly present in the ideas of his thought concerning things visible on earth; they are also in the ideas of his thought concerning those not visible, such as civil and moral affairs. this he is unconscious of; but they are nevertheless there, as continuations. with a spiritual man it is different, especially with an angel of heaven, whose thought has nothing in common with figure and form that derives anything from spiritual length, breadth, and height, but only with figure and form derived from the state of a thing resulting from the state of its life. consequently, instead of length of space he thinks of the good of a thing from good of life; instead of breadth of space, of the truth of a thing from truth of life; and instead of height, of the degrees of these. thus he thinks from the correspondence there is between things spiritual and things natural. from this correspondence it is that in the word "length" signifies the good of a thing, "breadth" the truth of a thing, and "height" the degrees of these. from this it is evident that an angel of heaven, when he thinks of the divine omnipresence, can by no means think otherwise than that the divine, apart from space, fills all things. and that which an angel thinks is truth, because the light which enlightens his understanding is divine wisdom. . this is the basis of thought concerning god; for without it, what is to be said of the creation of the universe by god-man, of his providence, omnipotence, omnipresence and omniscience, even if understood, cannot be kept in mind; since the merely natural man, even while he has these things in his understanding, sinks back into his life's love, which is that of his will; and that love dissipates these truths, and immerses his thought in space, where his lumen, which he calls rational, abides, not knowing that so far as he denies these things, he is irrational. that this is so, may be confirmed by the idea entertained of this truth, that god is a man. read with attention, i pray you, what has been said above (n. - ) and what follows after, and your understanding will accept it. but when you let your thought down into the natural lumen which derives from space, will not these things be seen as paradoxes? and if you let it down far, will you not reject them? this is why it is said that the divine fills all spaces of the universe, and why it is not said that god-man fills them. for if this were said, the merely natural lumen would not assent. but to the proposition that the divine fills all space, it does assent, because this agrees with the mode of speech of the theologians, that god is omnipresent, and hears and knows all things. (on this subject, more may be seen above, n. - .). . the divine is in all time, apart from time. as the divine, apart from space, is in all space, so also, apart from time, is it in all time. for nothing which is proper to nature can be predicated of the divine, and space and time are proper to nature. space in nature is measurable, and so is time. this is measured by days, weeks, months, years, and centuries; days are measured by hours; weeks and months by days; years by the four seasons; and centuries by years. nature derives this measurement from the apparent revolution and annual motion of the sun of the world. but in the spiritual world it is different. the progressions of life in that world appear in like manner to be in time, for those there live with one another as men in the world live with one another; and this is not possible without the appearance of time. but time there is not divided into periods as in the world, for their sun is constantly in the east and is never moved away; for it is the lord's divine love that appears to them as a sun. wherefore they have no days, weeks, months, years, centuries, but in place of these there are states of life, by which a distinction is made which cannot be called, however, a distinction into periods, but into states. consequently, the angels do not know what time is, and when it is mentioned they perceive in place of it state; and when state determines time, time is only an appearance. for joyfulness of state makes time seem short, and joylessness of state makes time seem long; from which it is evident that time in the spiritual world is nothing but quality of state. it is from this that in the word, "hours," "days," "weeks," "months," and "years," signify states and progressions of state in series and in the aggregate; and when times are predicated of the church, by its "morning" is meant its first state, by "mid-day" its fullness by "evening" its decline, and by "night" its end. the four seasons of the year "spring," "summer," "autumn," and "winter," have a like meaning. . from the above it can be seen that time makes one with thought from affection; for from that is the quality of man's state. and with progressions of time, in the spiritual world, distances in progress through space coincide; as may be shown from many things. for instance, in the spiritual world ways are actually shortened or are lengthened in accordance with the longings that are of thought from affection. from this, also, comes the expression, "spaces of time." moreover, in cases where thought does not join itself to its proper affection in man, as in sleep, the lapse of time is not noticed. . now as times which are proper to nature in its world are in the spiritual world pure states, which appear progressive because angels and spirits are finite, it may be seen that in god they are not progressive because he is infinite, and infinite things in him are one (as has been shown above, n. - ). from this it follows that the divine in all time is apart from time. . he who has no knowledge of god apart from time and is unable from any perception to think of him, is thus utterly unable to conceive of eternity in any other way than as an eternity of time; in which case, in thinking of god from eternity he must needs become bewildered; for he thinks with regard to a beginning, and beginning has exclusive reference to time. his bewilderment arises from the idea that god had existence from himself, from which he rushes headlong into an origin of nature from herself; and from this idea he can be extricated only by a spiritual or angelic idea of eternity, which is an idea apart from time; and when time is separated, the eternal and the divine are the same, and the divine is the divine in itself, not from itself. the angels declare that while they can conceive of god from eternity, they can in no way conceive of nature from eternity, still less of nature from herself and not at all of nature as nature in herself. for that which is in itself is the very esse, from which all things are; esse in itself is very life, which is the divine love of divine wisdom and the divine wisdom of divine love. for the angels this is the eternal, an eternal as removed from time as the uncreated is from the created, or the infinite from the finite, between which, in fact, there is no ratio. . the divine in things greatest and least is the same. this follows from the two preceding articles, that the divine apart from space is in all space, and apart from time is in all time. moreover, there are spaces greater and greatest, and lesser and least; and since spaces and times, as said above, make one, it is the same with times. in these the divine is the same, because the divine is not varying and changeable, as everything is which belongs to nature, but is unvarying and unchangeable, consequently the same everywhere and always. . it seems as if the divine were not the same in one person as in another; as if, for instance, it were different in the wise and in the simple, or in an old man and in a child. but this is a fallacy arising from appearance; the man is different, but the divine in him is not different. man is a recipient, and the recipient or receptacle is what varies. a wise man is a recipient of divine love and divine wisdom more adequately, and therefore more fully, than a simple man; and an old man who is also wise, more than a little child or boy; yet the divine is the same in the one as in the other. it is in like manner a fallacy arising from appearance, that the divine is different with angels of heaven from what it is with men on the earth, because the angels of heaven are in wisdom ineffable, while men are not; but the seeming difference is not in the lord but in the subjects, according to the quality of their reception of the divine. . that the divine is the same in things greatest and least, may be shown by means of heaven and by means of an angel there. the divine in the whole heaven and the divine in an angel is the same; therefore even the whole heaven may appear as one angel. so is it with the church, and with a man of the church. the greatest form receptive of the divine is the whole heaven together with the whole church; the least is an angel of heaven and a man of the church. sometimes an entire society of heaven has appeared to me as one angel-man; and it was told that it may appear like a man as large as a giant, or like a man as small as an infant; and this, because the divine in things greatest and least is the same. . the divine is also the same in the greatest and in the least of all created things that are not alive; for it is in all the good of their use. these, moreover, are not alive for the reason that they are not forms of life but forms of uses; and the form varies according to the excellence of the use. but how the divine is in these things will be stated in what follows, where creation is treated of. . put away space, and deny the possibility of a vacuum, and then think of divine love and of divine wisdom as being essence itself, space having been put away and a vacuum denied. then think according to space; and you will perceive that the divine, in the greatest and in the least things of space, is the same; for in essence abstracted from space there is neither great nor small, but only the same. . something shall now be said about vacuum. i once heard angels talking with newton about vacuum, and saying that they could not tolerate the idea of a vacuum as being nothing, for the reason that in their world which is spiritual, and which is within or above the spaces and times of the natural world, they equally feel, think, are affected, love, will, breathe, yea, speak and act, which would be utterly impossible in a vacuum which is nothing, since nothing is nothing, and of nothing not anything can be affirmed. newton said that he now knew that the divine, which is being itself, fills all things, and that to him the idea of nothing as applied to vacuum is horrible, because that idea is destructive of all things; and he exhorts those who talk with him about vacuum to guard against the idea of nothing, comparing it to a swoon, because in nothing no real activity of mind is possible. . part second. divine love and divine wisdom appear in the spiritual world as a sun. there are two worlds, the spiritual and the natural. the spiritual world does not draw anything from the natural, nor the natural world from the spiritual. the two are totally distinct, and communicate only by correspondences, the nature of which has been abundantly shown elsewhere. to illustrate this by an example: heat in the natural world corresponds to the good of charity in the spiritual world, and light in the natural world corresponds to the truth of faith in the spiritual world; and who does not see that heat and the good of charity, and that light and the truth of faith, are wholly distinct? at first sight they appear as distinct as two entirely different things. they so appear when one inquires what the good of charity has in common with heat, or the truth of faith with light; when in fact, spiritual heat is that good, and spiritual light is that truth. although these things are in themselves so distinct, they make one by correspondence. they make one in this way: when man reads, in the word, of heat and light, the spirits and angels who are with the man perceive charity instead of heat, and faith instead of light. this example is adduced, in order that it may be known that the two worlds, the spiritual and the natural, are so distinct as to have nothing in common with each other; yet are so created as to have communication, yea, conjunction by means of correspondences. . since these two worlds are so distinct, it can be seen very clearly that the spiritual world is under another sun than the natural world. for in the spiritual world, must as in the natural, there is heat and light; but the heat there, as well as the light, is spiritual; and spiritual heat is the good of charity, and spiritual light is the truth of faith. now since heat and light can originate only in a sun, it is evident that the spiritual world has a different sun from the natural world; and further, that the sun of the spiritual world in its essence is such that spiritual heat and light can come forth from it; whereas the sun of the natural world in its essence is such that natural heat can come forth from it. everything spiritual has relation to good and truth, and can spring from no other source than divine love and divine wisdom; for all good is of love and all truth is of wisdom; that they have no other origin any discerning man can see. . that there is any other sun than that of the natural world has hitherto been unknown. the reason is, that the spiritual of man has so far passed over into his natural, that he does not know what the spiritual is, and thus does not know that there is a spiritual world, the abode of spirits and angels, other than and different from the natural world. since the spiritual world has lain so deeply hidden from the knowledge of those who are in the natural world, it has pleased the lord to open the sight of my spirit, that i might see the things which are in that world, just as i see those in the natural world, and might afterwards describe that world; which has been done in the work heaven and hell, in one chapter of which the sun of the spiritual world is treated of. for that sun has been seen by me; and it appeared of the same size as the sun of the natural world; also fiery like it, but more glowing. it has also been made known to me that the whole angelic heaven is under that sun; and that angels of the third heaven see it constantly, angels of the second heaven very often, and angels of the first or outmost heaven sometimes. that all their heat and all their light, as well as all things that are manifest in that world, are from that sun will be seen in what follows. . that sun is not the lord himself, but is from the lord. it is the divine love and the divine wisdom proceeding from him that appear as a sun in that world. and because love and wisdom in the lord are one (as shown in part i.), that sun is said to be divine love; for divine wisdom is of divine love, consequently is love. . since love and fire mutually correspond, that sun appears before the eyes of the angels as fiery; for angels cannot see love with their eyes, but they see in the place of love what corresponds to it. for angels, equally with men, have an internal and an external; it is their internal that thinks and is wise, and that wills and loves; it is their external that feels, sees, speaks and acts. all their externals are correspondences of internals; but the correspondences are spiritual, not natural. moreover, divine love is felt as fire by spiritual beings. for this reason "fire," when mentioned in the word, signifies love. in the israelitish church, "holy fire" signified love; and this is why, in prayers to god, it is customary to ask that "heavenly fire," that is divine love, "may kindle the heart." . with such a difference between the spiritual and the natural (as shown above, n. ), nothing from the sun of the natural world, that is, nothing of its heat and light, nor anything pertaining to any earthly object, can pass over into the spiritual world. to the spiritual world the light of the natural world is thick darkness, and its heat is death. nevertheless, the heat of the world can be vivified by the influx of heavenly heat, and the light of the world can be illumined by the influx of heavenly light. influx is effected by correspondences; and it cannot be effected by continuity. . out of the sun that takes form [existit] from the divine love and the divine wisdom, heat and light go forth. in the spiritual world where angels and spirits are there are heat and light, just as in the natural world where men are; moreover in like manner as heat, the heat is felt and the light is seen as light. still the heat and light of the spiritual world and of the natural world are (as said above) so entirely different as to have nothing in common. they differ one from the other as what is alive differs from what is dead. the heat of the spiritual world in itself is alive; so is the light; but the heat of the natural world in itself is dead; so is its light. for the heat and light of the spiritual world go forth from a sun that is pure love, while the heat and light of the natural world go forth from a sun that is pure fire; and love is alive, and the divine love is life itself; while fire is dead, and solar fire is death itself, and may be so called because it has nothing whatever of life in it. . since angels are spiritual they can live in no other than spiritual heat and light, while men can live in no other than natural heat and light; for what is spiritual accords with what is spiritual, and what is natural with what is natural. if an angel were to derive the least particle from natural heat and light he would perish; for it is totally discordant with his life. as to the interiors of the mind every man is a spirit. when he dies he withdraws entirely from the world of nature, leaving behind him all its belongings, and enters a world where there is nothing of nature. in that world he lives so separated from nature that there is no communication whatever by continuity, that is, as between what is purer and grosser, but only like that between what is prior and posterior; and between such no communication is possible except by correspondences. from this it can be seen that spiritual heat is not a purer natural heat, or spiritual light a purer natural light, but that they are altogether of a different essence; for spiritual heat and light derive their essence from a sun which is pure love, and this is life itself; while natural heat and light derive their essence from a sun which is pure fire, in which (as said above) there is absolutely nothing of life. . such being the difference between the heat and light of the two worlds, it is very evident why those who are in the one world cannot see those who are in the other world. for the eyes of man, who sees from natural light, are of the substance of his world, and the eyes of an angel are of the substance of his world; thus in both cases they are formed for the proper reception of their own light. from all this it can be seen from how much ignorance those think who, because they cannot see angels and spirits with their eyes, are unwilling to believe them to be men. . hitherto it has not been known that angels and spirits are in a totally different light and different heat from men. it has not been known even that another light and another heat are possible. for man in his thought has not penetrated beyond the interior or purer things of nature. and for this reason many have placed the abodes of angels and spirits in the ether, and some in the stars - thus within nature, and not above or outside of it. but, in truth, angels and spirits are entirely above or outside of nature, and are in their own world, which is under another sun. and since in that world spaces are appearances (as was shown above), angels and spirits cannot be said to be in the ether or in the stars; in fact, they are present with man, conjoined to the affection and thought of his spirit; since man is a spirit, and because of that thinks and wills; consequently the spiritual world is wherever man is, and in no wise away from him. in a word, every man as regards the interiors of his mind is in that world, in the midst of spirits and angels there; and he thinks from its light, and loves from its heat. . the sun of the spiritual world is not god, but is a proceeding from the divine love and divine wisdom of god-man; so also are the heat and light from that sun. by that sun which is before the eyes of the angels, and from which they have heat and light, is not meant the lord himself, but the first proceeding from him, which is the highest [degree] of spiritual heat. the highest [degree] of spiritual heat is spiritual fire, which is divine love and divine wisdom in their first correspondence. on this account that sun appears fiery, and to the angels is fiery, but not to men. fire which is fire to men is not spiritual, but natural; and between the two fires there is a difference like the difference between what is alive and what is dead. therefore the spiritual sun by its heat vivifies spiritual beings and renews spiritual objects. the natural sun does the same for natural beings and natural objects; yet not from itself, but by means of an influx of spiritual heat, to which it renders aid as a kind of substitute. . this spiritual fire, in which also there is light in its origin, becomes spiritual heat and light, which decrease in their going forth. this decrease is effected by degrees, which will be treated of in what follows. the ancients represented this by circles glowing with fire and resplendent with light around the head of god, as is common also at the present day in paintings representing god as a man. . that love begets heat, and wisdom light, is manifest from actual experience. when man loves he grows warm, and when he thinks from wisdom he sees things as it were in light. and from this it is evident that the first proceeding of love is heat, and that the first proceeding of wisdom is light. that they are also correspondences is obvious; for heat takes place [existit] not in love itself, but from love in the will, and thence in the body; and light takes place not in wisdom, but in the thought of the understanding, and thence in the speech. consequently love and wisdom are the essence and life of heat and light. heat and light are what proceed, and because they are what proceed, they are also correspondences. . that spiritual light is altogether distinct from natural light, any one may know if he observes the thoughts of his mind. for when the mind thinks, it sees its objects in light, and they who think spiritually see truths, and this at midnight just as well as in the daytime. for this reason light is predicated of the understanding, and the understanding is said to see; thus one sometimes declares of something which another says that he sees (that is, understands) that it is so. the understanding, because it is spiritual, cannot thus see by natural light, for natural light does not inhere in man, but withdraws with the sun. from this it is obvious that the understanding enjoys a light different from that of the eye, and that this light is from a different origin. . let every one beware of thinking that the sun of the spiritual world is god himself. god himself is a man. the first proceeding from his love and wisdom is that fiery spiritual [substance] which appears before the angels as a sun. when, therefore, the lord manifests himself to the angels in person, he manifests himself as a man; and this sometimes in the sun, sometimes outside of it. . it is from this correspondence that in the lord the lord is called not only a "sun" but also "fire" and "light." and by the "sun" is meant himself as to divine love and divine wisdom together; by "fire" himself in respect to divine love, and by "light" himself in respect to divine wisdom. . spiritual heat and light in proceeding from the lord as a sun, make one, just as his divine love and divine wisdom make one. how divine love and divine wisdom in the lord make one has been explained in part i.; in like manner heat and light make one, because they proceed from these, and the things which proceed make one by virtue of their correspondence, heat, corresponding to love, and light to wisdom. from this it follows that as divine love is divine esse [being] and divine wisdom is divine existere [taking form] (as shown above, n. - ), so spiritual heat is thy divine proceeding from divine esse, and spiritual light is the divine proceeding from divine existere. and as by that union divine love is of divine wisdom, and divine wisdom is of divine love (as shown above, n. - ), so spiritual heat is of spiritual light, and spiritual light is of spiritual heat and because there is such a union it follows that heat and light, in proceeding from the lord as a sun, are one. it will be seen, however, in what follows, that they are not received as one by angels and men. . the heat and light that proceed from the lord as a sun are what in an eminent sense are called the spiritual, and they are called the spiritual in the singular number, because they are one; when, therefore, the spiritual is mentioned in the following pages, it is meant both these together. from that spiritual it is that the whole of that world is called spiritual. through that spiritual, all things of that world derive their origin, and also their name. that heat and that light are called the spiritual, because god is called spirit, and god as spirit is the spiritual going forth. god, by virtue of his own very essence, is called jehovah; but by means of that going forth he vivifies and enlightens angels of heaven and men of the church. consequently, vivification and enlightenment are said to be effected by the spirit of jehovah. . that heat and light, that is, the spiritual going forth from the lord as a sun, make one, may be illustrated by the heat and light that go forth from the sun of the natural world. these two also make one in their going out from that sun. that they do not make one on earth is owing not to the sun, but to the earth. for the earth revolves daily round its axis, and has a yearly motion following the ecliptic, which gives the appearance that heat and light do not make one. for in the middle of summer there is more of heat than of light, and in the middle of winter more of light than of heat. in the spiritual world it is the same, except that there is in that world no daily or yearly motion of the earth; but the angels turn themselves, some more, some less, to the lord; those who turn themselves more, receive more from heat and less from light, and those who turn themselves less to the lord receive more from light and less from heat. from this it is that the heavens, which consist of angels, are divided into two kingdoms, one called celestial, the other spiritual. the celestial angels receive more from heat, and the spiritual angels more from light. moreover, the lands they inhabit vary in appearance according to their reception of heat and light. if this change of state of the angels is substituted for the motion of the earth, the correspondence is complete. . in what follows it will be seen, also, that all spiritual things that originate through the heat and light of their sun, make one in like manner when regarded in themselves, but when regarded as proceeding from the affections of the angels do not make one. when heat and light make one in the heavens, it is with the angels as if it were spring; but when they do not make one, it is either like summer or like winter - not like the winter in the frigid zones, but like the winter in the warmer zone. thus reception of love and wisdom in equal measure is the very angelic state, and therefore an angel is an angel of heaven according to the union in him of love and wisdom. it is the same with the man of the church, when love and wisdom, that is, charity and faith, make one in him. . the sun of the spiritual world appears at a middle altitude, far off from the angels, like the sun of the natural world from men. most people take with them out of the world an idea of god, as being above the head, on high, and an idea of the lord, as living in heaven among the angels. they take with them this idea of god because, in the word, god is called the "most high," and is said to "dwell on high;" therefore in prayer and worship men raise their eyes and hands upwards, not knowing that by "the most high" is signified the inmost. they take with them the idea of the lord as being in heaven among the angels, because men think of him as they think of another man, some thinking of him as they think of an angel, not knowing that the lord is the very and only god who rules the universe, who if he were among the angels in heaven, could not have the universe under his gaze and under his care and government. and unless he shone as a sun before those who are in the spiritual world, angels could have no light; for angels are spiritual, and therefore no other than spiritual light is in accord with their essence. that there is light in the heavens, immensely exceeding the light on earth, will be seen below where degrees are discussed. . as regards the sun, therefore, from which angels have light and heat, it appears above the lands on which the angels dwell, at an elevation of about forty-five degrees, which is the middle altitude; it also appears far off from the angels like the sun of the world from men. the sun appears constantly at that altitude and at that distance, and does not move from its place. hence it is that angels have no times divided into days and years, nor any progression of the day from morning, through midday to evening and into night; nor any progression of the year from spring, through summer to autumn, into winter; but there is perpetual light and perpetual spring; consequently, with the angels, as was said above, in place of times there are states. . the sun of the spiritual world appears at a middle altitude chiefly for the following reasons: first, the heat and light which proceed from that sun are thus at their medium intensity, consequently are equally proportioned and thus properly attempered. for if the sun were to appear above the middle altitude more heat than light would be perceived, if below it more light than heat; as is the case on earth when the sun is above or below the middle of the sky; when above, the heat increases beyond the light, when below, the light increases beyond the heat; for light remains the same in summer and in winter, but heat increases and diminishes according to the degree of the sun's altitude. secondly, the sun of the spiritual world appears in a middle altitude above the angelic heaven, because there is thus a perpetual spring in all the angelic heavens, whereby the angels are in a state of peace; for this state corresponds to springtime on earth. thirdly, angels are thus enabled to turn their faces constantly to the lord, and behold him with their eyes. for at every turn of their bodies, the angels have the east, thus the lord, before their faces. this is peculiar to that world, and would not be the case if the sun of that world were to appear above or below the middle altitude, and least of all if it were to appear overhead in the zenith. . if the sun of the spiritual world did not appear far off from the angels, like the sun of the natural world from men, the whole angelic heaven, and hell under it, and our terraqueous globe under these, would not be under the view, the care, the omnipresence, omniscience, omnipotence, and providence of the lord; comparatively as the sun of our world, if it were not at such a distance from the earth as it appears, could not be present and powerful in all lands by its heat and light, and therefore could not render its aid, as a kind of substitute, to the sun of the spiritual world. . it is very necessary to be known that there are two suns, one spiritual, the other natural; a spiritual sun for those who are in the spiritual world, and a natural sun for those who are in the natural world. unless this is known, nothing can be properly understood about creation and about man, which are the subjects here to be treated of. effects may, it is true, be observed, but unless at the same time the causes of effects are seen, effects can only appear as it were in the darkness of night. . the distance between the sun and the angels in the spiritual world is an appearance according to reception by them of divine love and divine wisdom. all fallacies which prevail with the evil and the simple arise from appearances which have been confirmed. so long as appearances remain appearances, they are apparent truths, according to which every one may think and speak; but when they are accepted as real truths, which is done when they are confirmed, then apparent truths become falsities and fallacies. for example: it is an appearance that the sun is borne around the earth daily, and follows yearly the path of the ecliptic. so long as this appearance is not confirmed it is an apparent truth, according to which any one may think and speak; for he may say that the sun rises and sets and thereby causes morning, midday, evening, and night; also that the sun is now in such or such a degree of the ecliptic or of its altitude, and thereby causes spring, summer, autumn, and winter. but when this appearance is confirmed as the real truth, then the confirmer thinks and utters a falsity springing from a fallacy. it is the same with innumerable other appearances, not only in natural, civil, and moral, but also in spiritual affairs. . it is the same with the distance of the sun of the spiritual world, which sun is the first proceeding of the lord's divine love and divine wisdom. the truth is that there is no distance, but that the distance is an appearance according to the reception of divine love and wisdom by the angels in their degree. that distances, in the spiritual world, are appearances may be seen from what has been shown above (as in n. - , that the divine is not in space; and in n. - , that the divine, apart from space, fills all spaces). if there are no spaces, there are no distances, or, what is the same, if spaces are appearances, distances also are appearances, for distances are of space. . the sun of the spiritual world appears at a distance from the angels, because they receive divine love and divine wisdom in the measure of heat and light that is adequate to their states. for an angel, because created and finite, cannot receive the lord in the first degree of heat and light, such as is in the sun; if he did he would be entirely consumed. the lord, therefore, is received by angels in a degree of heat and light corresponding to their love and wisdom. the following may serve for illustration. an angel of the lowest heaven cannot ascend to the angels of the third heaven; for if he ascends and enters their heaven, he falls into a kind of swoon, and his life as it were, strives with death; the reason is that he has a less degree of love and wisdom, and the heat of his love and the light of his wisdom are in the same degree as his love and wisdom. what, then, would be the result if an angel were even to ascend toward the sun, and come into its fire? on account of the differences of reception of the lord by the angels, the heavens also appear separate from one another. the highest heaven, which is called the third, appears above the second, and the second above the first; not that the heavens are apart, but they appear to be apart, for the lord is present equally with those who are in the lowest heaven and with those who are in the third heaven. that which causes the appearance of distance is not in the lord but in the subjects, that is, the angels. . that this is so can hardly be comprehended by a natural idea, because in such there is space, but by a spiritual idea, such as angels have, it can be comprehended, because in such there is no space. yet even by a natural idea this much can be comprehended, that love and wisdom (or what is the same, the lord, who is divine love and divine wisdom) cannot advance through spaces, but is present with each one according to reception. that the lord is present with all, he teaches in matthew ( : ), and that he makes his abode with those who love him, in john ( : ). . as this has been proved by means of the heavens and the angels, it may seem a matter of too exalted wisdom; but the same is true of men. men, as to the interiors of their minds, are warmed and illuminated by that same sun. they are warmed by its heat and illuminated by its light in the measure in which they receive love and wisdom from the lord. the difference between angels and men is that angels are under the spiritual sun only, but men are not only under that sun, but also under the sun of this world; for men's bodies can begin and continue to exist only under both suns; but not so the bodies of angels, which are spiritual. . angels are in the lord, and the lord in them; and because angels are recipients, the lord alone is heaven. heaven is called "the dwelling-place of god," also "the throne of god," and from this it is believed that god is there as is a king in his kingdom. but god (that is, the lord) is in the sun above the heavens, and by his presence in heat and light, is in the heavens (as is shown in the last two paragraphs). but although the lord is present in heaven in that manner, still he is there as he is in himself. for (as shown just above, n. - ) the distance between the sun and heaven is not distance, but appearance of distance; and since that distance is only an appearance it follows that the lord himself is in heaven, for he is in the love and wisdom of the angels of heaven; and since he is in the love and wisdom of all angels, and the angel constitute heaven, he is in the whole heaven. . the lord not only is in heaven, but also is heaven itself; for love and wisdom are what make the angel, and these two are the lord's in the angels; from which it follows that the lord is heaven. for angels are not angels from what is their own; what is their own is altogether like what is man's own, which is evil. an angel's own is such because all angels were once men, and this own clings to the angels from their birth. it is only put aside, and so far as it is put aside the angels receive love and wisdom, that is, the lord, in themselves. any one, if he will only elevate his understanding a little, can see that the lord can dwell in angels, only in what is his, that is, in what is his very own, which is love and wisdom, and not at all in the selfhood of angels, which is evil. from this it is, that so far as evil is put away so far the lord is in them, and so far they are angels. the very angelic of heaven is love divine and wisdom divine. this divine is called the angelic when it is in angels. from this, again, it is evident that angels are angels from the lord, and not from themselves; consequently, the same is true of heaven. . but how the lord is in an angel and an angel in the lord cannot be comprehended, unless the nature of their conjunction is known. conjunction is of the lord with the angel and of the angel with the lord; conjunction, therefore, is reciprocal. on the part of the angel it is as follows. the angel, in like manner as man, has no other perception than that he is in love and wisdom from himself, consequently that love and wisdom are, as it were, his or his own. unless he so perceived there would be no conjunction, thus the lord would not be in him, nor he in the lord. nor can it be possible for the lord to be in any angel or man, unless the one in whom the lord is, with love and wisdom, has a perception and sense as if they were his. by this means the lord is not only received, but also, when received, is retained, and likewise loved in return. and by this, also, the angel is made wise and continues wise. who can wish to love the lord and his neighbor, and who can wish to be wise, without a sense and perception that what he loves, learns, and imbibes is, as it were, his own? who otherwise can retain it in himself? if this were not so, the inflowing love and wisdom would have no abiding-place, for it would flow through and not affect; thus an angel would not be an angel, nor would man be a man; he would be merely like something inanimate. from all this it can be seen that there must be an ability to reciprocate that there may be conjunction. . it shall now be explained how it comes that an angel perceives and feels as his, and thus receives and retains that which yet is not his; for, as was said above, an angel is not an angel from what is his, but from those things which he has from the lord. the essence of the matter is this:- every angel has freedom and rationality; these two he has to the end that he may be capable of receiving love and wisdom from the lord. yet neither of these, freedom nor rationality, is his, they are the lord's in him. but since the two are intimately conjoined to his life, so intimately that they may be said to be joined into it, they appear to be his own. it is from them that he is able to think and will, and to speak and act; and what he thinks, wills, speaks, and does from them, appears as if it were from himself. this gives him the ability to reciprocate, and by means of this conjunction is possible. yet so far as an angel believes that love and wisdom are really in him, and thus lays claim to them for himself as if they were his, so far the angelic is not in him, and therefore he has no conjunction with the lord; for he is not in truth, and as truth makes one with the light of heaven, so far he cannot be in heaven; for he thereby denies that he lives from the lord, and believes that he lives from himself, and that he therefore possesses divine essence. in these two, freedom and rationality, the life which is called angelic and human consists. from all this it can be seen that for the sake of conjunction with the lord, - the angel has the ability to reciprocate, but that this ability, in itself considered, is not his but the lord's. from this it is, that if he abuses his ability to reciprocate, by which he perceives and feels as his what is the lord's, which is done by appropriating it to himself he falls from the angelic state. that conjunction is reciprocal, the lord himself teaches (john : - ; - ); also that the conjunction of the lord with man and of man with the lord, is in those things of the lord that are called his words (john : ). . some are of the opinion that adam was in such liberty or freedom of choice as to be able to love god and be wise from himself, and that this freedom of choice was lost in his posterity. but this is an error; for man is not life, but is a recipient of life (see above, n. - , - ); and he who is a recipient of life cannot love and be wise from anything of his own; consequently, when adam willed to be wise and to love from what was his own he fell from wisdom and love, and was cast out of paradise. . what has just been said of an angel is likewise true of heaven, which consists of angels, since the divine in greatest and least things is the same (as was shown above n. - ). what is said of an angel and of heaven is likewise true of man and the church, for the angel of heaven and the man of the church act as one through conjunction; in fact, a man of the church is an angel, in respect to the interiors which are of his mind. by a man of the church is meant a man in whom the church is. . in the spiritual world the east is where the lord appears as a sun, and from that the other quarters are determined. the sun of the spiritual world and its essence, also its heat and light, and the presence of the lord thereby, have been treated of; a description is now to be given of the quarters in the spiritual world. that sun and that world are treated of, because god and love and wisdom are treated of; and to treat of those subjects except from their very origin would be to proceed from effects, not from causes. yet from effects nothing but effects can be learned; when effects alone are considered no cause is brought to light; but causes reveal effects. to know effects from causes is to be wise; but to search for causes from effects is not to be wise, because fallacies then present themselves, which the investigator calls causes, and this is to turn wisdom into foolishness. causes are things prior, and effects are things posterior; and things prior cannot be seen from things posterior, but things posterior can be seen from things prior. this is order. for this reason the spiritual world is here first treated of, for all causes are there; and afterwards the natural world, where all things that appear are effects. . the quarters in the spiritual world shall now be spoken of. there are quarters there in like manner as in the natural world, but like that world itself, they are spiritual; while the quarters in the natural world, like that world itself, are natural; the difference between them therefore is so great that they have nothing in common. in each world there are four quarters, which are called east, west, south, and north. in the natural world, these four quarters are constant, determined by the sun on the meridian; opposite this is north, on one side is east, on the other, west. these quarters are determined by the meridian of each place; for the sun's station on the meridian at each point is always the same, and is therefore fixed. in the spiritual world it is different. the quarters there are determined by the sun of that world, which appears constantly in its own place, and where it appears is the east; consequently the determination of the quarters in that world is not from the south, as in the natural world, but from the east, opposite to this is west, on one side is south, and on the other, north. but that these quarters are not determined by the sun, but by the inhabitants of that world, who are angels and spirits, will be seen in what follows. . as these quarters, by virtue of their origin, which is the lord as a sun, are spiritual, so the dwelling-places of angels and spirits, all of which are according to these quarters, are also spiritual. they are spiritual, because angels and spirits have their places of abode according to their reception of love and wisdom from the lord. those in a higher degree of love dwell in the east; those in a lower degree of love in the west; those in a higher degree of wisdom, in the south; and those in a lower degree of wisdom, in the north. from this it is that, in the word, by "the east," in the highest sense, is meant the lord, and in a relative sense love to him; by the "west," a diminishing love to him; by the "south" wisdom in light; and by the "north" wisdom in shade; or similar things relatively to the state of those who are treated of. . since the east is the point from which all quarters in the spiritual world are determined, and by the east, in the highest sense, is meant the lord, and also divine love, it is evident that the source from which all things are, is the lord and love to him, and that one is remote from the lord in the measure in which he is not in that love, and dwells either in the west, or in the south, or in the north, at distances corresponding to the reception of love. . since the lord as a sun is constantly in the east, the ancients, with whom all things of worship were representative of spiritual things, turned their faces to the east in their devotions; and that they might do the like in all worship, they turned their temples also in that direction. from this it is that, at the present day, churches are built in like manner. . the quarters in the spiritual world are not from the lord as a sun, but from the angels according to reception. it has been stated that the angels dwell separate from each other; some in the eastern quarter, some in the western, some in the southern, and some in the northern; and that those who dwell in the eastern quarter are in a higher degree of love; those in the western, in a lower degree of love; those in the southern, in the light of wisdom; and those in the northern, in the shade of wisdom. this diversity of dwelling-places appears as though it were from the lord as a sun, when, in fact it is from the angels. the lord is not in a greater and lesser degree of love and wisdom, that is, as a sun he is not in a greater or lesser degree of heat and light with one than with another, for he is everywhere the same. but he is not received by one in the same degree as by another; and this makes them appear to themselves to be more or less distant from one another, and also variously as regards the quarters. from this it follows that quarters - in the spiritual world are nothing else than various receptions of love and wisdom, and thence of heat and light from the lord as a sun. that this is so is plain from what was shown above (n. - ), that in the spiritual world distances are appearances. . as the quarters are various receptions of love and wisdom by angels, the variety from which that appearance springs shall now be explained. the lord is in the angel, and the angel in the lord (as was shown in a preceding article). but on account of the appearance that the lord as a sun is outside of the angel, there is also the appearance that the lord sees him from the sun, and that he sees the lord in the sun. this is almost like the appearance of an image in a mirror. speaking, therefore, according to that appearance, it may be said that the lord sees and looks at each one face to face, but that angels, on their part, do not thus behold the lord. those who are in love to the lord from the lord see him directly in front; these, therefore, are in the east and the west; but those who are more in wisdom see the lord obliquely to the right, and those who are less in wisdom obliquely to the left; therefore the former are in the south, and the latter in the north. the view of these is oblique because love and wisdom (as has been said before), although they proceed from the lord as one, are not received as one by angels; and the wisdom which is in excess of the love, while it appears as wisdom, is not wisdom, because in the overplus of wisdom there is no life from love. from all this it is evident whence comes the diversity of reception according to which angels appear to dwell according to quarters in the spiritual world. . that this variety of reception of love and wisdom is what gives rise to the quarters in the spiritual world can be seen from the fact that an angel changes his quarter according to the increase or decrease of love with him; from which it is evident that the quarter is not from the lord as a sun, but from the angel according to reception. it is the same with man as regards his spirit. in respect to his spirit, he is in some quarter of the spiritual world, whatever quarter of the natural world he may be in, for quarters in the spiritual world, as has been said above, have nothing in common with quarters in the natural world. man is in the latter as regards his body, but in the former as regards his spirit. . in order that love and wisdom may make one in an angel or in a man, there are pairs in all the things of his body. the eyes, ears, and nostrils are pairs; the hands, loins, and feet are pairs; the brain is divided into two hemispheres, the heart into two chambers, the lungs into two lobes, and in like manner the other parts. thus in angel and man there is right and left; and all their right parts have relation to the love from which wisdom comes; and all the left parts, to the wisdom which is from love; or, what is the same, all the right parts have relation to the good from which truth comes; and all the left parts, to the truth that is from good. angel and man have these pairs in order that love and wisdom, or good and truth, may act as one, and as one, may have regard to the lord. but of this more in what follows. . from all this it can be seen in what fallacy and consequent falsity those are, who suppose that the lord bestows heaven arbitrarily, or arbitrarily grants one to become wise and loving more than another, when, in truth, the lord is just as desirous that one may become wise and be saved as another. for he provides means for all; and every one becomes wise and is saved in the measure in which he accepts these means, and lives in accordance with them. for the lord is the same with one as with another; but the recipients, who are angels and men, are unlike by reason of unlike reception and life. that this is so can be seen from what has just been said of spiritual quarters, and of the dwelling-places of the angels in accordance with them; namely, that this diversity is not from the lord but from the recipients. . angels turn their faces constantly to the lord as a sun, and thus have the south to the right, the north to the left, and the west behind them. all that is here said of angels, and of their turning to the lord as a sun, is to be understood also of man, as regards his spirit. for man in respect to his mind is a spirit, and if he be in love and wisdom, is an angel; consequently, after death, when he has put off his externals, which he had derived from the natural world, he becomes a spirit or an angel. and because angels turn their faces constantly toward the sun in the east, thus toward the lord, it is said also of any man who is in love and wisdom from the lord, that "he sees god," that "he looks to god," that "he has god before his eyes," by which is meant that he lives as an angel does. such things are spoken of in the world, because they actually take place [existunt] both in heaven and in the spirit of man. who does not look before himself to god when he prays, to whatever quarter his face may be turned? . angels turn their faces constantly to the lord as a sun, because they are in the lord, and the lord in them; and the lord interiorly leads their affections and thoughts, and turns them constantly to himself; consequently they cannot do otherwise than look towards the east where the lord appears as a sun; from which it is evident that angels do not turn themselves to the lord, but the lord turns them to himself. for when angels think interiorly of the lord, they do not think of him otherwise than as being in themselves. real interior thought does not cause distance, but exterior thought, which acts as one with the sight of the eyes; and for the reason that exterior thought, but not interior, is in space; and when not in space, as in the spiritual world, it is still in an appearance of space. but these things can be little understood by the man who thinks about god from space. for god is everywhere, yet not in space. thus he is both within and without an angel; consequently an angel can see god, that is, the lord, both within himself and without himself; within himself when he thinks from love and wisdom, without himself when he thinks about love and wisdom. but these things will be treated of in detail in treatises on the lord's omnipresence, omniscience, and omnipotence. let every man guard himself against falling into the detestable false doctrine that god has infused himself into men, and that he is in them, and no longer in himself; for god is everywhere, as well within man as without, for apart from space he is in all space (as was shown above, n. - , - ); whereas if he were in man, he would be not only divisible, but also shut up in space; yea, man then might even think himself to be god. this heresy is so abominable, that in the spiritual world it stinks like carrion. . the turning of angels to the lord is such that at every turn of their bodies they look toward the lord as a sun in front of them. an angel may turn himself round and round, and thereby see the various things that are about him, still the lord as a sun appears constantly before his face. this may seem wonderful, yet it is the truth. it has also been granted me to see the lord thus as a sun. i see him now before my face; and for several years i have so seen him, to whatever quarter of the world i have turned. . since the lord as a sun, consequently the east, is before the faces of all angels of heaven, it follows that to their right is the south; to their left the north; and behind them the west; and this, too, at every turn of the body. for, as was said before, all quarters in the spiritual world are determined from the east; therefore those who have the east before their eyes are in these very quarters, yea, are themselves what determine the quarters; for (as was shown above, n. - ) the quarters are not from the lord as a sun, but from the angels according to reception. . now since heaven is made up of angels, and angels are of such a nature, it follows that all heaven turns itself to the lord, and that, by means of this turning, heaven is ruled by the lord as one man, as in his sight it is one man. that heaven is as one man in the sight of the lord may be seen in the work heaven and hell (n. - ). also from this are the quarters of heaven. . since the quarters are thus inscribed as it were on the angel, as well as on the whole heaven, an angel, unlike man in the world, knows his own home and his own dwelling-place wherever he goes. man does not know his home and dwelling-place from the spiritual quarter in himself, because he thinks from space, thus from the quarters of the natural world, which have nothing in common with the quarters of the spiritual world. but birds and beasts have such knowledge, for it is implanted in them to know of themselves their homes and dwelling-places, as is evident from abundant observation; a proof that such is the case in the spiritual world; for all things that have form [existunt] in the natural world are effects, and all things that have form in the spiritual world are the causes of these effects. there does not take place [existit] a natural that does not derive its cause from a spiritual. . all interior things of the angels, both of mind and body, are turned to the lord as a sun. angels have understanding and will, and they have a face and body. they have also the interior things of the understanding and will, and of the face and body. the interiors of the understanding and will are such as pertain to their interior affection and thought; the interiors of the face are the brains; and the interiors of the body are the viscera, chief among which are the heart and lungs. in a word, angels have each and all things that men on earth have; it is from these things that angels are men. external form, apart from these internal things, does not make them men, but external form together with, yea, from, internals - for otherwise they would be only images of man, in which there would be no life, because inwardly there would be no form of life. . it is well known that the will and understanding rule the body at pleasure, for what the understanding thinks, the mouth speaks, and what the will wills, the body does. from this it is plain that the body is a form corresponding to the understanding and will. and because form also is predicated of understanding and will, it is plain that the form of the body corresponds to the form of the understanding and will. but this is not the place to describe the nature of these respective forms. in each form there are things innumerable; and these, in each of them, act as one, because they mutually correspond. it is from this that the mind (that is, the will and understanding) rules the body at its pleasure, thus as entirely as it rules its own self. from all this it follows that the interiors of the mind act as a one with the interiors of the body, and the exteriors of the mind with the exteriors of the body. the interiors of the mind, likewise the interiors of the body, will be considered further on, when degrees of life have been treated of. . since the interiors of the mind make one with the interiors of the body, it follows that when the interiors of the mind turn themselves to the lord as a sun, those of the body turn themselves in like manner; and because the exteriors of both, of mind as well as body, depend upon their interiors, they also do the same. for what the external does, it does from internals, the general deriving all it has from the particulars from which it is. from this it is evident that as an angel turns his face and body to the lord as a sun, all the interiors of his mind and body are turned in the same direction. it is the same with man, if he has the lord constantly before his eyes, which is the case if he is in love and wisdom. he then looks to the lord not only with eyes and face, but also with all the mind and all the heart, that is, with all things of the will and understanding, together with all things of the body. . this turning to the lord is an actual turning, a kind of elevation; for there is an uplifting into the heat and light of heaven, which takes place by the opening of the interiors; when these are opened, love and wisdom flow into the interiors of the mind, and the heat and light of heaven into the interiors of the body. from this comes the uplifting, like a rising out of a cloud into clear air, or out of air into ether. moreover, love and wisdom, with their heat and light, are the lord with man; and he, as was said before, turns man to himself. it is the reverse with those who are not in love and wisdom, and still more with those who are opposed to love and wisdom. their interiors, both of mind and body, are closed; and when closed, the exteriors re-act against the lord, for such is their inherent nature. consequently, such persons turn themselves backward from the lord; and turning oneself backward is turning to hell. . this actual turning to the lord is from love together with wisdom; not from love alone, nor from wisdom alone; for love alone is like esse [being] without its existere [taking form] since love has its form in wisdom; and wisdom without love is like existere without its esse, since wisdom has its form from love. love is indeed possible without wisdom; but such love is man's, and not the lord's. wisdom alone is possible without love; but such wisdom, although from the lord, has not the lord in it; for it is like the light of winter, which is from the sun; still the sun's essence, which is heat, is not in it. . every spirit, whatever his quality, turns in like manner to his ruling love. it shall first be explained what a spirit is, and what an angel is. every man after death comes, in the first place, into the world of spirits, which is midway between heaven and hell, and there passes through his own times, that is, his own states, and becomes prepared, according to his life, either for heaven or for hell. so long as one stays in that world he is called a spirit. he who has been raised out of that world into heaven is called an angel; but he who has been cast down into hell is called either a satan or a devil. so long as these continue in the world of spirits, he who is preparing for heaven is called an angelic spirit; and he who is preparing for hell, an infernal spirit; meanwhile the angelic spirit is conjoined with heaven, and the infernal spirit with hell. all spirits in the world of spirits are adjoined to men; because men, in respect to the interiors of their minds, are in like manner between heaven and hell, and through these spirits they communicate with heaven or with hell according to their life. it is to be observed that the world of spirits is one thing, and the spiritual world another; the world of spirits is that which has just been spoken of; but the spiritual world includes that world, and heaven and hell. . since the subject now under consideration is the turning of angels and spirits to their own loves by reason of these loves, something shall be said also about loves. the whole heaven is divided into societies according to all the differences of loves; in like manner hell, and in like manner the world of spirits. but heaven is divided into societies according to the differences of heavenly loves; hell into societies according to the differences of infernal loves; and the world of spirits, according to the differences of loves both heavenly and infernal. there are two loves which are the heads of all the rest, that is, to which all other loves are referable; the love which is the head of all heavenly loves, or to which they all relate, is love to the lord; and the love which is the head of all infernal loves, or to which they all relate, is the love of rule springing from the love of self. these two loves are diametrically opposed to each other. . since these two loves, love to the lord and love of rule springing from love of self, are wholly opposed to each other, and since all who are in love to the lord turn to the lord as a sun (as was shown in the preceding article), it can be seen that all who are in the love of rule springing from love of self, turn their backs to the lord. they thus face in opposite directions, because those who are in love to the lord love nothing more than to be led by the lord, and will that the lord alone shall rule; while those who are in the love of rule springing from love of self, love nothing more than to be led by themselves, and will that themselves alone may rule. this is called a love of rule springing from love of self, because there is a love of rule springing from a love of performing uses, which is a spiritual love, because it makes one with love towards the neighbor. still this cannot be called a love of rule, but a love of performing duties. . every spirit, of whatever quality, turns to his own ruling love, because love is the life of every one (as was shown in part i., n. - ); and life turns its receptacles, called members, organs, and viscera, thus the whole man, to that society which is in a love similar to itself, thus where its own love is. . since the love of rule springing from love of self is wholly opposed to love to the lord, the spirits who are in that love of rule turn the face backwards from the lord, and therefore look with their eyes to the western quarters of the spiritual world; and being thus bodily in a reversed position, they have the east behind them, the north at their right, and the south at their left. they have the east behind them because they hate the lord; they have the north at their right, because they love fallacies and falsities therefrom; and they have the south at their left, because they despise the light of wisdom. they may turn themselves round and round, and yet all things which they see about them appear similar to their love. all such are sensual-natural; and some are of such a nature as to imagine that they alone live, looking upon others as images. they believe themselves to be wise above all others, though in truth they are insane. . in the spiritual world ways are seen, laid out like ways in the natural world; some leading to heaven, and some to hell; but the ways leading to hell are not visible to those going to heaven, nor are the ways leading to heaven visible to those going to hell. there are countless ways of this kind; for there are ways which lead to every society of heaven and to every society of hell. each spirit enters the way which leads to the society of his own love, nor does he see the ways leading in other directions. thus it is that each spirit, as he turns himself to his ruling love, goes forward in it. . divine love and divine wisdom proceeding from the lord as a sun and producing heat and light in heaven, are the proceeding divine, which is the holy spirit. in the doctrine of the new jerusalem concerning the lord it has been shown, that god is one in person and essence in whom there is a trinity, and that that god is the lord; also, that the trinity in him is called father, son, and holy spirit; and that the divine from which, (creative divine) is called the father; the human divine, the son; and the proceeding divine, the holy spirit. this is called the "proceeding divine," but no one knows why it is called proceeding. this is not known, because until now it has been unknown that the lord appears before the angels as a sun, from which sun proceeds heat which in its essence is divine love, and also light which in its essence is divine wisdom. so long as these things were unknown, it could not be known that the proceeding divine is not a divine by itself; consequently the athanasian doctrine of the trinity declares that there is one person of the father, another of the son, and another of the holy spirit. now, however, when it is known that the lord appears as a sun, a correct idea may be had of the proceeding divine, which is called the holy spirit, that it is one with the lord, but proceeds from him, as heat and light from a sun. for the same reason angels are in divine heat and divine light just so far as they are in love and wisdom. without knowing that the lord appears as a sun in the spiritual world, and that his divine thus proceeds, it can in no way be known what is meant by "proceeding," whether it means simply communicating those things which are the father's and the son's, or simply enlightening and teaching. but inasmuch as it has been known that god is one, and that he is omnipresent, it is not in accord with enlightened reason to recognize the proceeding divine as a divine per se, and to call it god, and thus divide god. . it has been shown above that god is not in space, and that he is thereby omnipresent; also that the divine is the same everywhere, but that there is an apparent variety of it in angels and men from variety of reception. now since the proceeding divine from the lord as a sun is in light and heat, and light and heat flow first into universal recipients, which in the world are called atmospheres, and these are the recipients of clouds, it can be seen that according as the interiors pertaining to the understanding of man or angel are veiled by such clouds, is he a receptacle of the proceeding divine. by clouds are meant spiritual clouds, which are thoughts. these, if from truths, are in accordance, but if from falsities, are at variance with divine wisdom; consequently, in the spiritual world thoughts from truths, when presented to the sight, appear as shining white clouds, but thoughts from falsities as black clouds. from all this it can be seen that the proceeding divine is indeed in every man, but is variously veiled by each. . as the divine itself is present in angel and man by spiritual heat and light, those who are in the truths of divine wisdom and in the goods of divine love, when affected by these, and when from affection they think from them and about them, are said to grow warm with god; and this sometimes becomes so evident as to be perceived and felt, as when a preacher speaks from zeal. these same are also said to be enlightened by god, because the lord, by his proceeding divine, not only kindles the will with spiritual heat, but also enlightens the understanding with spiritual light. . from the following passages in the word it is plain that the holy spirit is the same as the lord, and is truth itself, from which man has enlightenment: jesus said, when the spirit of truth is come, he will guide you into all truth; he shall not speak of himself; but whatsoever he shall have heard, that shall he speak (john : ). he shall glorify me; for he shall receive of mine, and shall show it unto you (john : , ). that he will be with the disciples and in them (john : ; : ). jesus said, the words that i speak unto you, they are spirit and they are life (john : ). from these passages it is evident that the truth itself which proceeds from the lord, is called the holy spirit; and because it is in light, it enlightens. . enlightenment, which is attributed to the holy spirit, is indeed in man from the lord, yet it is effected by spirits and angels as media. but the nature of that mediation cannot yet be described; only it may be said that angels and spirits can in no way enlighten man from themselves, because they, in like manner as man, are enlightened by the lord; and as they are enlightened in like manner, it follows that all enlightenment is from the lord alone. it is effected by angels or spirits as media, because the man when he is enlightened is placed in the midst of such angels and spirits as, more than others, receive enlightenment from the lord alone. . the lord created the universe and all things of it by means of the sun which is the first proceeding of divine love and divine wisdom. by "the lord" is meant god from eternity, that is, jehovah: who is called father and creator, because he is one with him, as has been shown in the doctrine of the new jerusalem concerning the lord; consequently in the following pages, where also creation is treated of, he is called the lord. . that all things in the universe were created by divine love and divine wisdom was fully shown in part i., (particularly in n. , ); here now it is to be shown that this was done by means of the sun, which is the first proceeding of divine love and divine wisdom. no one who is capable of seeing effects from causes, and afterwards by causes effects in their order and sequence, can deny that the sun is the first of creation, for all the things that are in its world have perpetual existence from it; and because they have perpetual existence from it, their existence was derived from it. the one involves and is proof of the other; for all things are under the sun's view, since it is determined that they should be, and to hold under its view is to determine perpetually; therefore it is said that subsistence is perpetual existence. if, moreover, any thing were to be withdrawn entirely from the sun's influx through the atmospheres, it would instantly be dissipated; for the atmospheres, which are purer and purer, and are rendered active in power by the sun, hold all things in connection. since, then, the perpetual existence of the universe, and of every thing pertaining to it, is from the sun, it is plain that the sun is the first of creation, from which [is all else]. the sun is spoken of as creating, but this means the lord, by means of the sun; for the sun also was created by the lord. . there are two suns through which all things were created by the lord, the sun of the spiritual world and the sun of the natural world. all things were created by the lord through the sun of the spiritual world, but not through the sun of the natural world, since the latter is far below the former; it is in middle distance; above it is the spiritual world and below it is the natural world. this sun of the natural world was created to render aid, as a kind of substitute; this aid will be spoken of in what follows. . the universe and all things thereof were created by the lord, the sun of the spiritual world serving as a medium, because that sun is the first proceeding of divine love and divine wisdom, and from divine love and divine wisdom all things are (as was pointed out above, n. - ). in every thing created, greatest as well as least, there are these three, end, cause and effect. a created thing in which these three are not, is impossible. in what is greatest, that is, in the universe, these three exist in the following order; in the sun, which is the first proceeding of divine love and divine wisdom, is the end of all things; in the spiritual world are the causes of all things; in the natural world are the effects of all things. how these three are in things first and in things last shall be shown in what follows. since, then, no created thing is possible in which these three are not, it follows that the universe and all things of it were created by the lord through the sun, wherein is the end of all things. . creation itself cannot be brought within man's comprehension unless space and time are removed from thought; but if these are removed, it can be comprehended. removing these if you can, or as much as you can, and keeping the mind in ideas abstracted from space and time, you will perceive that there is no difference between the maximum of space and the minimum of space; and then you cannot but have a similar idea of the creation of the universe as of the creation of the particulars therein; you will also perceive that diversity in created things springs from this, that there are infinite things in god-man, consequently things without limit in the sun which is the first proceeding from him; these countless things take form, as in an image, in the created universe. from this it is that no one thing can anywhere be precisely the same as another. from this comes that variety of all things which is presented to sight, in the natural world, together with space, but in the spiritual world with appearance of space; and it is a variety both of generals and of particulars. these are the things that have been pointed out in parti., where it is shown that in god-man infinite things are one distinctly (n. - ); that all things in the universe were created by divine love and divine wisdom, (n. , ); that all things in the created universe are recipients of the divine love and of the divine wisdom of god-man (n. - ); that the divine is not in space (n. - ); that the divine apart from space fills all spaces (n. - ); that the divine is the same in things greatest and least (n. - ). . the creation of the universe, and of all things of it, cannot be said to have been wrought from space to space, or from time to time, thus progressively and successively, but from eternity and from infinity; not from eternity of time, because there is no such thing, but from eternity not of time, for this is the same with the divine; nor from infinity of space, because again there is no such thing, but from infinity not of space, which also is the same with the divine. these things, i know, transcend the ideas of thoughts that are in natural light, but they do not transcend the ideas of thoughts that are in spiritual light, for in these there is nothing of space and time. neither do they wholly transcend ideas that are in natural light; for when it is said that infinity of space is not possible, this is affirmed by every one from reason. it is the same with eternity, for this is infinity of time. if you say "to eternity," it is comprehensible from time; but "from eternity" is not comprehensible, unless time is removed. . the sun of the natural world is pure fire, consequently dead; nature also is dead, because it derives its origin from that sun. creation itself cannot be ascribed in the least to the sun of the natural world, but must be wholly ascribed to the sun of the spiritual world; because the sun of the natural world is altogether dead; but the sun of the spiritual world is living; for it is the first proceeding of divine love and divine wisdom; and what is dead does not act at all from itself, but is acted upon; consequently to ascribe to it anything of creation would be like ascribing the work of an artificer to the tool which is moved by his hands. the sun of the natural world is pure fire from which everything of life has been withdrawn; but the sun of the spiritual world is fire in which is divine life. the angelic idea of the fire of the sun of the natural world, and of the fire of the sun of the spiritual world, is this; that in the fire of the sun of the spiritual world the divine life is within, but in the fire of the sun of the natural world it is without. from this it can be seen that the actuating power of the natural sun is not from itself, but from a living force proceeding from the sun of the spiritual world; consequently if the living force of that sun were withdrawn or taken away, the natural sun would have no vital power. for this reason the worship of the sun is the lowest of all the forms of god-worship, for it is wholly dead, as the sun itself is, and therefore in the word it is called "abomination." . as the sun of the natural world is pure fire, and therefore dead, the heat proceeding from it is also dead, likewise the light proceeding from it is dead; so also are the atmospheres, which are called ether and air, and which receive in their bosom and carry down the heat and light of that sun; and as these are dead so are each and all things of the earth which are beneath the atmospheres, and are called soils, yet these, one and all, are encompassed by what is spiritual, proceeding and flowing forth from the sun of the spiritual world. unless they had been so encompassed, the soils could not have been stirred into activity, and have produced forms of uses, which are plants, nor forms of life, which are animals; nor could have supplied the materials by which man begins and continues to exist. . now since nature begins from that sun, and all that springs forth and continues to exist from it is called natural, it follows that nature, with each and every thing pertaining thereto, is dead. it appears in man and animal as if alive, because of the life which accompanies and actuates it. . since these lowest things of nature which form the lands are dead, and are not changeable and varying according to states of affections and thoughts, as in the spiritual world, but unchangeable and fixed, therefore in nature there are spaces and spatial distances. there are such things, because creation has there terminated, and abides at rest. from this it is evident that spaces are a property of nature; and because in nature spaces are not appearances of spaces according to states of life, as they are in the spiritual world, these also may be called dead. . since times in like manner are settled and constant, they also are a property of nature; for the length of a day is constantly twenty-four hours, and the length of a year is constantly three hundred and sixty-five days and a quarter. the very states of light and shade, and of heat and cold, which cause these periods to vary, are also regular in their return. the states which recur daily are morning, noon, evening, and night; those recurring yearly are spring, summer, autumn, and winter. moreover, the annual states modify regularly the daily states. all these states are likewise dead because they are not states of life, as in the spiritual world; for in the spiritual world there is continuous light and there is continuous heat, the light corresponding to the state of wisdom, and the heat to the state of love with the angels; consequently the states of these are living. . from all this the folly of those who ascribe all things to nature can be seen. those who have confirmed themselves in favor of nature have brought such a state on themselves that they are no longer willing to raise the mind above nature; consequently their minds are shut above and opened below. man thus becomes sensual-natural, that is, spiritually dead; and because he then thinks only from such things as he has imbibed from his bodily senses, or through the senses from the world, he at heart even denies god. then because conjunction with heaven is broken, conjunction with hell takes place, the capacity to think and will alone remaining; the capacity to think, from rationality, and the capacity to will, from freedom; these two capacities every man has from the lord, nor are they taken away. these two capacities devils have equally with angels; but devils devote them to insane thinking and evil doing, and angels to becoming wise and doing good. . without a double sun, one living and the other dead, no creation is possible. the universe in general is divided into two worlds, the spiritual and the natural. in the spiritual world are angels and spirits, in the natural world men. in external appearance these two worlds are entirely alike, so alike that they cannot be distinguished; but as to internal appearance they are entirely unlike. the men themselves in the spiritual world, who (as was said above) are called angels and spirits, are spiritual, and, being spiritual, they think spiritually and speak spiritually. but the men of the natural world are natural, and therefore think naturally and speak naturally; and spiritual thought and speech have nothing in common with natural thought and speech. from this it is plain that these two worlds, the spiritual and the natural, are entirely distinct from each other, so that they can in no respect be together. . now as these two worlds are so distinct, it is necessary that there should be two suns, one from which all spiritual things are, and another from which all natural things are. and as all spiritual things in their origin are living, and all natural things from their origin are dead, and these origins are suns, it follows that the one sun is living and the other dead; also, that the dead sun itself was created by the lord through the living sun. . a dead sun was created to this end, that in outmosts all things may be fixed, settled, and constant, and thus there may be forms of existence which shall be permanent and durable. in this and in no other way is creation founded. the terraqueous globe, in which, upon which, and about which, things exist, is a kind of base and support; for it is the outmost work [ultimum opus], in which all things terminate, and upon which they rest. it is also a kind of matrix, out of which effects, which are ends of creation, are produced, as will be shown in what follows. . that all things were created by the lord through the living sun, and nothing through the dead sun, can be seen from this, that what is living disposes what is dead in obedience to itself, and forms it for uses, which are its ends; but not the reverse. only a person bereft of reason and who is ignorant of what life is, can think that all things are from nature, and that life even comes from nature. nature cannot dispense life to anything, since nature in itself is wholly inert. for what is dead to act upon what is living, or for dead force to act upon living force, or, what is the same, for the natural to act upon the spiritual, is entirely contrary to order, therefore so to think is contrary to the light of sound reason. what is dead, that is, the natural, may indeed in many ways be perverted or changed by external accidents, but it cannot act upon life; on the contrary life acts into it, according to the induced change of form. it is the same with physical influx into the spiritual operations of the soul; this, it is known, does not occur, for it is not possible. . the end of creation has form [existat] in outmosts, which end is that all things may return to the creator and that there may be conjunction. in the first place, something shall be said about ends. there are three things that follow in order, called first end, middle end, and last end; they are also called end, cause, and effect. these three must be together in every thing, that it may be anything. for a first end without a middle end, and at the same time a last end, is impossible; or, what is the same, an end alone, without a cause and an effect is impossible. equally impossible is a cause alone without an end from which and an effect in which it is, or an effect alone, that is, an effect without its cause and end. that this is so may be comprehended if it be observed that an end without an effect, that is, separated from an effect, is a thing without existence, and therefore a mere term. for in order that an end may actually be an end it must be terminated, and it is terminated in its effect, wherein it is first called an end because it is an end. it appears as if the agent or the efficient exists by itself; but this so appears from its being in the effect; but if separated from the effect it would instantly vanish. from all this it is evident that these three, end, cause, and effect, must be in every thing to make it anything. . it must be known further, that the end is everything in the cause, and also everything in the effect; from this it is that end, cause, and effect, are called first end, middle end, and last end. but that the end may be everything in the cause, there must be something from the end [in the cause] wherein the end shall be; and that the end may be everything in the effect, there must be something from the end through the cause [in the effect] wherein the end shall be. for the end cannot be in itself alone, but it must be in something having existence from it, in which it can dwell as to all that is its own, and by acting, come into effect, until it has permanent existence. that in which it has permanent existence is the last end, which is called effect. . these three, namely, end, cause, and effect, are in the created universe, both in its greatest and least parts. they are in the greatest and least parts of the created universe, because they are in god the creator, who is the lord from eternity. but since he is infinite, and in the infinite in finite things are one distinctly (as was shown above, n. - ), therefore also these three in him, and in his infinites, are one distinctly. from this it is that the universe which was created from his esse, and which, regarded as to uses, is his image, possesses these three in each and all of its parts. . the universal end, that is, the end of all things of creation, is that there may be an eternal conjunction of the creator with the created universe; and this is not possible unless there are subjects wherein his divine can be as in itself, thus in which it can dwell and abide. in order that these subjects may be dwelling-places and mansions of him, they must be recipients of his love and wisdom as of themselves; such, therefore, as will elevate themselves to the creator as of themselves, and conjoin themselves with him. without this ability to reciprocate no conjunction is possible. these subjects are men, who are able as of themselves to elevate and conjoin themselves. that men are such subjects, and that they are recipients of the divine as of themselves, has been pointed out above many times. by means of this conjunction, the lord is present in every work created by him; for everything has been created for man as its end; consequently the uses of all created things ascend by degrees from outmosts to man, and through man to god the creator from whom [are all things] (as was shown above, n. - ). . to this last end creation progresses continually, through these three, namely, end, cause, and effect, because these three are in the lord the creator (as was said just above); and the divine apart from space is in all space (n. - ); and is the same in things greatest and least ( - ); from which it is evident that the created universe, in its general progression to its last end, is relatively the middle end. for out of the earth forms of uses are continually raised by the lord the creator, in their order up to man, who as to his body is also from the earth. thereafter, man is elevated by the reception of love and wisdom from the lord; and for this reception of love and wisdom, all means are provided; and he has been so made as to be able to receive, if he will. from what has now been said it can be seen, though as yet only in a general manner, that the end of creation takes form [existat] in outmost things; which end is, that all things may return to the creator, and that there may be conjunction. . that these three, end, cause, and effect, are in each and every thing created, can also be seen from this, that all effects, which are called last ends, become anew first ends in uninterrupted succession from the first, who is the lord the creator, even to the last end, which is the conjunction of man with him. that all last ends become anew first ends is plain from this, that there can be nothing so inert and dead as to have no efficient power in it. even out of sand there is such an exhalation as gives aid in producing, and therefore in effecting something. . part third. in the spiritual world there are atmospheres, waters and lands, just as in the natural world; only the former are spiritual, while the latter are natural. it has been said in the preceding pages, and shown in the work heaven and hell, that the spiritual world is like the natural world, with the difference only that each and every thing of the spiritual world is spiritual, and each and every thing of the natural world is natural. as these two worlds are alike, there are in both, atmospheres, waters, and lands, which are the generals through and from which each and all things take their form [existunt] with infinite variety. . as regards the atmospheres, which are called ethers and airs, they are alike in both worlds, the spiritual and the natural, with the difference only that they are spiritual in the spiritual world, and natural in the natural world. the former are spiritual, because they have their form from the sun which is the first proceeding of the divine love and divine wisdom of the lord, and from him receive within them the divine fire which is love, and the divine light which is wisdom, and carry these down to the heavens where the angels dwell, and cause the presence of that sun there in things greatest and least. the spiritual atmospheres are divided substances, that is, least forms, originating from the sun. as these each singly receive the sun, its fire, distributed among so many substances, that is, so many forms, and as it were enveloped by them, and tempered by these envelopments, becomes heat, adapted finally to the love of angels in heaven and of spirits under heaven. the same is true of the light of that sun. in this the natural atmospheres are like spiritual atmospheres, that they also are divided substances or least forms originating from the sun of the natural world; these also each singly receive the sun and store up its fire in themselves, and temper it, and carry it down as heat to the earth, where men dwell. the same is true of natural light. . the difference between spiritual and natural atmospheres is that spiritual atmospheres are receptacles of divine fire and divine light, thus of love and wisdom, for they contain these interiorly within them; while natural atmospheres are receptacles, not of divine fire and divine light, but of the fire and light of their own sun, which in itself is dead, as was shown above; consequently there is nothing interiorly in them from the sun of the spiritual world, although they are environed by spiritual atmospheres from that sun. that this is the difference between spiritual and natural atmospheres has been learned from the wisdom of angels. . that there are atmospheres in the spiritual, just as in the natural world, can be seen from this, that angels and spirits breathe, and also speak and hear - just as men do in the natural world; and respiration, speech, and hearing are all effected by means of a lowest atmosphere, which is called air; it can be seen also from this, that angels and spirits, like men in the natural world, have sight, and sight is possible only by means of an atmosphere purer than air; also from this, that angels and spirits, like men in the natural world, think and are moved by affection, and thought and affection are not possible except by means of still purer atmospheres; and finally from this, that all parts of the bodies of angels and spirits, external as well as internal, are held together in connection by atmospheres, the external by air and the internal by ethers. without the surrounding pressure and action of these atmospheres the interior and exterior forms of the body would evidently dissolve away. since angels are spiritual, and each and all things of their bodies are held together in connection, form, and order by means of atmospheres, it follows that these atmospheres are spiritual; they are spiritual, because they arise from the spiritual sun which is the first proceeding of the lord's divine love and divine wisdom. . that there are also waters and lands in the spiritual as well as in the natural world, with the difference that these waters and lands are spiritual, has been said above and has been shown in the work heaven and hell; and because these are spiritual, they are moved and modified by the heat and light of the spiritual sun, the atmospheres therefrom serving as mediums, just as the waters and lands in the natural world are moved and modified by the heat and light of the sun of their world, its atmospheres serving as mediums. . atmospheres, waters, and lands are here specified, because these three are generals, through and from which each and all things have their form [existunt] in infinite variety. the atmospheres are the active forces, the waters are the mediate forces, and the lands are the passive forces, from which all effects have existence. these three forces are such in their series solely by virtue of life that proceeds from the lord as a sun, and that makes them active. . there are degrees of love and wisdom, consequently degrees of heat and light also degrees, of atmospheres. the things which follow cannot be comprehended unless it be known that there are degrees, also what they are, and what their nature is, because in every created thing, thus in every form, there are degrees. this part of angelic wisdom will therefore treat of degrees. that there are degrees of love and wisdom can be clearly seen from the fact that there are angels of the three heavens. the angels of the third heaven so far excel the angels of the second heaven in love and wisdom, and these, the angels of the lowest heaven, that they cannot be together. the degrees of love and wisdom distinguish and separate them. it is from this that angels of the lower heavens cannot ascend to angels of higher heavens, or if allowed to ascend, they do not see the higher angels or anything that is about them. they do not see them because the love and wisdom of the higher angels is of a higher degree, transcending the perception of the lower angels. for each angel is his own love and his own wisdom; and love together with wisdom in its form is a man, because god, who is love itself and wisdom itself, is a man. it has sometimes been permitted me to see angels of the lowest heaven who have ascended to the angels of the third heaven; and when they had made their way thither, i have heard them complaining that they did not see any one, and all the while they were in the midst of the higher angels. afterwards they were instructed that those angels were invisible to them because their love and wisdom were imperceptible to them, and that love and wisdom are what make an angel appear as a man. . that there must be degrees of love and wisdom is still more evident when the love and wisdom of angels are compared with the love and wisdom of men. it is well known that the wisdom of angels, when thus compared, is ineffable; also it will be seen in what follows that to men who are in natural love, this wisdom is incomprehensible. it appears ineffable and incomprehensible because it is of a higher degree. . since there are degrees of love and wisdom, there are also degrees of heat and light. by heat and light are meant spiritual heat and light, such as angels in the heavens have, and such as men have as to the interiors of their minds; for men have a heat of love similar to that of the angels, and a similar light of wisdom. in the heavens, such and so much love as the angels have, such and so much is their heat; and the same is true of their light as compared with their wisdom; the reason is, that with them love is in the heat, and wisdom in the light (as was shown above). it is the same with men on earth, with the difference, however, that angels feel that heat and see that light, but men do not, because they are in natural heat and light; and while they are in the natural heat and light spiritual heat is not felt except by a certain enjoyment of love, and spiritual light is not seen except by a perception of truth. now since man, so long as he is in natural heat and light, knows nothing of the spiritual heat and light within him, and since knowledge of these can be obtained only through experience from the spiritual world, the heat and light in which the angels and their heavens are, shall here be especially spoken of. from this and from no other source can enlightenment on this subject be had. . but degrees of spiritual heat cannot be described from experience, because love, to which spiritual heat corresponds, does not come thus under ideas of thought; but degrees of spiritual light can be described, because light pertains to thought, and therefore comes under ideas of thought. yet degrees of spiritual heat can be comprehended by their relation to the degrees of light, for the two are in like degree. with respect then to spiritual light in which angels are, it has been granted me to see it with my eyes. with angels of the higher heavens, the light is so glistening white as to be indescribable, even by comparison with the shining whiteness of snow, and so glowing as to be indescribable even by comparison with the beams of this world's sun. in a word, that light exceeds a thousand times the noonday light upon earth. but the light with angels of the lower heavens can be described in a measure by comparisons, although it still exceeds the most intense light of our world. the light of angels of the higher heavens is indescribable, because their light makes one with their wisdom; and because their wisdom, compared to the wisdom of men, is ineffable, thus also is their light. from these few things it can be seen that there must be degrees of light; and because wisdom and love are of like degrees, it follows that there must be like degrees of heat. . since atmospheres are the receptacles and containants of heat and light, it follows that there are as many degrees of atmospheres as there are degrees of heat and light; also that there are as many as there are degrees of love and wisdom. that there are several atmospheres, and that these are distinct from each other by means of degrees, has been manifested to me by much experience in the spiritual world; especially from this, that angels of the lower heavens are not able to breathe in the region of higher angels, and appear to themselves to gasp for breath, as living creatures do when they are raised out of air into ether, or out of water into air. moreover, spirits below the heavens appear in a kind of cloud. that there are several atmospheres, and that they are distinct from each other by means of degrees, may be seen above (n. ). . degrees are of a twofold kind, degrees of height and degrees of breadth. a knowledge of degrees is like a key to lay open the causes of things, and to give entrance into them. without this knowledge, scarcely anything of cause can be known; for without it, the objects and subjects of both worlds seem to have but a single meaning, as if there were nothing in them beyond that which meets the eye; when yet compared to the things which lie hidden within, what is thus seen is as one to thousands, yea, to tens of thousands. the interiors which are not open to view can in no way be discovered except through a knowledge of degrees. for things exterior advance to things interior and through these to things inmost, by means of degrees; not by continuous degrees but by discrete degrees. "continuous degrees" is a term applied to the gradual lessenings or decreasings from grosser to finer, or from denser to rarer; or rather, to growths and increasings from finer to grosser, or from rarer to denser; precisely like the gradations of light to shade, or of heat to cold. but discrete degrees are entirely different: they are like things prior, subsequent and final; or like end, cause, and effect. these degrees are called discrete, because the prior is by itself; the subsequent by itself; and the final by itself; and yet taken together they make one. there are atmospheres, from highest to lowest, that is, from the sun to the earth, called ethers and airs that are separated into such degrees; they are like simples, collections of simples, and again collections of these, which taken together are called a composite. such degrees are discrete [or separate], because each has a distinct existence, and these degrees are what are meant by "degrees of height;" but the former degrees are continuous, because they increase continuously and these degrees are what are meant by "degrees of breadth." . each and all things that have existence in the spiritual world and in the natural world, have conjoint existence from discrete degrees and from continuous degrees together, that is, from degrees of height and from degrees of breadth. the dimension which consists of discrete degrees is called height, and the dimension that consists of continuous degrees is called breadth; their position relatively to the sight of the eye does not alter the designation. without a knowledge of these degrees nothing can be known of how the three heavens differ from each other; nor can anything be known of the differences of love and wisdom of the angels there; nor of the differences of heat and light in which they are; nor of the differences of atmospheres which environ and contain these. nor without a knowledge of these degrees can anything be known of the differences among the interior powers of the minds of men, thus nothing of their state as regards reformation and regeneration; nor anything of the differences among the exterior powers of the bodies both of angels and men; and nothing whatever can be known of the distinction between spiritual and natural, thus nothing of correspondence. nor, indeed, can anything be known of any difference between the life of men and that of beasts, or between the more perfect and the less perfect animals; neither of the differences among the forms of the vegetable kingdom, nor among the matters of the mineral kingdom. from which it can be seen that they who are ignorant of these degrees are unable to see causes from anything of judgment; they see only effects, and from these judge of causes, which is done for the most part by an induction that is continuous with effects. but causes produce effects not continuously but discretely; for cause is one thing, and effect is another. the difference between the two is like the difference between prior and subsequent, or between that which forms and that which is formed. . that it may be still better comprehended what discrete degrees are, what their nature is, and how they differ from continuous degrees, the angelic heavens may serve as an example. there are three heavens, and these are separated by degrees of height; therefore the heavens are one below another, nor do they communicate with each other except by influx, which proceeds from the lord through the heavens in their order to the lowest; and not contrariwise. each heaven by itself, however, is divided not by degrees of height but by degrees of breadth. those who are in the middle, that is, at the center, are in the light of wisdom; but those who are around about, even to the boundaries, are in the shade of wisdom. thus wisdom grows less and less even to ignorance, as light decreases to shade, which takes place continuously. it is the same with men. the interiors belonging to their minds are separated into as many degrees as the angelic heavens; and these degrees are one above another; therefore the interiors of men which belong to their minds are separated by discrete degrees, that is, degrees of height. consequently a man may be in the lowest degree, then in a higher, and also in the highest degree, according to the degree of his wisdom; moreover, when he is in the lowest degree only, the higher degree is shut, - but is opened as he receives wisdom from the lord. there are also in a man, as in heaven, continuous degrees, that is degrees of breadth. a man is like the heavens because as regards the interiors of his mind, he is a heaven in least form, in the measure in which he is in love and wisdom from the lord. that man as regards the interiors of his mind is a heaven in least form may be seen in the work heaven and hell (n. - .) . from all this it can be seen, that one who knows nothing about discrete degrees, that is, degrees of height, can know nothing about the state of man as regards his reformation and regeneration, which are effected through the reception of love and wisdom of the lord, and then through the opening of the interior degrees of his mind in their order. nor can he know anything about influx from the lord through the heavens nor anything about the order into which he was created. for if anyone thinks about these, not from discrete degrees or degrees of height but from continuous degrees or degrees of breadth, he is not able to perceive anything about them from causes, but only from effects; and to see from effects only is to see from fallacies, from which come errors, one after another; and these may be so multiplied by inductions that at length enormous falsities are called truths. . i am not aware that anything has been known hitherto about discrete degrees or degrees of height, only continuous degrees or degrees of breadth have been known; yet nothing of the real truth about cause can become known without a knowledge of degrees of both kinds. these degrees therefore shall be treated of throughout this part; for it is the object of this little work to uncover causes, that effects may-be seen from them, and thus the darkness may be dispelled in which the man of the church is in respect to god and the lord, and in respect to divine things in general which are called spiritual things. this i may mention, that the angels are in grief for the darkness on the earth; saying that they see light hardly anywhere, and that men eagerly lay hold of fallacies and confirm them, thereby multiplying falsities upon falsities; and to confirm fallacies men search out, by means of reasonings from falsities and from truths falsified, such things as cannot be controverted, owing to the darkness in respect to causes and the ignorance respecting truths. the angels lament especially over confirmations respecting faith separate from charity and justification thereby; also over men's ideas about god, angels and spirits, and their ignorance of what love and wisdom are. . degrees of height are homogeneous, and one is from the other in succession like end, cause, and effect. as degrees of breadth, that is continuous degrees, are like gradations from light to shade, from heat to cold, from hard to soft, from dense to rare, from thick to thin, and so forth; and as these degrees are known from sensuous and ocular experience, while degrees of height, or discrete degrees, are not, the latter kind shall be treated of especially in this part; for without a knowledge of these degrees, causes cannot be seen. it is known indeed that end, cause, and effect follow in order, like prior, subsequent, and final; also that the end begets the cause, and, through the cause, the effect, that the end may have form; also about these many other things are known; and yet to know these things, and not to see them in their applications to existing things is simply to know abstractions, which remain in the memory only so long as the mind is in analytical ideas from metaphysical thought. from this it is that although end, cause, and effect advance according to discrete degrees, little if anything is known in the world about these degrees. for a mere knowledge of abstractions is like an airy something which flies away; but when abstractions are applied to such things as are in the world, they become like what is seen with the eyes on earth, and remains in the memory. . all things which have existence in the world, of which threefold dimension is predicated, that is, which are called compounds, consist of degrees of height, that is, discrete degrees; as examples will make clear. it is known from ocular experience, that every muscle in the human body consists of minute fibers, and these put together into little bundles form larger fibers, called motor fibers, and groups of these form the compound called a muscle. it is the same with nerves; in these from minute fibers larger fibers are compacted, which appear as filaments, and these grouped together compose the nerve. the same is true of the rest of the combinations, bundlings and groupings out of which the organs and viscera are made up; for these are compositions of fibers and vessels variously put together according to like degrees. it is the same also with each and every thing of the vegetable and mineral kingdoms. in woods there are combinations of filaments in threefold order. in metals and stones there are groupings of parts, also in threefold order. from all this the nature of discrete degrees can be seen, namely, that one is from the other, and through the second there is a third which is called the composite; and that each degree is discreted from the others. . from these examples a conclusion may be formed respecting those things that are not visible to the eye, for with those it is the same; for example, with the organic substances which are the receptacles and abodes of thoughts and affections in the brains; with atmospheres; with heat and light; and with love and wisdom. for atmospheres are receptacles of heat and light; and heat and light are receptacles of love and wisdom; consequently, as there are degrees of atmospheres, there are also like degrees of heat and light, and of love and wisdom; for the same principle applies to the latter as to the former. . that these degrees are homogeneous, that is, of the same character and nature, appears from what has just been said. the motor fibers of muscles, least, larger, and largest, are homogeneous. woody filaments, from the least to the composite formed of these, are homogeneous. so likewise are parts of stones and metals of every kind. the organic substances which are receptacles and abodes of thoughts and affections, from the most simple to their general aggregate which is the brain, are homogeneous. the atmospheres, from pure ether to air, are homogeneous. the degrees of heat and light in series, following the degrees of atmospheres, are homogeneous, therefore the degrees of love and wisdom are also homogeneous. things which are not of the same character and nature are heterogeneous, and do not harmonize with things homogeneous; thus they cannot form discrete degrees with them, but only with their own, which are of the same character and nature and with which they are homogeneous. . that these things in their order are like ends, causes, and effects, is evident; for the first, which is the least, effectuates its cause by means of the middle, and its effect by means of the last. . it should be known that each degree is made distinct from the others by coverings of its own, and that all the degrees together are made distinct by means of a general covering; also, that this general covering communicates with interiors and inmosts in their order. from this there is conjunction of all and unanimous action. . the first degree is the all in everything of the subsequent degrees. this is because the degrees of each subject and of each thing are homogeneous; and they are homogeneous because produced from the first degree. for their formation is such that the first, by bundlings or groupings, in a word, by aggregations of parts, produces the second, and through this the third; and discretes each from the other by a covering drawn around it; from which it is clear that the first degree is chief and singly supreme in the subsequent degrees; consequently that in all things of the subsequent degrees, the first is the all. . when it is said that degrees are such in respect to each other, the meaning is that substances are such in their degrees. this manner of speaking by degrees is abstract, that is, universal, which makes the statement applicable to every subject or thing which is in degrees of this kind. . this can be applied to all those things which have been enumerated in the preceding chapter, to the muscles, the nerves, the matters and parts of both the vegetable and mineral kingdoms, to the organic substances that are the subjects of thoughts and affections in man, to atmospheres, to heat and light, and to love and wisdom. in all these, the first is singly supreme in the subsequent things; yea, it is the sole thing in them, and because it is the sole thing in them, it is the all in them. that this is so is clear also from these well-known truths; that the end is the all of the cause, and through the cause is the all of the effect; and thus end, cause, and effect are called first, middle, and last end. further, that the cause of the cause is also the cause of the thing caused; and that there is nothing essential in causes except the end, and nothing essential in movement excepting effort [conatus]; also, that the substance that is substance in itself is the sole substance. . from all this it can clearly be seen that the divine, which is substance in itself, that is, the one only and sole substance, is the substance from which is each and every thing that has been created; thus that god is the all in all things of the universe, according to what has been shown in part first, as follows. divine love and divine wisdom are substance and form (n. - ); divine love and divine wisdom are substance and form in itself, therefore the very and the only (n. - ); all things in the universe were created by divine love and divine wisdom (n. - ); consequently the created universe is his image (n. - ); the lord alone is heaven where angels are (n. - ). . all perfections increase and ascend along with degrees and according to them. that degrees are of two kinds, degrees of breadth and degrees of height has been shown above (n. - ); also that degrees of breadth are like those of light verging to shade, or of wisdom verging to ignorance; but that degrees of height are like end, cause and effect, or like prior, subsequent and final. of these latter degrees it is said that they ascend or descend, for they are of height; but of the former that they increase or decrease for they are of breadth. these two kinds of degrees differ so much that they have nothing in common; they should therefore be perceived as distinct, and by no means be confounded. . all perfections increase and ascend along with degrees and according to them, because all predicates follow their subjects, and perfection and imperfection are general predicates; for they are predicated of life, of forces and of forms. perfection of life is perfection of love and wisdom; and because the will and understanding are receptacles of love and wisdom, perfection of life is also perfection of will and understanding, consequently of affections and thoughts; and because spiritual heat is the containant of love, and spiritual light is the containant of wisdom, perfection of these may also be referred to perfection of life. perfection of forces is perfection of all things that are actuated and moved by life, in which, however, there is no life. atmospheres as to their active powers are such forces; the interior and exterior organic substances with man, and with animals of every kind, are such forces; all things in the natural world that are endowed with active powers both immediately and mediately from its sun are such forces. perfection of forms and perfection of forces make one, for as the forces are, such are the forms; with the difference only, that forms are substances but forces are their activities; therefore like degrees of perfection belong to both. forms that are not at the same time forces are also perfect according to degrees. . the perfection of life, forces, and forms that increase or decrease according to degrees of breadth, that is, continuous degrees, will not be discussed here, because there is a knowledge of these degrees in the world; but only the perfections of life, forces, and forms that ascend or descend according to degrees of height, that is, discrete degrees; because these degrees are not known in the world. of the mode in which perfections ascend and descend according to these degrees little can be learned from things visible in the natural world, but this can be seen clearly from things visible in the spiritual world. from things visible in the natural world it is merely found that the more interiorly they are looked into the more do wonders present themselves; as, for instance, in the eyes, ears, tongue; in muscles, heart, lungs, liver, pancreas, kidneys, and other viscera; also, in seeds, fruits and flowers; and in metals, minerals and stones. that wonders increase in all these the more interiorly they are looked into is well known; yet it has become little known thereby that the objects are interiorly more perfect according to degrees of height or discrete degrees. this has been concealed by ignorance of these degrees. but since these degrees stand out conspicuously in the spiritual world (for the whole of that world from highest to lowest is distinctly discreted into these degrees), from that world knowledge of these degrees can be drawn; and afterwards conclusions may be drawn therefrom respecting the perfection of forces and forms that are in similar degrees in the natural world. . in the spiritual world there are three heavens, arranged according to degrees of height. in the highest heavens are angels superior in every perfection to the angels in the middle heaven; and in the middle heaven are angels superior in every perfection to the angels in the lowest heaven. the degrees of perfections are such, that angels of the lowest heaven cannot attain to the first threshold of the perfections of the angels of the middle heaven, nor these to the first threshold of the perfections of the angels of the highest heaven. this seems incredible, yet it is a truth. the reason is that they are consociated according to discrete, not according to continuous degrees. i have learned from observation that the difference between the affections and thoughts, and consequently the speech, of the angels of the higher and the lower heavens, is such that they have nothing in common; and that communication takes place only through correspondences, which have existence by immediate influx of the lord into all the heavens, and by mediate influx through the highest heaven into the lowest. such being the nature of these differences, they cannot be expressed in natural language, therefore not described; for the thoughts of angels, being spiritual, do not fall into natural ideas. they can be expressed and described only by angels themselves, in their own languages, words, and writings, and not in those that are human. this is why it is said that in the heavens unspeakable things are heard and seen. these differences may be in some measure comprehended when it is known that the thoughts of angels of the highest or third heaven are thoughts of ends; the thoughts of angels of the middle or second heaven thoughts of causes, and the thoughts of angels of the lowest or first heaven thoughts of effects. it must be noted, that it is one thing to think from ends, and another to think about ends; that it is one thing to think from causes, and another to think about causes; and that it is one thing to think from effects, and another to think about effects. angels of the lower heavens think about causes and about ends, but angels of the higher heavens from causes and from ends; and to think from these is a mark of higher wisdom, but to think about these is the mark of lower wisdom. to think from ends is of wisdom, to think from causes is of intelligence, and to think from effects is of knowledge. from all this it is clear that all perfection ascends and descends along with degrees and according to them. . since the interior things of man, which are of his will and understanding, are like the heavens in respect to degrees (for man, as to the interiors of his mind, is a heaven in least form), their perfections also are like those of the heavens. but these perfections are not apparent to any one so long as he lives in the world, because he is then in the lowest degree; and from the lowest degree the higher degrees cannot be known; but they are known after death, because man then enters into that degree which corresponds to his love and wisdom, for he then becomes an angel, and thinks and speaks things ineffable to his natural man; for there is then an elevation of all things of his mind, not in a single, but in a threefold ratio. degrees of height are in threefold ratio, but degrees of breadth are in single ratio. but into degrees of height none ascend and are elevated except those who in the world have been in truths, and have applied them to life. . it seems as if things prior must be less perfect than things subsequent, that is, things simple than things composite; but things prior out of which things subsequent are formed, that is, things simple out of which things composite are formed, are the more perfect. the reason is that the prior or the simpler are more naked and less covered over with substances and matters devoid of life, and are, as it were, more divine, consequently nearer to the spiritual sun where the lord is; for perfection itself is in the lord, and from him in that sun which is the first proceeding of his divine love and divine wisdom, and from that in those things which come immediately after; and thus in order down to things lowest, which are less perfect as they are farther removed. without such preeminent perfection in things prior and simple, neither man nor any kind of animal could have come into existence from seed, and afterwards continue to exist; nor could the seeds of trees and shrubs vegetate and bear fruit. for the more prior anything prior is, or the more simple anything simple is, the more exempt is it from injury, because it is more perfect. . in successive order the first degree makes the highest, and the third the lowest; but in simultaneous order the first degree makes the innermost, and the third the outermost. there is successive order and simultaneous order. the successive order of these degrees is from highest to lowest, or from top to bottom. the angelic heavens are in this order; the third heaven there is the highest, the second is the middle, and the first is the lowest; such is their relative situation. in like successive order are the states of love and wisdom with the angels there, also states of heat and light, and of the spiritual atmospheres. in like order are all the perfections of the forms and forces there. when degrees of height, that is, discrete degrees, are in successive order, they may be compared to a column divided into three stories, through which ascent and descent are made. in the upper rooms are things most perfect and most beautiful; in the middle rooms, things less perfect and beautiful; in the lowest, things still less perfect and beautiful. but simultaneous order, which consists of like degrees, has another appearance. in it, the highest things of successive order, which are (as was said above) the most perfect and most beautiful, are in the inmost, the lower things are in the middle, and the lowest in the circumference. they are as if in a solid body composed of these three degrees: in the middle or center are the finest parts, round about this are parts less fine, and in the extremes which constitute the circumference are the parts composed of these and which are therefore grosser. it is like the column mentioned just above subsiding into a plane, the highest part of which forms the innermost of the plane, the middle forms the middle, and the lowest the outermost. . as the highest of successive order becomes the innermost of simultaneous order, and the lowest becomes the outermost, so in the word, "higher" signifies inner, and "lower" signifies outer. "upwards" and "downwards," and "high" and "deep" have a like meaning. . in every outmost there are discrete degrees in simultaneous order. the motor fibers in every muscle, the fibers in every nerve, also the fibers and the little vessels in all viscera and organs, are in such an order. innermost in these are the most simple things, which are the most perfect; the outermost is a composite of these. there is a like order of these degrees in every seed and in every fruit, also in every metal and stone; their parts, of which the whole is composed, are of such a nature. the innermost, the middle, and the outermost elements of the parts exist in these degrees, for they are successive compositions, that is, bundlings and massings together from simples that are their first substances or matters. . in a word, there are such degrees in every outmost, thus in every effect. for every outmost consists of things prior and these of their firsts. and every effect consists of a cause, and this of an end; and end is the all of cause, and cause is the all of effect (as was shown above); and end makes the inmost, cause the middle, and effect the outmost. the same is true of degrees of love and wisdom, and of heat and light, also of the organic forms of affections and thoughts in man (as will be seen in what follows). the series of these degrees in successive order and in simultaneous order has been treated of also in the doctrine of the new jerusalem concerning the sacred scripture (n. , and elsewhere), where it is shown that there are like degrees in each and all things of the word. . the outmost degree is the complex, containant and base of the prior degrees. the doctrine of degrees which is taught in this part, has hitherto been illustrated by various things which exist in both worlds; as by the degrees of the heavens where angels dwell, by the degrees of heat and light with them, and by the degrees of atmospheres, and by various things in the human body, and also in the animal and mineral kingdoms. but this doctrine has a wider range; it extends not only to natural, but also to civil, moral, and spiritual things, and to each and all their details. there are two reasons why the doctrine of degrees extends also to such things. first, in every thing of which anything can be predicated there is the trine which is called end, cause, and effect, and these three are related to one another according to degrees of height. and secondly things civil, moral, and spiritual are not something abstract from substance, but are substances. for as love and wisdom are not abstract things, but substance (as was shown above, n. - ), so in like manner are all things that are called civil, moral, and spiritual. these may be thought of abstractly from substances, yet in themselves they are not abstract; as for example, affection and thought, charity and faith, will and understanding; for it is the same with these as with love and wisdom, in that they are not possible outside of subjects which are substances, but are states of subjects, that is, substances. that they are changes of these, presenting variations, will be seen in what follows. by substance is also meant form, for substance is not possible apart from form. . from its being possible to think of will and understanding, of affection and thought, and of charity and faith, abstractly from the substances which are their subjects, and from their having been so thought of, it has come to pass, that a correct idea of these things, as being states of substances or forms, has perished. it is altogether as with sensations and actions, which are not things abstract from the organs of sensation and motion. abstracted, that is, separate, from these they are mere figments of reason; for they are like sight apart from an eye, hearing apart from an ear, taste apart from a tongue, and so forth. . since all things civil, moral, and spiritual advance through degrees, just as natural things do, not only through continuous but also through discrete degrees; and since the progressions of discrete degrees are like progressions of ends to causes, and of causes to effects, i have chosen to illustrate and confirm the present point, that the outmost degree is the complex, containant, and base of prior degrees, by the things above mentioned, that is, by what pertains to love and wisdom, to will and understanding, to affection and thought, and to charity and faith. . that the outmost degree is the complex, containant, and base of prior degrees, is clearly seen from progression of ends and causes to effects. that the effect is the complex, containant, and base of causes and ends can be comprehended by enlightened reason; but it is not so clear that the end with all things thereof, and the cause with all things thereof, are actually in the effect, and that the effect is their full complex. that such is the case can be seen from what has been said above in this part, particularly from this, that one thing is from another in a threefold series, and that the effect is nothing else than the end in its outmost. and since the outmost is the complex, it follows that it is the containant and also the base. . as regards love and wisdom:-love is the end, wisdom the instrumental cause, and use is the effect; and use is the complex, containant, and base of wisdom and love; and use is such a complex and such a containant, that all things of love and all things of wisdom are actually in it; it is where they are all simultaneously present. but it should be borne in mind that all things of love and wisdom, which are homogeneous and concordant, are present in use, according to what is said and shown above (in chapter, n. - ). . affection, thought, and action are also in a series of like degrees, because all affection has relation to love, thought to wisdom, and action to use. charity, faith, and good works are in a series of like degrees, for charity is of affection, faith of thought, and good works of action. will, understanding, and doing are also in a series of like degrees; for will is of love and so of affection, understanding is of wisdom and so of faith, and doing is of use and so of work; as, then, all things of wisdom and love are present in use, so all things of thought and affection are present in action, all things of faith and charity in good works, and so forth; but all are homogeneous, that is, concordant. . that the outmost in each series, that is to say, use, action, work, and doing, is the complex and containant of all things prior, has not yet been known. there seems to be nothing more in use, in action, in work, and in doing than such as there is in movement; yet all things prior are actually present in these, and so fully that nothing is lacking. they are contained therein like wine in its cask, or like furniture in a house. they are not apparent, because they are regarded only externally; and regarded externally they are simply activities and motions. it is as when the arms and hands are moved, and man is not conscious that a thousand motor fibers concur in every motion of them, and that to the thousand motor fibers correspond thousands of things of thought and affection, by which the motor fibers are excited. as these act deep within, they are not apparent to any bodily sense. this much is known, that nothing is done in or through the body except from the will through the thought; and because both of these act, it must needs be that each and all things of the will and thought are present in the action. they cannot be separated; consequently from a man's deeds or works others judge of the thought of his will, which is called his intention. it has been made known to me that angels, from a man's deed or work alone, perceive and see every thing of the will and thought of the doer; angels of the third heaven perceiving and seeing from his will the end for which he acts, and angels of the second heaven the cause through which the end operates. it is from this that works and deeds are so often commanded in the word, and that it is said that a man is known by his works. . it is according to angelic wisdom that unless the will and understanding, that is, affection and thought, as well as charity and faith, clothe and wrap themselves in works or deeds, whenever possible, they are only like something airy which passes away, or like phantoms in air which perish; and that they first become permanent in man and a part of his life, when he practices and does them. the reason is that the outmost is the complex, containant, and base of things prior. such an airy nothing and such a phantom is faith separated from good works; such also are faith and charity without their exercise, with this difference only, that those who hold to faith and charity know what is good and can will to do it, but not so those who are in faith separated from charity. . the degrees of height are in fullness and in power in their outmost degree. in the preceding chapter it is shown that the outmost degree is the complex and containant of prior degrees. from this it follows that prior degrees are in their fullness in their outmost degree, for they are in their effect, and every effect is the fullness of causes. . that these ascending and descending degrees, also called prior and subsequent, likewise degrees of height or discrete degrees, are in their power in their outmost degree, may be confirmed by all those things that have been adduced in the preceding chapters as confirmations from objects of sense and perception. here, however, i choose to confirm them only by the conatus, forces and motions in dead and in living subjects. it is known that conatus does nothing of itself, but acts through forces corresponding to it, thereby producing motion; consequently that conatus is the all in forces, and through forces is the all in motion; and since motion is the outmost degree of conatus, through motion conatus exerts its power. conatus, force, and motion are no otherwise conjoined than according to degrees of height, conjunction of which is not by continuity, for they are discrete, but by correspondences. for conatus is not force, nor is force motion, but force is produced by conatus, because force is conatus made active, and through force motion is produced; consequently there is no power in conatus alone, nor in force alone, but in motion, which is their product. that this is so may still seem doubtful, because not illustrated by applications to sensible and perceptible things in nature; nevertheless, such is the progression of conatus, force, and motion into power. . but let application of this be made to living conatus, and to living force, and to living motion. living conatus in man, who is a living subject, is his will united to his understanding; living forces in man are the interior constituents of his body, in all of which there are motor fibers interlacing in various ways; and living motion in man is action, which is produced through these forces by the will united to the understanding. for the interior things pertaining to the will and understanding make the first degree; the interior things pertaining to the body make the second degree; and the whole body, which is the complex of these, makes the third degree. that the interior things pertaining to the mind have no power except through forces in the body, also that forces have no power except through the action of the body itself, is well known. these three do not act by what is continuous, but by what is discrete; and to act by what is discrete is to act by correspondences. the interiors of the mind correspond to the interiors of the body, and the interiors of the body correspond to the exteriors, through which actions come forth; consequently the two prior degrees have power through the exteriors of the body. it may seem as if conatus and forces in man have some power even when there is no action, as in sleep and in states of rest, but still at such times the determinations of conatus and forces are directed into the general motor organs of the body, which are the heart and the lungs; but when their action ceases the forces also cease, and, with the forces, the conatus. . since the powers of the whole, that is, of the body, are determined chiefly into the arms and hands, which are outmosts, "arms" and "hands," in the word, signify power, and the "right hand" signifies superior power. and such being the evolution and putting forth of degrees into power, the angels that are with man and in correspondence with all things belonging to him, know merely from such action as is effected through the hands, what a man is in respect to his understanding and will, also his charity and faith, thus in respect to the internal life pertaining to his mind and the external life derived therefrom in the body. i have often wondered that the angels have such knowledge from the mere action of the body through the hands; but that it is so has been shown to me repeatedly by living experience, and it has been said that it is from this that inductions into the ministry are performed by the laying on of the hands, and that "touching with the hand" signifies communicating, with other like things. from all this the conclusion is formed, that the all of charity and faith is in works, and that charity and faith without works are like rainbows about the sun, which vanish away and are dispersed by a cloud. on this account "works" and "doing works" are so often mentioned in the word, and it is said that a man's salvation depends upon these; moreover, he that doeth is called a wise man, and he that doeth not is called a foolish man. but it should be remembered that by "works" here are meant uses actually done; for the all of charity and faith is in uses and according to uses. there is this correspondence of works with uses, because the correspondence is spiritual, but it is carried out through substances and matters, which are subjects. . two arcana, which are brought within reach of the understanding by what precedes, may here be revealed. the first arcanum is that the word is in its fullness and in its power in the sense of the letter. for there are three senses in the word, according to the three degrees; the celestial sense, the spiritual sense, and the natural sense. since these senses are in the word according to the three degrees of height, and their conjunction is effected by correspondences, the outmost sense, which is the natural and is called the sense of the letter, is not only the complex, containant and base of the corresponding interior senses, but moreover in the outmost sense the word is in its fullness and in its power. this is abundantly shown and proved in the doctrine of the new jerusalem concerning the sacred scripture (n. - , - , - , - ). the second arcanum is that the lord came into the world, and took upon him the human, in order to put himself into the power of subjugating the hells, and of reducing all things to order both in the heavens and on the earth. this human he put on over his former human. this human which he put on in the world was like the human of a man in the world. yet both humans are divine, and therefore infinitely transcend the finite humans of angels and men. and because he fully glorified the natural human even to its outmosts, he rose again with the whole body, differently from any man. through the assumption of this human the lord put on divine omnipotence not only for subjugating the hells, and reducing the heavens to order, but also holding the hells in subjection to eternity, and saving mankind. this power is meant by his "sitting at the right hand of the power and might of god." because the lord, by the assumption of a natural human, made himself divine truth in outmosts, he is called "the word," and it is said that "the word was made flesh;" moreover, divine truth in outmosts is the word in the sense of the letter. this the lord made himself by fulfilling all things of the word concerning himself in moses and the prophets. for while every man is his own good and his own truth, and man is man on no other ground, the lord, by the assumption of a natural human, is divine good itself and divine truth itself, or what is the same, he is divine love itself and divine wisdom itself, both in firsts and in lasts. consequently the lord, since his advent into the world, appears as a sun in the angelic heavens, in stronger radiance and in greater splendor than before his advent. this is an arcanum which is brought within the range of the understanding by the doctrine of degrees. the lord's omnipotence before his advent into the world will be treated of in what follows. . there are degrees of both kinds in the greatest and in the least of all created things. that the greatest and the least of all things consist of discrete and continuous degrees, that is, of degrees of height and of breadth, cannot be illustrated by examples from visible objects, because the least things are not visible to the eyes, and the greatest things which are visible seem undistinguished into degrees; consequently this matter does not allow of demonstration otherwise than by universals. and since angels are in wisdom from universals, and from that in knowledge of particulars, it is allowed to bring forward their statements concerning these things. . the statements of angels on this subject are as follows: there can be nothing so minute as not to have in it degrees of both kinds; for instance, there can be nothing so minute in any animal, or in any plant, or in any mineral, or in the ether or air, as not to have in it degrees of both kinds, and since ether and air are receptacles of heat and light, and spiritual heat and spiritual light are the receptacles of love and wisdom, there can be nothing of heat and light or of love and wisdom so minute as not to have in it degrees of both kinds. angels also declare that the minutest thing of an affection and the minutest thing of a thought, nay, the minutest thing of an idea of thought, consists of degrees of both kinds, and that a minute thing not consisting of these degrees would be nothing; for it would have no form, thus no quality, nor any state which could be changed and varied, and by this means have existence. angels confirm this by the truth, that infinite things in god the creator, who is the lord from eternity, are one distinctly; and that there are infinite things in his infinites; and that in things infinitely infinite there are degrees of both kinds, which also in him are one distinctly; and because these things are in him, and all things were created by him, and things created repeat in an image the things which are in him, it follows that there cannot be the least finite in which there are not such degrees. these degrees are equally in things least and greatest, because the divine is the same in things greatest and in things least. that in god-man infinite things are one distinctly, see above (n. - ); and that the divine is the same in things greatest and in things least (n. - ); which positions are further illustrated (n. , , ). . there cannot be the least thing of love and wisdom, or the least thing of affection and thought, or even the least thing of an idea of thought, in which there are not degrees of both kinds, for the reason that love and wisdom are substance and form (as shown above, n. - ), and the same is true of affection and thought; and because there can be no form in which these degrees are not (as was said above), it follows that in these there are like degrees; for to separate love and wisdom, or affection and thought, from substance in form, is to annihilate them, since they are not possible outside of their subjects; for they are states of their subjects perceived by man varyingly, which states present them to view. . the greatest things in which there are degrees of both kinds, are the universe in its whole complex, the natural world in its complex, and the spiritual world in its complex; every empire and every kingdom in its complex; also, all civil, moral and spiritual concerns of these in their complex; the whole animal kingdom, the whole vegetable kingdom, and the whole mineral kingdom, each in its complex; all atmospheres of both worlds taken together, also their heats and lights. likewise things less general, as man in his complex; every animal in its complex, every tree and every shrub in its complex; as also every stone and every metal in its complex. the forms of these are alike in this, that they consist of degrees of both kinds; the reason is that the divine, by which they were created, is the same in things greatest and least (as was shown above, n. - ). the particulars and the veriest particulars of all these are like generals and the largest generals in this, that they are forms of both kinds of degrees. . on account of things greatest and least being forms of both kinds of degrees, there is connection between them from first to last; for likeness conjoins them. still, there can be no least thing which is the same as any other; consequently all particulars are distinct from each other, likewise all veriest particulars. in any form or in different forms there can be no least thing the same as any other, for the reason that in greatest forms there are like degrees, and the greatest are made up of leasts. from there being such degrees in things greatest, and perpetual differences in accordance with these degrees, from top to bottom and from center to circumference, it follows that their lesser or least constituents, in which there are like degrees, can no one of them be the same as any other. . it is likewise a matter of angelic wisdom that from this similitude between generals and particulars, that is, between things greatest and least in respect to these degrees, comes the perfection of the created universe; for thereby one thing regards another as its like, with which it can be conjoined for every use, and can present every end in effect. . but these things may seem paradoxical, because they are not explained by application to visible things; yet things abstract, being universals, are often better comprehended than things applied, for these are of perpetual variety, and variety obscures. . some contend that there can be a substance so simple as not to be a form from lesser forms, and out of that substance, through a process of massing, substantiated or composite things arise, and finally substances called material. but there can be no such absolutely simple substances. for what is substance without form? it is that of which nothing can be predicated; and out of mere being of which nothing can be predicated, no process of massing can make anything. that there are things innumerable in the first created substance of all things, which are things most minute and simple, will be seen in what follows, where forms are treated of. . in the lord the three degrees of height are infinite and uncreate, but in man the three degrees are finite and created. in the lord the three degrees of height are infinite and uncreate, because the lord is love itself and wisdom itself (as has been already shown); and because the lord is love itself and wisdom itself, he is also use itself. for love has use for its end, and brings forth use by means of wisdom; for without use love and wisdom have no boundary or end, that is, no home of their own, consequently they cannot be said to have being and have form unless there be use in which they may be. these three constitute the three degrees of height in subjects of life. these three are like first end, middle end which is called cause, and last end which is called effect. that end, cause and effect constitute the three degrees of height has been shown above and abundantly proved. . that in man there are these three degrees can be seen from the elevation of his mind even to the degrees of love and wisdom in which angels of the second and third heavens are; for all angels were born men; and man, as regards the interiors pertaining to his mind, is a heaven in least form; therefore there are in man, by creation, as many degrees of height as there are heavens. moreover, man is an image and likeness of god; consequently these three degrees have been inscribed on man, because they are in god-man, that is, in the lord. that in the lord these degrees are infinite and uncreate, and in man finite and created, can be seen from what was shown in part first; namely, from this, that the lord is love and wisdom in himself; and that man is a recipient of love and wisdom from the lord; also, that of the lord nothing but what is infinite can be predicated, and of man nothing but what is finite. . these three degrees with the angels are called celestial, spiritual, and natural; and for them the celestial degree is the degree of love, the spiritual the degree of wisdom, and the natural the degree of uses. these degrees are so called because the heavens are divided into two kingdoms, one called the celestial, the other the spiritual, to which is added a third kingdom wherein are men in the world, and this is the natural kingdom. moreover, the angels of whom the celestial kingdom consists are in love; the angels, of whom the spiritual kingdom consists are in wisdom; while men in the world are in uses; therefore these kingdoms are conjoined. how it is to be understood that men are in uses will be shown in the next part. . it has been told me from heaven, that in the lord from eternity, who is jehovah, before his assumption of a human in the world, the two prior degrees existed actually, and the third degree potentially, as they do also with angels; but that after the assumption of a human in the world, he put on over these the third degree, called the natural, thereby becoming man, like a man in the world; but with the difference, that in the lord this degree, like the prior degrees, is infinite and uncreate, while in angel and in man they are all finite and created. for the divine which, apart from space, had filled all spaces (n. - ), penetrated even to the outmosts of nature; yet before the assumption of the human, the divine influx into the natural degree was mediate through the angelic heavens, but after the assumption it was immediate from himself. this is the reason why all churches in the world before his advent were representative of spiritual and celestial things, but after his advent became spiritual-natural and celestial-natural, and representative worship was abolished. this also was the reason why the sun of the angelic heaven, which, as was said above, is the first proceeding of his divine love and divine wisdom, after the assumption of the human shone out with greater effulgence and splendor than before the assumption. and this is what is meant by these words in isaiah: in that day the light of the moon shall be as the light of the sun, and the light of the sun shall be sevenfold, as the light of seven days ( : ). this is said of the state of heaven and of the church after the lord's coming into the world. again, in the apocalypse: the countenance of the son of man was as the sun shineth in his strength ( : ); and elsewhere (as in isaiah : ; sam. : , ; matt. : , ). the mediate enlightenment of men through the angelic heaven, which existed before the coming of the lord, may be compared to the light of the moon, which is the mediate light of the sun; and because after his coming this was made immediate, it is said in isaiah, that the light of the moon shall be as the light of the sun ( : ); and in david: in his days shall the righteous flourish, and abundance of peace until there is no longer any moon ( : ). this also is said of the lord. . the reason why the lord from eternity, that is, jehovah, put on this third degree by the assumption of a human in the world, was that he could enter into this degree only by means of a nature like human nature, thus only by means of conception from his divine and by birth from a virgin; for in this way he could put off a nature which, although a receptacle of the divine, is in itself dead, and could put on the divine. this is meant by the lord's two states in the world, which are called the state of exinanition and the state of glorification, which are treated of in the doctrine of the new jerusalem concerning the lord. . of the threefold ascent of the degrees of height this much has been said in general; but these degrees cannot here be discussed in detail, because (as was said in the preceding chapter) there must be these three degrees in things greatest and things least; this only need be said, that there are such degrees in each and all things of love, and therefrom in each and all things of wisdom, and from both of these in each and all things of use. in the lord all these degrees are infinite; in angel and man they are finite. but how there are these three degrees in love, in wisdom, and in uses cannot be described and unfolded except in series. . these three degrees of height are in every man from birth, and can be opened successively; and, as they are opened, man is in the lord and the lord in man. that there are three degrees of height in every man, has not until now become known for the reason that these degrees have not been recognized, and so long as they remained unnoticed, none but continuous degrees could be known; and when none but continuous degrees are known, it may be supposed that love and wisdom increase in man only by continuity. but it should be known, that in every man from his birth there are three degrees of height, or discrete degrees, one above or within another; and that each degree of height, or discrete degree, has also degrees of breadth, or continuous degrees, according to which it increases by continuity. for there are degrees of both kinds in things greatest and least of all things (as was shown above, n. - ); for no degree of one kind is possible without degrees of the other kind. . these three degrees of height are called natural, spiritual, and celestial (as was said above, n. ). when man is born he comes first into the natural degree, and this grows in him, by continuity, according to his knowledges and the understanding acquired by means of knowledges even to the highest point of understanding, which is called the rational. yet not by this means is the second degree opened, which is called the spiritual. that degree is opened by means of a love of uses in accordance with the things of the understanding, although by a spiritual love of uses, which is love towards the neighbor. this degree may grow in like manner by continuous degrees to its height, and it grows by means of knowledges of truth and good, that is, by spiritual truths. yet even by such truths the third degree which is called the celestial is not opened; for this degree is opened by means of the celestial love of use, which is love to the lord; and love to the lord is nothing else than committing to life the precepts of the word, the sum of which is to flee from evils because they are hellish and devilish, and to do good because it is heavenly and divine. in this manner these three degrees are successively opened in man. . so long as man lives in the world he knows nothing of the opening of these degrees within him, because he is then in the natural degree, which is the outmost, and from this he then thinks, wills, speaks, and acts; and the spiritual degree, which is interior, communicates with the natural degree, not by continuity but by correspondences, and communication by correspondences is not sensibly felt. but when man puts off the natural degree, which he does at death, he comes into that degree which has been opened within him in the world; he in whom the spiritual degree has been opened coming into that degree, and he within whom the celestial degree has been opened coming into that degree. he who comes into the spiritual degree after death no longer thinks, wills, speaks, and acts naturally, but spiritually; and he who comes into the celestial degree thinks, wills, speaks, and acts according to that degree. and as there can be communication between the three degrees only by correspondences, the differences of love, wisdom, and use, as regards these degrees are such as to have no common ground by means of anything continuous. from all this it is plain that man has three degrees of height that may be successively opened in him. . since there are in man three degrees of love and wisdom, and therefore of use, it follows that there must be in him three degrees, of will, of understanding, and of result therefrom, thus of determination to use; for will is the receptacle of love, understanding the receptacle of wisdom, and result is use from these. from this it is evident that there are in every man a natural, a spiritual, and a celestial will and understanding, potentially by birth and actually when they are opened. in a word the mind of man, which consists of will and understanding, is from creation and therefore from birth, of three degrees, so that man has a natural mind, a spiritual mind, and a celestial mind, and can thereby be elevated into and possess angelic wisdom while he lives in the world; but it is only after death, and then only if he becomes an angel, that he enters into that wisdom, and his speech then becomes ineffable and incomprehensible to the natural man. i knew a man of moderate learning in the world, whom i saw after death and spoke with in heaven, and i clearly perceived that he spoke like an angel, and that the things he said would be inconceivable to the natural man; and for the reason that in the world he had applied the precepts of the word to life and had worshiped the lord, and was therefore raised up by the lord into the third degree of love and wisdom. it is important that this elevation of the human mind should be known about, for upon it depends the understanding of what follows. . there are in man from the lord two capacities whereby he is distinguished from beasts. one of these is the ability to understand what is true and what is good; this is called rationality, and is a capacity of his understanding. the other is an ability to do what is true and good; this is called freedom, and is a capacity of his will. for man by virtue of his rationality is able to think whatever he pleases, either with or against god, either with or against the neighbor; he is also able to will and to do what he thinks; but when he sees evil and fears punishment, he is able, by virtue of his freedom, to abstain from doing it. by virtue of these two capacities man is man, and is distinguished from beasts. man has these two capacities from the lord, and they are from him every moment; nor are they taken away, for if they were, man's human would perish. in these two capacities the lord is with every man, good and evil alike; they are the lord's abode in the human race; from this it is that all men live for ever, both the good and evil. but the lord's abode in man is nearer as by the agency of these capacities man opens the higher degrees, for by the opening of these man comes into higher degree of love and wisdom, thus nearer to the lord. from this it can be seen that as these degrees are opened, man is in the lord and the lord in him. . it is said above, that the three degrees of height are like end, cause, and effect, and that love, wisdom, and use follow in succession according to these degrees; therefore a few things shall be said here about love as being end, wisdom as being cause, and use as being effect. whoever consults his reason, if it is enlightened, can see that the end of all things of man is his love; for what he loves that he thinks, decides upon, and does, consequently that he has for his end. man can also see from his reason that wisdom is cause; since he, that is, his love, which is his end, searches in his understanding for its means through which to attain its end, thus consulting its wisdom, and these means constitute the instrumental cause. that use is effect is evident without explanation. but one man's love is not the same as another's, neither is one man's wisdom the same as another's; so it is with use. and since these three are homogeneous (as was shown above, n. - ), it follows that such as is the love in man, such is the wisdom and such is the use. wisdom is here spoken of, but by it what pertains to man's understanding is meant. . spiritual light flows in with man through degrees, but not spiritual heat, except so far as man flees from evils as sins and looks to the lord. it is evident from what has been shown above that from the sun of heaven, which is the first proceeding of divine love and divine wisdom (treated of in part second), light and heat proceed - light from its wisdom, and heat from its love; also that light is the receptacle of wisdom, and heat of love; also that so far as man comes into wisdom he comes into that divine light, and so far as he comes into love he comes into that divine heat. from what has been shown above it is also evident that there are three degrees of light and three degrees of heat, that is, three degrees of wisdom and three degrees of love, and that these degrees have been formed in man in order that he may be a receptacle of the divine love and the divine wisdom, thus of the lord. it is now to be shown that spiritual light flows in through these three degrees in man, but not spiritual heat, except so far as man shuns evils as sins and looks to the lord - or, what is the same, that man is able to receive wisdom even to the third degree, but not love, unless he flees from evils as sins and looks to the lord; or what is still the same, that man's understanding can be raised into wisdom, but not his will, except so far as he flees from evils as sins. . that the understanding can be raised into the light of heaven, that is, into angelic wisdom, while the will cannot be raised into the heat of heaven, that is, into angelic love, unless man flees from evils as sins and looks to the lord, has been made plainly evident to me from experience in the spiritual world. i have frequently seen and perceived that simple spirits, who knew merely that god is and that the lord was born a man, and who knew scarcely anything else, clearly apprehended the arcana of angelic wisdom almost as the angels do; and not these simple ones alone, but many also of the infernal crew. these, while they listened, understood, but not when they thought within themselves; for while they listened, light entered from above, and when they thought within themselves, no light could enter except that which corresponded to their heat or love; consequently when they had listened to and perceived these arcana, as soon as they turned their ears away they remembered nothing, those belonging to the infernal crew even rejecting these things with disgust and utterly denying them, because the fire of their love and its light, being delusive, induced darkness, by which the heavenly light entering from above was extinguished. . the same thing happens in the world. a man not altogether stupid, and who has not confirmed himself in falsities from the pride of self-intelligence, hearing others speak on some exalted matter, or reading something of the kind, if he is in any affection of knowing, understands these things and also retains them, and may afterwards confirm them. a bad man as well as a good man may do this. even a bad man, though in heart he denies the divine things pertaining to the church, can still understand them, and also speak of and preach them, and in writing learnedly prove them; but when left to his own thought, from his own infernal love he thinks against them and denies them. from which it is obvious that the understanding can be in spiritual light even when the will is not in spiritual heat; and from this it also follows that the understanding does not lead the will, or that wisdom does not beget love, but only teaches and shows the way, - teaching how a man ought to live, and showing the way in which he ought to go. it further follows that the will leads the understanding, and causes it to act as one with itself; also that whatever in the understanding agrees with the love which is in the will, the love calls wisdom. in what follows it will be seen that the will does nothing by itself apart from the understanding, but does all that it does in conjunction with the understanding; moreover, that it is the will that by influx takes the understanding into partnership with itself, and not the reverse. . the nature of the influx of light into the three degrees of life in man which belong to his mind, shall now be shown. the forms which are receptacles of heat and light, that is, of love and wisdom in man, and which (as was said) are in threefold order or of three degrees, are transparent from birth, transmitting spiritual light as crystal glass transmits natural light; consequently in respect to wisdom man can be raised even into the third degree. nevertheless these forms are not opened except when spiritual heat conjoins itself to spiritual light, that is, love to wisdom; by such conjunction these transparent forms are opened according to degrees. it is the same with light and heat from the sun of the world in their action on plants on the earth. the light of winter, which is as bright as that of summer, opens nothing in seed or in tree, but when vernal heat conjoins itself to that light then the heat opens them. there is this similarity because spiritual light corresponds to natural light, and spiritual heat to natural heat. . this spiritual heat is obtained only by fleeing from evils as sins, and at the same time looking to the lord; for so long as man is in evils he is also in the love of them, for he lusts after them; and the love of evil and the lust, abide in a love contrary to spiritual love and affection; and such love or lust can be removed only by fleeing from evils as sins; and because man cannot flee from evils from himself, but only from the lord. he must look to the lord. so when he flees from evils from the lord, the love of evil and its heat are removed, and the love of good and its heat are introduced in their stead, whereby a higher degree is opened; for the lord flowing in from above opens that degree, and then conjoins love, that is, spiritual heat, to wisdom or spiritual light, from which conjunction man begins to flourish spiritually, like a tree in spring-time. . by the influx of spiritual light into all three degrees of the mind man is distinguished from beasts; and, as contrasted with beasts, he can think analytically, and see both natural and spiritual truth; and when he sees them he can acknowledge them, and thus be reformed and regenerated. this capacity to receive spiritual light is what is meant by rationality (referred to above), which every man has from the lord, and which is not taken away from him, for if it were taken away he could not be reformed. from this capacity, called rationality, man, unlike the beasts, is able not only to think but also to speak from thought; and afterwards from his other capacity, called freedom (also referred to above), he is able to do those things that he thinks from his understanding. as these two capacities, rationality and freedom, which are proper to man, have been treated of above (n. ), no more will be said about them here. . unless the higher degree which is the spiritual is opened in man, he becomes natural and sensual. it was shown above that there are three degrees of the human mind, called natural, spiritual, and celestial, and that these degrees may be opened successively in man; also, that the natural degree is first opened; afterwards, if man flees from evil as sins and looks to the lord, the spiritual degree is opened; and lastly, the celestial. since these degrees are opened successively according to man's life, it follows that the two higher degrees may remain unopened, and man then continues in the natural degree, which is the outmost. moreover, it is known in the world that there is a natural and a spiritual man, or an external and an internal man; but it is not known that a natural man becomes spiritual by the opening of some higher degree in him, and that such opening is effected by a spiritual life, which is a life conformed to the divine precepts; and that without a life conformed to these man remains natural. . there are three kinds of natural men; the first consists of those who know nothing of the divine precepts; the second, of those who know that there are such precepts, but give no thought to a life according to them; and the third, of those who despise and deny these precepts. in respect to the first class, which consists of those who know nothing of the divine precepts, since they cannot be taught by themselves they must needs remain natural. every man is taught respecting the divine precepts, not by immediate revelations, but by others who know them from religion, on which subject see the doctrine of the new jerusalem concerning the sacred scriptures (n. - ). those of the second class, who know that there are divine precepts but give no thought to a life according to them, also remain natural, and care about no other concerns than those of the world and the body. these after death become mere menials and servants, according to the uses which they are able to perform for those who are spiritual; for the natural man is a menial and servant, and the spiritual man is a master and lord. those of the third class, who despise and deny the divine precepts, not only remain natural, but also become sensual in the measure of their contempt and denial. sensual men are the lowest natural men, who are incapable of thinking above the appearances and fallacies of the bodily senses. after death they are in hell. . as it is unknown in the world what the spiritual man is, and what the natural, and as by many he who is merely natural is called spiritual, and conversely, these subjects shall be separately discussed, as follows: ( ) what the natural man is, and what the spiritual man. ( ) the character of the natural man in whom the spiritual degree is opened. ( ) the character of the natural man in whom the spiritual degree is not opened and yet not closed. ( ) the character of the natural man in whom the spiritual degree is entirely closed. ( ) lastly, the nature of the difference between the life of a man merely natural and the life of a beast. . ( ) what the natural man is, and what the spiritual man. man is not man from face and body, but from understanding and will; therefore by the natural man and the spiritual man is meant that man's understanding and will are either natural or spiritual. the natural man in respect to his understanding and will is like the natural world, and may be called a world or microcosm; and the spiritual man in respect to his understanding and will is like the spiritual world, and may be called a spiritual world or heaven. from which it is evident that as the natural man is in a kind of image a natural world, so he loves those things which are of the natural world; and that as the spiritual man is in a kind of image a spiritual world, so he loves those things which are of that world, or of heaven. the spiritual man indeed loves the natural world also but not otherwise than as a master loves his servant through whom he performs uses. moreover, according to uses the natural man becomes like the spiritual, which is the case when the natural man feels from the spiritual the delight of use; such a natural man may be called spiritual-natural. the spiritual man loves spiritual truths; he not only loves to know and understand them, but also wills them; while the natural man loves to speak of those truths and also do them. doing truths is performing uses. this subordination is from the conjunction of the spiritual world and the natural world; for whatever appears and is done in the natural world derives its cause from the spiritual world. from all this it can be seen that the spiritual man is altogether distinct from the natural, and that there is no other communication between them than such as there is between cause and effect. . ( ) the character of the natural man in whom the spiritual degree is opened. this is obvious from what has been said above; to which it may be added, that a natural man is a complete man when the spiritual degree is opened in him, for he is then consociated with angels in heaven and at the same time with men in the world, and in regard to both, lives under the lord's guidance. for the spiritual man imbibes commands from the lord through the word, and executes them through the natural man. the natural man who has the spiritual degree opened does not know that he thinks and acts from his spiritual man, for it seems as if he did this from himself, when yet he does not do it from himself but from the lord. nor does the natural man whose spiritual degree has been opened know that by means of his spiritual man he is in heaven, when yet his spiritual man is in the midst of angels of heaven, and sometimes is even visible to them; but because he draws himself back to his natural man, after a brief stay there he disappears. nor does the natural man in whom the spiritual degree has been opened know that his spiritual mind is being filled by the lord with thousands of arcana of wisdom, and with thousands of delights of love, and that he is to come into these after death, when he becomes an angel. the natural man does not know these things because communication between the natural man and the spiritual man is effected by correspondences; and communication by correspondences is perceived in the understanding only by the fact that truths are seen in light, and is perceived in the will only by the fact that uses are performed from affection. . ( ) the character of the natural man in whom the spiritual degree is not opened, and yet not closed. the spiritual degree is not opened, and yet not closed, in the case of those who have led somewhat of a life of charity and yet have known little of genuine truth. the reason is, that this degree is opened by conjunction of love and wisdom, or of heat with light; love alone or spiritual heat alone not opening it, nor wisdom alone or spiritual light alone, but both in conjunction. consequently, when genuine truths, out of which wisdom or light arises, are unknown, love is inadequate to open that degree; it only keeps it in the possibility of being opened; this is what is meant by its not being closed. something like this is seen in the vegetable kingdom, in that heat alone does not cause seeds and trees to vegetate, but heat in conjunction with light effects this. it is to be known that all truths are of spiritual light and all goods are of spiritual heat, and that good opens the spiritual degree by means of truths; for good, by means of truths, effects use, and uses are goods of love, which derive their essence from a conjunction of good and truth. the lot, after death, of those in whom the spiritual degree is not opened and yet not closed, is that since they are still natural and not spiritual, they are in the lowest parts of heaven, where they sometimes suffer hard times; or they are in the outskirts in some higher heaven, where they are as it were in the light of evening; for (as was said above) in heaven and in every society there the light decreases from the middle to the outskirts, and those who above others are in divine truths are in the middle, while those who are in few truths are in the outskirts. those are in few truths who from religion know only that there is a god, and that the lord suffered for them, and that charity and faith are essentials of the church, not troubling themselves to know what faith is or what charity is; when yet faith in its essence is truth, and truth is manifold, and charity is all the work of his calling which man does from the lord; he does this from the lord when he flees from evils as sins. it is just as was said above, that the end is the all of the cause, and the effect the all of the end by means of the cause; the end is charity or good, the cause is faith or truth, and effects are good works or uses; from which it is plain that from charity no more can be carried into works than the measure in which charity is conjoined with the truths which are called truths of faith. by means of these truths charity enters into works and qualifies them. . ( ) the character of the natural man in whom the spiritual degree is entirely closed. the spiritual degree is closed in those who are in evils as to life, and still more in those who from evils are in falsities. it is the same as with the fibril of a nerve, which contracts at the slightest touch of any thing heterogeneous; so every motive fiber of a muscle, yea, the muscle itself, and even the whole body shrinks from the touch of whatever is hard or cold. so also the substances or forms of the spiritual degree in man shrink from evils and their falsities, because these are heterogeneous. for the spiritual degree, being in the form of heaven, admits nothing but goods, and truths that are from good; these are homogeneous to it; but evils, and falsities that are from evil, are heterogeneous to it. this degree is contracted, and by contraction closed, especially in those who in the world are in love of ruling from love of self, because this love is opposed to love to the lord. it is also closed, but not so much, in those who from love of the world are in the insane greed of possessing the goods of others. these loves shut the spiritual degree, because they are the origins of evils. the contraction or closing of this degree is like the twisting back of a spiral in the opposite direction; for which reason, that degree after it is closed, turns back the light of heaven; consequently there is thick darkness there instead of heavenly light, and truth which is in the light of heaven, becomes nauseous. in such persons, not only does the spiritual degree itself become closed, but also the higher region of the natural degree which is called the rational, until at last the lowest region of the natural degree, which is called the sensual, alone stands open; this being nearest to the world and to the outward senses of the body, from which such a man afterwards thinks, speaks, and reasons. the natural man who has become sensual through evils and their falsities, in the spiritual world in the light of heaven does not appear as a man but as a monster, even with nose drawn back (the nose is drawn in because the nose corresponds to the perception of truth); moreover, he cannot bear a ray of heavenly light. such have in their caverns no other light than what resembles the light from live coals or from burning charcoal. from all this it is evident who and of what character are those in whom the spiritual degree is closed. . ( ) the nature of the difference between the life of a natural man and the life of a beast. this difference will be particularly discussed in what follows, where life will be treated of. here it may be said only that the difference is that man has three degrees of mind, that is, three degrees of understanding and will, which degrees can be opened successively; and as these are transparent, man can be raised as to his understanding into the light of heaven and see truths, not only civil and moral, but also spiritual, and from many truths seen can form conclusions about truths in their order, and thus perfect the understanding to eternity. but beasts do not have the two higher degrees, but only the natural degrees, and these apart from the higher degrees have no capacity to think on any subject, civil, moral, or spiritual. and since the natural degrees of beasts are incapable of being opened, and thereby raised into higher light, they are unable to think in successive order, but only in simultaneous order, which is not thinking, but acting from a knowledge corresponding to their love. and because they are unable to think analytically, and to view a lower thought from any higher thought, they are unable to speak, but are able only to utter sounds in accordance with the knowledge pertaining to their love. yet the sensual man, who is in the lowest sense natural, differs from the beast only in this, that he can fill his memory with knowledges, and think and speak therefrom; this power he gets from a capacity proper to every man, of being able to understand truth if he chooses; it is this capacity that makes the difference. nevertheless many, by abuse of this capacity, have made themselves lower than beasts. . the natural degree of the human mind regarded in itself is continuous, but by correspondence with the two higher degrees it appears when it is elevated as if it were discrete. although this is hardly comprehensible, by those who have as yet no knowledge of degrees of height, it must nevertheless be revealed, because it is a part of angelic wisdom; and while the natural man is unable to think about this wisdom in the same way as angels do, nevertheless it can be comprehended by his understanding, when it has been raised into the degree of light in which angels are; for his understanding can be elevated even to that extent, and enlightened according to its elevation. but this enlightenment of the natural mind does not ascend by discrete degrees; but increases in a continuous degree, and as it increases, that mind is enlightened from within by the light of the two higher degrees. how this occurs can be comprehended from a perception of degrees of height, as being one above another, while the natural degree, which is the lowest, is a kind of general covering to the two higher degrees. then, as the natural degree is raised up towards a degree of the higher kind, the higher acts from within upon the outer natural and illuminates it. this illumination is effected, indeed, from within, by the light of the higher degrees, but the natural degree which envelops and surrounds the higher receives it by continuity, thus more lucidly and purely in proportion to its ascent; that is, from within, by the light of the higher degrees, the natural degree is enlightened discretely, but in itself is enlightened continuously. from this it is evident that so long as man lives in the world, and is thereby in the natural degree, he cannot be elevated into very wisdom, such as the angels have, but only into higher light, even up to angels, and can receive enlightenment from their light that flows in from within and illuminates. but these things cannot as yet be more clearly described; they can be better comprehended from effects; for effects present causes in themselves in clear light, and thus illustrate them, when there is some previous knowledge of causes. . the effects are these: ( ) the natural mind may be raised up to the light of heaven in which angels are, and may perceive naturally, thus not so fully, what the angels perceive spiritually; nevertheless, man's natural mind cannot be raised into angelic light itself. ( ) by means of his natural mind, raised to the light of heaven, man can think, yea, speak with angels; but the thought and speech of the angels then flow into the natural thought and speech of the man, and not conversely; so that angels speak with man in a natural language, which is the man's mother tongue. ( ) this is effected by a spiritual influx into what is natural, and not by any natural influx into what is spiritual. ( ) human wisdom, which so long as man lives in the natural world is natural, can by no means be raised into angelic wisdom, but only into some image of it. the reason is, that elevation of the natural mind is effected by continuity, as from shade to light, or from grosser to purer. still the man in whom the spiritual degree has been opened comes into that wisdom when he dies; and he may also come into it by a suspension of bodily sensations, and then by an influx from above into the spiritual parts of his mind. ( ) man's natural mind consists of spiritual substances together with natural substances; thought comes from its spiritual substances, not from its natural substances; these recede when the man dies, while its spiritual substances do not. consequently, after death, when man becomes a spirit or angel, the same mind remains in a form like that which it had in the world. ( ) the natural substances of that mind, which recede (as was said) by death, constitute the cutaneous covering of the spiritual body which spirits and angels have. by means of such covering, which is taken from the natural world, their spiritual bodies maintain existence; for the natural is the outmost containant: consequently there is no spirit or angel who was not born a man. these arcana of angelic wisdom are here adduced that the quality of the natural mind in man may be known, which subject is further treated of in what follows. . every man is born into a capacity to understand truths even to the inmost degree in which the angels of the third heaven are; for the human understanding, rising up by continuity around the two higher degrees, receives the light of their wisdom, in the manner stated above (n. ). therefore man has the ability to become rational according to his elevation; if raised to the third degree he becomes rational from that degree, if raised to the second degree he becomes rational from that degree, if not raised he is rational in the first degree. it is said that he becomes rational from those degrees, because the natural degree is the general receptacle of their light. the reason why man does not become rational to the height that he might is, that love, which is of the will, cannot be raised in the same manner as wisdom, which is of the understanding. love, which is of the will, is raised only by fleeing from evils as sins, and then by goods of charity, which are uses, which the man thereafter performs from the lord. consequently, when love, which is of the will, is not at the same time raised, wisdom, which is of the understanding, however it may have ascended, falls back again down to its own love. therefore, if man's love is not at the same time raised into the spiritual degree, he is rational only in the lowest degree. from all this it can be seen that man's rational is in appearance as if it were of three degrees, a rational from the celestial, a rational from the spiritual, and a rational from the natural; also that rationality, which is the capacity whereby man is elevated, is still in man whether he be elevated or not. . it has been said that every man is born into that capacity, namely, rationality, but by this is meant every man whose externals have not been injured by some accident, either in the womb, or by some disease after birth, or by a wound inflicted on the head, or in consequence of some insane love bursting forth, and breaking down restraints. in such the rational cannot be elevated; for life, which is of the will and understanding, has in such no bounds in which it can terminate, so disposed that it can produce outmost acts according to order; for life acts in accordance with outmost determinations, though not from them. that there can be no rationality with infants and children, may be seen below (n. , at the end). . the natural mind, since it is the covering and containant of the higher degrees of the human mind, is reactive; and if the higher degrees are not opened it acts against them, but if they are opened it acts with them. it has been shown in the preceding chapter that as the natural mind is in the outmost degree, it envelops and encloses the spiritual mind and the celestial mind, which, in respect to degrees, are above it. it is now to be shown that the natural mind reacts against the higher or interior minds. it reacts because it covers, includes, and contains them, and this cannot be done without reaction; for unless it reacted, the interior or enclosed parts would become loosened and press outward and thus fall apart, just as the viscera, which are the interiors of the body, would push forth and fall asunder if the coverings which are about the body did not react against them; so, too, unless the membrane investing the motor fibers of a muscle reacted against the force of these fibers in their activities, not only would action cease, but all the inner tissues would be let loose. it is the same with every outmost degree of the degrees of height; consequently with the natural mind with respect to higher degrees; for, as was said above, there are three degrees of the human mind, the natural, the spiritual, and the celestial, and the natural mind is in the outmost degree. another reason why the natural mind reacts against the spiritual mind is, that the natural mind consists not only of substances of the spiritual world but also of substances of the natural world (as was said above, n. ), and substances of the natural world of their very nature react against the substances of the spiritual world; for substances of the natural world are in themselves dead, and are acted upon from without by substances of the spiritual world; and substances which are dead, and which are acted upon from without, by their nature resist, and thus by their nature react. from all this it can be seen that the natural man reacts against the spiritual man, and that there is combat. it is the same thing whether the terms "natural and spiritual man" or "natural and spiritual mind" are used. . from this it is obvious that when the spiritual mind is closed the natural mind continually acts against the things of the spiritual mind, fearing lest anything should flow in therefrom to disturb its own states. everything that flows in through the spiritual mind is from heaven, for the spiritual mind in its form is a heaven; while everything that flows into the natural mind is from the world, for the natural mind in its form is a world. from which it follows that when the spiritual mind is closed, the natural mind reacts against all things of heaven, giving them no admission except so far as they are serviceable to it as means for acquiring and possessing the things of the world. and when the things of heaven are made to serve the natural mind as means to its own ends, then those means, though they seem to be heavenly, are made natural; for the end qualifies them, and they become like the knowledges of the natural man, in which interiorly there is nothing of life. but as things heavenly cannot be so joined to things natural that the two act as one, they separate, and, with men merely natural, things heavenly arrange themselves from without, in a circuit about the natural things which are within. from this it is that a merely natural man can speak and preach about heavenly things, and even simulate them in his actions, though inwardly he thinks against them; the latter he does when alone, the former when in company. but of these things more in what follows. . by virtue of the reaction which is in him from birth the natural mind, or man, when he loves himself and the world above all things, acts against the things that are of the spiritual mind or man. then also he has a sense of enjoyment in evils of every kind, as adultery, fraud, revenge, blasphemy, and other like things; he then also acknowledges nature as the creator of the universe; and confirms all things by means of his rational faculty; and after confirmation he either perverts or suffocates or repels the goods and truths of heaven and the church, and at length either shuns them or turns his back upon them or hates them. this he does in his spirit, and in the body just so far as he dares to speak with others from his spirit without fear of the loss of reputation as a means to honor and gain. when man is such, he gradually shuts up the spiritual mind closer and closer. confirmations of evil by means of falsities especially close it up; therefore evil and falsity when confirmed cannot be uprooted after death; they are only uprooted by means of repentance in the world. . but when the spiritual mind is open the state of the natural mind is wholly different. then the natural mind is arranged in compliance with the spiritual mind, and is subordinated to it. for the spiritual mind acts upon the natural mind from above or within, and removes the things therein that react, and adapts to itself those that act in harmony with itself, whereby the excessive reaction is gradually taken away. it is to be noted, that in things greatest and least of the universe, both living and dead, there is action and reaction, from which comes an equilibrium of all things; this is destroyed when action overcomes reaction, or the reverse. it is the same with the natural and with the spiritual mind. when the natural mind acts from the enjoyments of its love and the pleasures of its thought, which are in themselves evils and falsities, the reaction of the natural mind removes those things which are of the spiritual mind and blocks the doors lest they enter, and it makes action to come from such things as agree with its reaction. the result is an action and reaction of the natural mind opposite to the action and reaction of the spiritual mind, whereby there is a closing of the spiritual mind like the twisting back of a spiral. but when the spiritual mind is opened, the action and reaction of the natural mind are inverted; for the spiritual mind acts from above or within, and at the same time it acts from below or from without, through those things in the natural mind which are arranged in compliance with it; and it twists back the spiral in which the action and reaction of the natural mind lie. for the natural mind is by birth in opposition to the things belonging to the spiritual mind; an opposition derived, as is well known, from parents by heredity. such is the change of state which is called reformation and regeneration. the state of the natural mind before reformation may be compared to a spiral twisting or bending itself downward; but after reformation it may be compared to a spiral twisting or bending itself upwards; therefore man before reformation looks downwards to hell, but after reformation looks upwards to heaven. . the origin of evil is from the abuse of the capacities proper to man, that are called rationality and freedom. by rationality is meant the capacity to understand what is true and thereby what is false, also to understand what is good and thereby what is evil; and by freedom is meant the capacity to think, will and do these things freely. from what precedes it is evident, and it will become more evident from what follows, that every man from creation, consequently from birth, has these two capacities, and that they are from the lord; that they are not taken away from man; that from them is the appearance that man thinks, speaks, wills, and acts as from himself; that the lord dwells in these capacities in every man, that man by virtue of that conjunction lives to eternity; that man by means of these capacities can be reformed and regenerated, but not without them; finally, that by them man is distinguished from beasts. . that the origin of evil is from the abuse of these capacities will be explained in the following order: ( ) a bad man equally with a good man enjoys these two capacities. ( ) a bad man abuses these capacities to confirm evils and falsities, but a good man uses them to confirm goods and truths. ( ) evils and falsities confirmed in man are permanent, and come to be of his love, consequently of his life. ( ) such things as have come to be of the love and life are engendered in offspring. ( ) all evils, both engendered and acquired, have their seat in the natural mind. . ( ) a bad man, equally with a good man enjoys these two capacities. it was shown in the preceding chapter that the natural mind, as regards the understanding, can be elevated even to the light in which angels of the third heaven are, and can see truths, acknowledge them, and then give expression to them. from this it is plain that since the natural mind can be elevated, a bad man equally with a good man enjoys the capacity called rationality; and because the natural mind can be elevated to such an extent, it follows that a bad man can also think and speak about heavenly truths. moreover, that he is able to will and to do them, even though he does not will and do them, both reason and experience affirm. reason affirms it: for who cannot will and do what he thinks? his not willing and doing it is because he does not love to will and do it. this ability to will and to do is the freedom which every man has from the lord; but his not willing and doing good when he can, is from a love of evil, which opposes; but this love he is able to resist, and many do resist it. experience in the spiritual world has often corroborated this. i have listened to evil spirits who inwardly were devils, and who in the world had rejected the truths of heaven and the church. when the affection for knowing, in which every man is from childhood, was excited in them by the glory that, like the brightness of fire, surrounds each love, they perceived the arcana of angelic wisdom just as clearly as good spirits do who inwardly were angels. those diabolical spirits even declared that they were able to will and act according to those arcana, but did not wish to. when told that they might will them, if only they would flee from evils as sins, they said that they could even do that, but did not wish to. from this it was evident that the wicked equally with the good have the capacity called freedom. let any one look within himself, and he will observe that it is so. man has the power to will, because the lord, from whom that capacity comes, continually gives the power; for, as was said above, the lord dwells in every man in both of these capacities, and therefore in the capacity, that is, in the power, of being able to will. as to the capacity to understand, called rationality, this man does not have until his natural mind reaches maturity; until then it is like seed in unripe fruit, which cannot be opened in the soil and grow up into a shrub. neither does this capacity exist in those mentioned above (n. ). . ( ) a bad man abuses these capacities to confirm evils and falsities, but a good man uses them to confirm goods and truths. from the intellectual capacity called rationality, and from the voluntary capacity called freedom, man derives the ability to confirm whatever he wishes; for the natural man is able to raise his understanding into higher light to any extent he desires; but one who is in evils and in falsities therefrom, raises it no higher than into the upper regions of his natural mind, and rarely as far as the border of the spiritual mind; for the reason that he is in the delights of the love of his natural mind, and when he raises the understanding above that mind, the delight of his love perishes; and if it is raised still higher, and sees truths which are opposed to the delights of his life or to the principles of his self-intelligence, he either falsifies those truths or passes them by and contemptuously leaves them behind, or retains them in the memory as means to serve his life's love, or the pride of his self-intelligence. that the natural man is able to confirm whatever he wishes is plainly evident from the multitude of heresies in the christian world, each of which is confirmed by its adherents. who does not know that evils and falsities of every kind can be confirmed? it is possible to confirm, and by the wicked it is confirmed within themselves, that there is no god, and that nature is everything and created herself; that religion is only a means for keeping simple minds in bondage; that human prudence does everything, and divine providence nothing except sustaining the universe in the order in which it was created; also that murders, adulteries, thefts, frauds, and revenge are allowable, as held by machiavelli and his followers. these and many like things the natural man is able to confirm, and even to fill volumes with the confirmations; and when such falsities are confirmed they appear in their delusive light, but truths in such obscurity as to be seen only as phantoms of the night. in a word, take what is most false and present it as a proposition, and ask an ingenious person to prove it, and he will do so to the complete extinction of the light of truth; but set aside his confirmations, return and view the proposition itself from your own rationality, and you will see its falsity in all its deformity. from all this it can be seen that man is able to abuse these two capacities, which he has from the lord, to confirm evils and falsities of every kind. this no beast can do, because no beast enjoys these capacities. consequently, a beast is born into all the order of its life, and into all the knowledge of its natural love, but man is not. . ( ) evils and falsities confirmed in man are permanent, and come to be of his love and life. confirming evil and falsity is nothing else than putting away good and truth, and if persisted in, it is their rejection; for evil removes and rejects good, and falsity truth. for this reason confirming evil and falsity is a closing up of heaven, - for every good and truth flows in from the lord through heaven, - and when heaven is closed, man is in hell, and in a society therein which a like evil prevails and a like falsity; from which hell he cannot afterwards be delivered. it has been granted me to speak with some who ages ago confirmed themselves in the falsities of their religion, and i saw that they remained in the same falsities, in the same way as they were in them in the world. the reason is, that all things in which a man confirms himself come to be of his love and life. they come to be of his love because they come to be of his will and understanding; and will and understanding constitute the life of every one; and when they come to be of man's life, they come to be not only of his whole mind but also of his whole body. from this it is evident that a man who has confirmed himself in evils and falsities is such from head to foot, and when he is wholly such, by no turning or twisting back can he be reduced to an opposite state, and thus withdrawn from hell. from all this, and from what precedes in this chapter, it can be seen what the origin of evil is. . ( ) such things as have come to be of the love, and consequently of the life, are engendered in offspring. it is known that man is born into evil, and that he derives it by inheritance from parents; though by some it is believed that he inherits it not from his parents, but through parents from adam; this, however, is an error. he derives it from the father, from whom he has a soul that is clothed with a body in the mother. for the seed, which is from the father, is the first receptacle of life, but such a receptacle as it was with the father; for the seed is in the form of his love, and each one's love is, in things greatest and least, similar to itself; and there is in the seed a conatus to the human form, and by successive steps it goes forth into that form. from this it follows that evils called hereditary are from fathers, thus from grandfathers and great-grandfathers, successively transmitted to offspring. this may be learned also from observation, for as regards affections, there is a resemblance of races to their first progenitor, and a stronger resemblance in families, and a still stronger resemblance in households; and this resemblance is such that generations are distinguishable not only by the disposition, but even by the face. but of this ingeneration of the love of evil by parents in offspring more will be said in what follows, where the correspondence of the mind, that is, of the will and understanding, with the body and its members and organs will be fully treated of. here these few things only are brought forward, that it may be known that evils are derived from parents successively, and that they increase through the accumulations of one parent after another, until man by birth is nothing but evil; also that the malignity of evil increases according to the degree in which the spiritual mind is closed up, for in this manner the natural mind also is closed above; finally, that there is no recovery from this in posterity except through their fleeing from evils as sins by the help of the lord. in this and in no other way is the spiritual mind opened, and by means of such opening the natural mind is brought back into correspondent form. . ( ) all evils and their falsities, both engendered and acquired, have their seat in the natural mind. evils and their falsities have their seat in the natural mind, because that mind is, in form or image, a world; while the spiritual mind in its form or image is a heaven, and in heaven evil cannot be entertained. the spiritual mind, therefore, is not opened from birth, but is only in the capability of being opened. moreover, the natural mind derives its form in part from substances of the natural world; but the spiritual mind from substances of the spiritual world only; and this mind is preserved in its integrity by the lord, in order that man may be capable of becoming a man; for man is born an animal, but he becomes a man. the natural mind, with all its belongings, is coiled into gyres from right to left, but the spiritual mind into gyres from left to right; the two thus curving in directions contrary to each other - a proof that evil has its seat in the natural mind, and that of itself it acts against the spiritual mind. moreover, the gyration from right to left is turned downward, thus towards hell, but the gyration from left to right tends upward, thus toward heaven. this was made evident to me by the fact that an evil spirit can gyrate his body only from right to left, not from left to right; while a good spirit can gyrate his body from right to left only with difficulty, but with ease from left to right. gyration follows the flow of the interiors, which belong to the mind. . evils and falsities are in complete opposition to goods and truths, because evils and falsities are diabolical and infernal, while goods and truths are divine and heavenly. that evil and good are opposites, also the falsity of evil and the truth of good, every one acknowledges when he hears it. still those who are in evil do not feel, and therefore do not perceive, otherwise than that evil is good; for evil gives enjoyment to their senses, especially sight and hearing, and from that gives enjoyment also to their thoughts, and thus their perceptions. while, therefore, the evil acknowledge that evil and good are opposites, still, when they are in evil, they declare from their enjoyment of it that evil is good, and good evil. for example:-one who abuses his freedom to think and to do what is evil calls that freedom, while its opposite, namely, to think the good which in itself is good, he calls bondage; when, in fact, the latter is to be truly free, and the former to be in bondage. he who loves adulteries calls it freedom to commit adultery, but not to be allowed to commit adultery he calls bondage; for in lasciviousness he has a sense of enjoyment, but of the contrary in chastity. he who is in the love of ruling from love of self feels in that love an enjoyment of life surpassing other enjoyments of every kind; consequently, everything belonging to that love he calls good, and everything contrary to it he declares to be evil; when yet the reverse is true. it is the same with every other evil. while every one, therefore, acknowledges that evil and good are opposites, those who are in evils cherish a reverse conception of such opposition, and only those who are in good have a right conception of it. no one so long as he is in evil can see good, but he who is in good can see evil. evil is below as in a cave, good is above as on a mountain. . now as many do not know what the nature of evil is, and that it is entirely opposite to good, and as this knowledge is important, the subject shall be considered in the following order: ( ) the natural mind that is in evils and in falsities therefrom is a form and image of hell. ( ) the natural mind that is a form and image of hell descends through three degrees. ( ) the three degrees of the natural mind that is a form and image of hell, are opposite to the three degrees of the spiritual mind which is a form and image of heaven. ( ) the natural mind that is a hell is in every respect opposed to the spiritual mind that is a heaven. . ( ) the natural mind that is in evils and in falsities therefrom is a form and image of hell. the nature of the natural mind in man in its substantial form cannot here be described, that is, its nature in its own form woven out of the substances of both worlds, in the brains where that mind in its first principles, has its seat. the universal idea of that form will be given in what follows, where the correspondence of the mind and body is to be treated of. here somewhat only shall be said of its form as regards the states and their changes, whereby perceptions, thoughts, intentions, volitions, and their belongings are manifested; for, as regards these states and changes, the natural mind that is in evils and their falsities is a form and image of hell. such a form supposes a substantial form as a subject; for without a substantial form as a subject, changes of state are impossible, just as sight is impossible without an eye, or hearing without an ear. in regard, then, to the form or image wherein the natural mind images hell, that form or image is such that the reigning love with its lusts, which is the universal state of that mind, is like what the devil is in hell; and the thoughts of the false arising out of that reigning love are, as it were, the devil's crew. by "the devil" and by "his crew" nothing else is meant in the word. moreover, the case is similar, since in hell there is a love of ruling from love of self, a reigning love, called there the "devil;" and the affections of the false, with the thoughts arising out of that love, are called "his crew." it is the same in every society of hell, with differences resembling the differences of species in a genus. and the natural mind that is in evils and in falsities therefrom is in a similar form; consequently, a natural man who is of this character comes, after death, into a society of hell similar to himself, and then, in each and every particular, he acts in unison with it; for he thus enters into his own form, that is, into the states of his own mind. there is also another love, called "satan," subordinate to the former love that is called the devil; it is the love of possessing the goods of others by every evil device. cunning villainies and subtleties are its crew. those who are in this hell are generally called satans; those in the former, devils; and such of them as do not act in a clandestine way there do not disown their name. from this it is that the hells, as a whole, are called the devil and satan. the two hells are generically divided in accordance with these two loves, because all the heavens are divided into two kingdoms, the celestial and the spiritual, in accordance with two loves; and the devil - hell corresponds, by opposites, to the celestial kingdom, and the satan - hell corresponds, by opposites, to the spiritual kingdom. that the heavens are divided into two kingdoms, the celestial and the spiritual, may be seen in the work heaven and hell (n. - ). the reason why a natural mind of such a character is in form a hell, is that every spiritual form is like itself both in what is greatest and in what is least; therefore every angel is, in lesser form, a heaven, as is also shown in the work on heaven and hell (n. - ); from which it follows that every man or spirit who is a devil or a satan is, in lesser form, a hell. . ( ) the natural mind that is a form or image of hell descends through three degrees it may be seen above (n. - ) that both in the greatest and in the least of all things there are degrees of two kinds, namely, degrees of height and degrees of breadth. this is also true of the natural mind in its greatest and its least parts. degrees of height are what are now referred to. the natural mind, by its two capacities called rationality and freedom, is in such a state as to be capable of ascending through three degrees, or of descending through three degrees; it ascends by goods and truths, and descends by evils and falsities. when it ascends, the lower degrees which tend to hell are shut, and when it descends, the higher degrees which tend to heaven are shut; for the reason that they are in reaction. these three degrees, higher and lower, are neither open nor shut in man in earliest infancy, for he is then ignorant both of good and truth and of evil and falsity; but as he lets himself into one or the other, the degrees are opened and shut on the one side or the other. when they are opened towards hell, the reigning love, which is of the will, obtains the highest or inmost place; the thought of the false, which is of the understanding from that love, obtains the second or middle place; and the result of the love through the thought, or of the will through the understanding, obtains the lowest place. the same is true here as of degrees of height treated of above; they stand in order as end, cause, and effect, or as first end, middle end, and last end. the descent of these degrees is towards the body, consequently in the descent they wax grosser, and become material and corporeal. if truths from the word are received in the second degree to form it, these truths are falsified by the first degree, which is the love of evil, and become servants and slaves. from this it can be seen what the truths of the church from the word become with those who are in the love of evil, or whose natural mind is in form a hell, namely, that they are profaned because they serve the devil as means; for the love of evil reigning in the natural mind that is a hell, is the devil, as was said above. . ( ) the three degrees of the natural mind that is a form and image of hell, are opposite to the three degrees of the spiritual mind which is a form and image of heaven. it has been shown above that there are three degrees of the mind, called natural, spiritual, and celestial, and that the human mind, made up of these degrees, looks towards heaven, and turns itself about in that direction. from this it can be seen that the natural mind, looking downwards and turning itself about towards hell, is made up in like manner of three degrees, and that each degree of it is opposite to a degree of that mind which is a heaven. that this is so has been made very clear to me by things seen in the spiritual world; namely, that there are three heavens, and these distinct according to three degrees of height; that there are three hells, and these also distinct according to three degrees of height or depth; that the hells are opposed to the heavens in each and every particular; also that the lowest hell is opposite to the highest heaven, and the middle hell to the middle heaven, and the uppermost hell to the lowest heaven. it is the same with the natural mind that is in the form of hell; for spiritual forms are like themselves in things greatest and least. the heavens and hells are thus opposite, because their loves are opposed. in the heavens, love to the lord, and consequent love to the neighbor, constitute the inmost degree; in the hells, love of self and love of the world constitute the inmost degree. in the heavens, wisdom and intelligence, springing from their loves, constitute the middle degree; in the hells folly and insanity, springing from their loves and appearing like wisdom and intelligence, constitute the middle degree. in the heavens, the results from the two other degrees, either laid up in the memory as knowledges, or determined into actions in the body, constitute the lowest degree; in the hells, the results from the two other degrees, which have become either knowledges or acts, constitute the outermost degree. how the goods and truths of heaven are turned, in the hells, into evils and falsities, thus into what is opposite, may be seen from this experience: i heard that a certain divine truth flowed down out of heaven into hell, and that in its descent by degrees it was converted on the way into what is false, until at the lowest hell, it became the exact opposite of that truth; from which it was manifest that the hells according to degrees are in opposition to the heavens in regard to all goods and truths, these becoming evils and falsities by influx into forms turned the reverse way; for all inflowing, it is well known, is perceived and felt according to recipient forms and their states. this conversion into the opposite was made further evident to me from this experience: it was granted me to see the hells as they are placed relatively to the heavens; and those who were there appeared inverted, the head downward and the feet upward; but it was said that they nevertheless appear to themselves to be upright on their feet; comparatively like the antipodes. by these evidences from experience, it can be seen that the three degrees of the natural mind, which is a hell in form and image, are opposite to the three degrees of the spiritual mind which is a heaven in form and image. . ( ) the natural mind that is a hell is in complete opposition to the spiritual mind which is a heaven. when the loves are opposite all things of perception become opposites; for out of love, which makes the very life of man, everything else flows like streams from their source; the things not from that source separating in the natural mind from those which are. whatever springs from man's reigning love is in the middle, and other things are at the sides. if these latter are truths of the church from the word, they are transferred from the middle further away to the sides, and are finally exterminated; and then the man, that is, the natural mind, perceives evil as good, and sees falsity as truth; and conversely. this is why he believes perfidy to be wisdom, insanity to be intelligence, cunning to be prudence, and evil devices to be ingenuity; moreover, he makes nothing of divine and heavenly things pertaining to the church and worship, while he regards bodily and worldly things as of the greatest worth. he thus inverts the state of his life, making what is of the head to be of the sole of the foot, and trampling upon it; and making what is of the sole of the foot to be of the head. thus from being alive he becomes dead. one is said to be alive whose mind is a heaven, and one is said to be dead whose mind is a hell. . all things of the three degrees of the natural mind are included in the deeds that are done by the acts of the body. by the knowledge of degrees, which is set forth in this part, the following arcanum is disclosed: all things of the mind, that is, of the will and understanding of man, are in his acts or deeds, included therein very much as things visible and invisible are in a seed or fruit or egg. acts or deeds by themselves appear outwardly as these do, but in their internals there are things innumerable, such as the concurring forces of the motor fibers of the whole body and all things of the mind that excite and determine these forces, all of which, as shown above, are of three degrees. and since all things of the mind are in these, so also are things of the will, that is, all the affections of man's love, which make the first degree; all things of the understanding, that is, all thoughts from his perception, which makes the second degree; and all things of the memory, that is, all ideas of the thought nearest to speech, taken from the memory, which compose the third degree. out of these things determined into act, deeds come forth, in which, seen in external form, prior things are not visible although they are actually therein. that the outmost is the complex, containant, and base of things prior may be seen above (n. - ); and that degrees of height are in fullness in their outmost (n. - ). . the acts of the body when viewed by the eye, appear thus simple and uniform, as seeds, fruits, and eggs do, in external form, or as nuts and almonds in their shells, yet they contain in themselves all the prior things from which they exist, because every outmost is sheathed about and is thereby rendered distinct from things prior. so is each degree enveloped by a covering, and thereby separated from other degrees; consequently things of the first degree are not perceived by the second, nor those of the second by the third. for example: the love of the will, which is the first degree of the mind, is not perceived in the wisdom of the understanding, which is the second degree of the mind, except by a certain enjoyment in thinking of the matter. again, the first degree, which is, as just said, the love of the will, is not perceived in the knowledge of the memory, which is the third degree, except by a certain pleasure in knowing and speaking. from all this it follows that every deed, or bodily act, includes all these things, although externally it appears simple, and as if it were a single thing. . this is corroborated by the following: the angels who are with man perceive separately the things that are from the mind in the act, the spiritual angels perceiving those things therein that are from the understanding, and the celestial angels those things therein that are from the will. this appears incredible, but it is true. it should be known, however, that the things of the mind pertaining to any subject that is under consideration, or before the mind, are in the middle, and the rest are round about these according to their affinities therewith. the angels declare that a man's character is perceived from a single deed, but in a likeness of his love, which varies according to its determinations into affections, and into thoughts therefrom. in a word, before the angels every act or deed of a spiritual man is like a palatable fruit, useful and beautiful, which when opened and eaten yields flavor, use, and delight. that the angels have such a perception of the acts and deeds of men may also be seen above (n. ). . it is the same with man's speech. the angels recognize a man's love from his tone in speaking, his wisdom from his articulation, and his knowledge from the meaning of the words. they declare, moreover, that these three are in every word, because the word is a kind of resultant, involving tone, articulation, and meaning. it was told me by angels of the third heaven that from each successive word that a man speaks in discourse they perceive the general state of his disposition, and also some particular states. that in each single word of the word there is something spiritual from the divine wisdom, and something celestial from the divine love; and that these are perceived by angels when the word is devoutly read by man, has been abundantly shown in the doctrine of the new jerusalem concerning the sacred scripture. . the conclusion is, that in the deeds of a man whose natural mind descends through three degrees into hell there are all his evils and his falsities of evil; and that in the deeds of a man whose natural mind ascends into heaven there are all his goods and truths; and that both are perceived by the angels from the mere speech and act of man. from this it is said in the word that a man "shall be judged according to his deeds," and that he shall render an account of his words. . part fourth. the lord from eternity, who is jehovah, created the universe and all things thereof from himself, and not from nothing. it is known throughout the world, and acknowledged by every wise man from interior perception, that god, who is the creator of the universe, is one; and it is known from the word that god the creator of the universe is called "jehovah," which is from the verb to be, because he alone is. that the lord from eternity is that jehovah is shown by many statements from the word in the doctrine of the new jerusalem concerning the lord. jehovah is called the lord from eternity, since jehovah assumed a human that he might save men from hell; he then commanded his disciples to call him lord. therefore in the new testament jehovah is called "the lord;" as can be seen from this: thou shalt love jehovah thy god with all thy heart and with all thy soul (deut. : ); but in the new testament: thou shalt love the lord thy god with all thy heart and with all thy soul (matt. : ). it is the same in other passages in the gospels, taken from the old testament. . every one who thinks from clear reason sees that the universe was not created out of nothing, for he sees that not anything can be made out of nothing; since nothing is nothing, and to make anything out of nothing is a contradiction, and a contradiction is contrary to the light of truth, which is from divine wisdom; and whatever is not from divine wisdom is not from divine omnipotence. every one who thinks from clear reason sees also that all things have been created out of a substance that is substance in itself for that is esse itself, out of which every thing that is can take form; and since god alone is substance in itself, and therefore esse itself, it is evident that from this source alone is the formation of things. many have seen this, because reason causes them to see it; and yet they have not dared to confirm it, fearing lest they might thereby be led to think that the created universe is god, because from god, or that nature is from itself, and consequently that the inmost of nature is what is called god. for this reason, although many have seen that the formation of all things is from god alone and out of his esse, yet they have not dared to go beyond their first thought on the subject, lest their understanding should become entangled in a so-called gordian knot, beyond the possibility of release. such release would be impossible, because their thought of god, and of the creation of the universe by god, has been in accordance with time and space, which are properties of nature; and from nature no one can have any perception of god and of the creation of the universe; but every one whose understanding is in any interior light can have a perception of nature and of its creation out of god, because god is not in time and space. that the divine is not in space may be seen above (n. - ); that the divine apart from space fills all the spaces of the universe (n. - ); and that the divine apart from time is in all time (n. - ). in what follows it will be seen that although god has created the universe and all things thereof out of himself, yet there is nothing whatever in the created universe that is god; and other things besides, which will place this matter in its proper light. . part first of this work treated of god, that he is divine love and divine wisdom; that he is life, and that he is substance and form, which is the very and only esse. part second treated of the spiritual sun and its world, and of the natural sun and its world, and of the creation of the universe with all things thereof from god by means of these two suns. part third treated of degrees in which are each and all things that have been created. part fourth will now treat of the creation of the universe from god. all these subjects are now explained, because the angels have lamented before the lord, that when they look upon the world they see nothing but darkness, and among men no knowledge of god, of heaven, or of the creation of nature, for their wisdom to rest upon. . the lord from eternity, that is, jehovah, could not have created the universe and all things thereof unless he were a man. those who have a corporeal natural idea of god as a man, are wholly unable to comprehend how god as a man could have created the universe and all things thereof; for they think within themselves, how can god as a man wander all over the universe from space to space, and create? or how can he, from his place, speak the word, and as soon as it is spoken, creation follow? when it is said that god is a man, such ideas present themselves to those whose conception of the god-man is like their conception of a man in the world, and who think of god from nature and its properties, which are time and space. but those whose conception of god-man is not drawn from their conception of a man in the world, nor from nature and its space and time, clearly perceive that unless god were a man the universe could not have been created. bring your thought into the angelic idea of god as being a man, putting away, as much as you can, the idea of space, and you will come near in thought to the truth. in fact, some of the learned have a perception of spirits and angels as not in space, because they have a perception of the spiritual as apart from space. for the spiritual is like thought, which although it is in man, man is nevertheless able by means of it to be present as it were elsewhere, in any place however remote. such is the state of spirits and angels, who are men even as regards their bodies. in whatever place their thought is, there they appear, because in the spiritual world spaces and distances are appearances, and make one with the thought that is from their affection. from all this it can be seen that god, who appears as a sun far above the spiritual world, and to whom there can belong no appearance of space, is not to be thought of from space. and it can then be comprehended that he created the universe out of himself, and not out of nothing; also that his human body cannot be thought great or small, that is, of any one stature, because this also pertains to space; consequently that in things first and last, and in things greatest and least, he is the same; and still further, that the human is the inmost in every created thing, though apart from space. that the divine is the same in things greatest and least may be seen above (n. - ); and that the divine apart from space fills all spaces (n. - ). and because the divine is not in space, it is not continuous [nec est continuum], as the inmost of nature is. . that god unless he were a man could not have created the universe and all things thereof, may be clearly apprehended by any intelligent person from this, that he cannot deny that in god there is love and wisdom, mercy and clemency, and also goodness itself and truth itself, inasmuch as these are from god. and because he cannot deny this, neither can he deny that god is a man; for abstractly from man not one of these is possible; for man is their subject, and to separate them from their subject is to say that they are not. think of wisdom, and place it outside of man - is it anything? can you conceive of it as something ethereal, or as something flaming? you cannot; unless perchance you conceive of it as being within these; and if within these, it must be wisdom in a form such as man has; it must be wholly in the form of man, not one thing can be lacking if wisdom is to be in that form. in a word, the form of wisdom is man; and because man is the form of wisdom, he is also the form of love, mercy, clemency, good and truth, because these make one with wisdom. that love and wisdom are not possible except in a form, see above (n. - ). . that love and wisdom are man is further evident from the fact that the angels of heaven are men in beauty in the measure in which they are in love and its wisdom from the lord. the same is evident from what is said of adam in the word, that he was created into the likeness and into the image of god (gen. : ), because into the form of love and wisdom. every man on earth is born into the human form as regards his body, for the reason that his spirit, which is also called his soul, is a man; and this is a man because it is receptive of love and wisdom from the lord; and so far as these are received by the spirit or soul of man, so far it becomes a man after the death of the material body which it had drawn about it; and so far as these are not received it becomes a monster, which derives something of manhood from the ability to receive. . because god is a man, the whole angelic heaven in the aggregate resembles a single man, and is divided into regions and provinces according to the members, viscera, and organs of man. thus there are societies of heaven which constitute the province of all things of the brain, of all things of the facial organs, and of all things of the viscera of the body; and these provinces are distinct from each other, just as those organs are in man; moreover, the angels know in what province of man they are. the whole heaven is in this image, because god is a man. god is also heaven, because the angels, who constitute heaven, are recipients of love and wisdom from the lord, and recipients are images. that heaven is in the form of all things of man is shown in the arcana coelestia, at the end of various chapters. . all this makes evident how empty are the ideas of those who think of god as something else than a man, and of the divine attributes as not being in god as a man, since these separated from man are mere figments of reason. that god is very man, from whom every man is a man according to his reception of love and wisdom, may be seen above (n. - ). this truth is here corroborated on account of what follows, that the creation of the universe by god, because he is a man, may be perceived. . the lord from eternity, that is, jehovah, brought forth from himself the sun of the spiritual world, and from that created the universe and all things thereof. the sun of the spiritual world was treated of in part second of this work, and the following propositions were there established:-divine love and divine wisdom appear in the spiritual world as a sun (n. - ). spiritual heat and spiritual light go forth from that sun (n. - ). that sun is not god, but is a proceeding from the divine love and divine wisdom of god-man; so also are the heat and light from that sun (n. - ). the sun of the spiritual world is at a middle altitude, and appears far off from the angels like the sun of the natural world from men (n. - ). in the spiritual world the east is where the lord appears as a sun, and from that the other quarters are determined (n. - , - ). angels turn their faces constantly to the lord as a sum (n. - , - ). the lord created the universe and all things thereof by means of the sun, which is the first proceeding of divine love and divine wisdom (n. - ). the sun of the natural world is mere fire, and nature, which derives its origin from that sun, is consequently dead; and the sun of the natural world was created in order that the work of creation might completed and finished (n. - ). without a double sun, one living and the other dead, no creation is possible (n. - ). . this also, among other things, is shown in part second:-that the spiritual sun is not the lord, but is a proceeding from his divine love and his divine wisdom. it is called a proceeding, because the sun was brought forth out of divine love and divine wisdom which are in themselves substance and form, and it is by means of this that the divine proceeds. but as human reason is such as to be unwilling to yield assent unless it sees a thing from its cause, and therefore has some perception of how it is, - thus in the present case, how the sun of the spiritual world, which is not the lord, but a proceeding from him, was brought forth - something shall be said on this subject. in regard to this matter i have conversed much with the angels. they said that they have a clear perception of it in their own spiritual light, but that they cannot easily present it to man, in his natural light, owing to the difference between the two kinds of light and the consequent difference of thought. the matter, however, may be likened, they said, to the sphere of affections and of thoughts therefrom which encompasses each angel, whereby his presence is made evident to others near and far. but that encompassing sphere, they said, is not the angel himself; it is from each and everything of his body, wherefrom substances are constantly flowing out like a stream, and what flows out surrounds him; also that these substances, contiguous to his body, as they are constantly moved by his life's two fountains of motion, the heart and the lungs, arouse the same activities in the atmospheres, and thereby produce a perception as of his presence with others; therefore that it is not a separate sphere of affections and of thoughts therefrom that goes forth and is continuous from him, although it is so called, since the affections are mere states of the mind's forms in the angel. they said, moreover, that there is such a sphere about every angel, because there is one about the lord, and that the sphere about the lord is in like manner from him, and that that sphere is their sun, that is, the sun of the spiritual world. . a perception has often been granted me of such a sphere around each angel and spirit, and also a general sphere around many in a society. i have also been permitted to see it under various appearances, in heaven sometimes appearing like a thin flame, in hell like gross fire, also sometimes in heaven like a thin and shining white cloud, and in hell like a thick and black cloud. it has also been granted me to perceive these spheres as various kinds of odors and stenches. by these experiences i was convinced that a sphere, consisting of substances set free and separated from- their bodies, encompasses every one in heaven and every one in hell. . it was also perceived that a sphere flows forth, not only from angels and spirits but also from each and all things that appear in the spiritual world, - from trees and from their fruits, from shrubs and from their flowers, from herbs, and from grasses, even from the soils and from their very particles. from which it was patent that both in the case of things living and things dead this is a universal law, that each thing is encompassed by something like that which is within it, and that this is continually exhaled from it. it is known, from the observation of many learned men, that it is the same in the natural world - that is, that there is a wave of effluvia constantly flowing forth out of man, also out of every animal, likewise out of tree, fruit, shrub, flower, and even out of metal and stone. this the natural world derives from the spiritual, and the spiritual world from the divine. . because those things that constitute the sun of the spiritual world are from the lord, but are not the lord, they are not life in itself, but are devoid of life in itself; just as those things that flow forth from angel or man, and constitute spheres around him are not the angel or the man, but are from him, and devoid of his life. these spheres make one with the angel or man no otherwise than that they are concordant; and this they are because taken from the forms of their bodies, which in them were forms of their life. this is an arcanum which angels, with their spiritual ideas, are able to see in thought and also express in speech, but men with their natural ideas are not; because a thousand spiritual ideas make one natural idea, and one natural idea cannot be resolved by man into any spiritual idea, much less into so many. the reason is that these ideas differ according to degrees of height, which were treated of in part third. . that there is such a difference between the thoughts of angels and the thoughts of men was made known to me by this experience: the angels were asked to think spiritually on some subject, and afterwards to tell me what they had thought. this they did; but when they wished to tell me they could not, and said that these things could not be expressed in words. it was the same with their spiritual language and their spiritual writing; there was not a word of spiritual language that was like any word of natural language; nor was there anything of spiritual writing like natural writing, except the letters, each of which contained an entire meaning. but what is wonderful, they said that they seemed to themselves to think, speak, and write in the spiritual state in the same manner that man does in the natural state, when yet there is no similarity. from this it was plain that the natural and the spiritual differ according to degrees of height, and that they communicate with each other only by correspondences. . there are in the lord three things that are the lord, the divine of love, the divine of wisdom, and the divine of use; and these three are presented in appearance outside of the sun of the spiritual world, the divine of love by heat, the divine of wisdom by light and the divine of use by the atmosphere which is their containant. that heat and light go forth out of the sun of the spiritual world, heat out of the lord's divine love, and light out of his divine wisdom, may be seen above (n. - , - , - ). now it will be shown that the third which goes forth out of that sun is the atmosphere, which is the containant of heat and light, and that this goes forth out of the lord's divine which is called use. . any one who thinks with any enlightenment can see that love has use for an end and intends it, and brings it forth by means of wisdom; for love can bring forth no use of itself, but only by wisdom as a medium. what, in fact, is love unless there be something loved? that something is use; and because use is that which is loved, and is brought forth by means of wisdom, it follows that use is the containant of wisdom and love. that these three, love, wisdom and use follow in order according to degrees of height, and that the outmost degree is the complex, containant, and base of the prior degrees has been shown (n. - , and elsewhere). from all this it can be seen that these three, the divine of love, the divine of wisdom, and the divine of use, are in the lord, and are the lord in essence. . that man, as regards both his exteriors and his interiors, is a form of all uses, and that all the uses in the created universe correspond to those uses in him, will be fully shown in what follows; it need only be mentioned here, that it may be known that god as a man is the form itself of all uses, from which form all uses in the created universe derive their origin, thus that the created universe, viewed as to uses, is an image of him. those things are called uses which from god-man, that is, from the lord, are by creation in order; but those things which are from what is man's own are not called uses; since what is man's own is hell, and whatever is therefrom is contrary to order. . now since these three, love, wisdom, and use, are in the lord, and are the lord; and since the lord is everywhere, for he is omnipresent; and since the lord cannot make himself present, such as he is in himself and such as he is in his own sun, to any angel or man, he therefore presents himself by means of such things as can be received, presenting himself, as to love by heat, as to wisdom by light, and as to use by an atmosphere. the lord presents himself as to use by an atmosphere, because an atmosphere is a containant of heat and light, as use is the containant of love and wisdom. for light and heat going forth from the divine sun cannot go forth in nothing, that is, in vacuum, but must go forth in a containant which is a subject. this containant we call an atmosphere; and this encompasses the sun, receiving the sun in its bosom, and bearing it to heaven where angels are, and then to the world where men are, thus making the lord's presence everywhere manifest. . that there are atmospheres in the angelic world, as well as in the natural world, has been shown above (n. - , - ). it was there declared that the atmospheres of the spiritual world are spiritual, and the atmospheres of the natural world are natural. it can now be seen, from the origin of the spiritual atmosphere most closely encompassing the spiritual sun, that everything belonging to it is in its essence such as the sun is in its essence. the angels, by means of their spiritual ideas, which are apart from space, elucidate this truth as follows: there is only one substance from which all things are, and the sun of the spiritual world is that substance; and since the divine is not in space, and is the same in things greatest and least, this is also true of that sun which is the first going forth of god-man; furthermore, this one only substance, which is the sun, going forth by means of atmospheres according to continuous degrees or degrees of breadth, and at the same time according to discrete degrees or degrees of height presents the varieties of all things in the created universe. the angels declared that these things are totally incomprehensible, unless spaces be removed from the ideas; and if not removed, appearances must needs induce fallacies. but so long as the thought is held that god is the very esse from which all things are, fallacies cannot enter. . it is evident, moreover, from angelic ideas, which are apart from space, that in the created universe nothing lives except god-man, that is, the lord, neither is anything moved except by life from him, nor has being except through the sun from him; so that it is a truth, that in god we live, and move, and have our being. . the atmospheres, of which there are three both in the spiritual and in the natural world, in their outmosts close into substances and matters such as are in lands. it has been shown in part third (n. - ), that there are three atmospheres both in the spiritual and in the natural world, which are distinct from each other according to degrees of height, and which, in their progress toward lower things, decrease [in activity] according to degrees of breadth. and since atmospheres in their progress toward lower things decrease [in activity], it follows that they constantly become more compressed and inert, and finally, in outmosts, become so compressed and inert as to be no longer atmospheres, but substances at rest, and in the natural world, fixed like those in the lands that are called matters. as such is the origin of substances and matters, it follows, first, that these substances and matters also are of three degrees; secondly, that they are held together in mutual connection by encompassing atmospheres; thirdly, that they are fitted for the production of all uses in their forms. . that such substances or matters as are in earths, were brought forth by the sun through its atmospheres any one will readily acknowledge who reflects that there are continual mediations from the first to outmosts, and that nothing can take form except from what is prior to itself, and so finally from the first. the first is the sun of the spiritual world, and the first of that sun is god-man, or the lord. now as atmospheres are those prior things, whereby the spiritual sun manifests itself in outmosts, and as these prior things continually decrease in activity and expansion down to the outmosts, it follows that when their activity and expansion come to an end in outmosts they become substances, and matters such as are in lands, which retain within them, from the atmospheres out of which they originated, an effort and conatus to bring forth uses. those who do not evolve the creation of the universe and all things thereof by continuous mediations from the first [being], can but hold hypotheses, disjoined and divorced from their causes, which, when surveyed by a mind with an interior perception of things, do not appear like a house, but like heaps of rubbish. . from this universal origin of all things in the created universe, every particular thereof has a similar order; in that these also go forth from their first to outmosts which are relatively in a state of rest, that they may terminate and become permanent. thus in the human body fibers proceed from their first forms until at last they become tendons; also fibers with vessels proceed from their first forms until they become cartilages and bones; upon these they may rest and become permanent. because of such a progression of fibers and vessels in man from firsts to outmosts, there is a similar progression of their states, which are sensations, thoughts, and affections. these, also, from their firsts, where they are in light, proceed through to outmosts, where they are in shade; or from their firsts, where they are in heat, to outmosts where they are not in heat. with such a progression of these there is also a like progression of love and of all things thereof, and of wisdom and all things thereof. in a word, such is the progression of all things in the created universe. this is the same as was shown above (n. - ), that there are degrees of both kinds in the greatest and least of all created things. there are degrees of both kinds even in the least things of all, because the spiritual sun is the sole substance from which all things are (according to the spiritual ideas of the angels, n. ). . in the substances and matters of which lands are formed there is nothing of the divine in itself, but still they are from the divine in itself. from the origin of lands (treated of in the preceding chapter), it can be seen, that in their substances and matters there is nothing of the divine in itself, but that they are devoid of all-that is divine in itself. for they are, as was said, the endings and closings of the atmospheres, whose heat has died away into cold, whose light into darkness, and whose activity into inertness. nevertheless, by continuation from the substance of the spiritual sun, they have brought with them what there was in that substance from the divine, which (as said above, n. - ), was the sphere encompassing god-man, or the lord. from that sphere, by continuation from the sun through the atmospheres as mediums have arisen the substances and matters of which the lands are formed. . the origin of lands from the spiritual sun through the atmospheres, as mediums, can no otherwise be described by expressions flowing out of natural ideas, but may by expressions flowing out of spiritual ideas, because these are apart from space, and for this reason, they do not fall into any expressions of natural language. that spiritual thoughts, speech, and writings differ so entirely from natural thoughts, speech, and writings, that they have nothing in common, and have communication only by correspondences, may be seen above (n. ). it may suffice, therefore, if the origin of lands be perceived in some measure naturally. . all uses, which are ends of creation are in forms, which forms they take from substances and matters such as are in lands. all things treated of hitherto, as the sun, atmospheres, and lands, are only means to ends. the ends of creation are those things that are produced by the lord as a sun, through the atmospheres, out of lands; and these ends are called uses. in their whole extent these are all things of the vegetable kingdom, all things of the animal kingdom, and finally the human race, and the angelic heaven which is from it. these are called uses, because they are recipients of divine love and divine wisdom also because they have regard to god the creator from whom they are, and thereby conjoin him to his great work; by which conjunction it comes that, as they spring forth from him, so do they have unceasing existence from him. they are said to have regard to god the creator from whom they are, and to conjoin him to his great work, but this is to speak according to appearance. it is meant that god the creator causes them to have regard and to conjoin themselves to him as it were of themselves; but how they have regard and thereby conjoin will be declared in what follows. something has been said before on these subjects in their place, as that divine love and divine wisdom must necessarily have being and form in other things created by themselves (n. - ); that all things in the created universe are recipients of divine love and divine wisdom (n. - ); that the uses of all created things ascend by degrees to man, and through man to god the creator from whom they are (n. - ). . who does not see clearly that uses are the ends of creation, when he considers that from god the creator nothing can have form, and therefore nothing can be created, except use; and that to be use, it must be for the sake of others; and that use for the sake of self is also for the sake of others, since a use for the sake of self looks to one's being in a state to be of use to others? whoso considers this is also able to see, that use which is use cannot spring from man, but must be in man from that being from whom everything that comes forth is use, that is, from the lord. . but as the forms of uses are here treated of, the subject shall be set forth in the following order: ( ) in lands there is a conatus to produce uses in forms, that is, forms of uses. ( ) in all forms of uses there is a kind of image of the creation of the universe. ( ) in all forms of uses there is a kind of image of man. ( ) in all forms of uses there is a kind of image of the infinite and the eternal. . ( ) in lands there is a conatus to produce uses in forms, that is, forms of uses. that there is this conatus in lands, is evident from their source, since the substances and matters of which lands consist are endings and closings of atmospheres which proceed as uses from the spiritual sun (as may be seen above, n. , ). and because the substances and matters of which lands consist are from that source, and their aggregations are held in connection by the pressure of the surrounding atmospheres, it follows that they have from that a perpetual conatus to bring forth forms of uses. the very quality that makes them capable of bringing forth they derive from their source, as being the outmosts of atmospheres, with which they are constantly in accord. such a conatus and quality are said to be in lands, but it is meant that they are present in the substances and matters of which lands consist, whether these are in the lands or in the atmospheres as exhalations from the lands. that atmospheres are full of such things is well known. that there is such a conatus and such quality in the substances and matters of lands is plain from the fact that seeds of all kinds, opened by means of heat even to their inmost core, are impregnated by the most subtle substances (which can have no other than a spiritual origin), and through this they have power to conjoin themselves to use, from which comes their prolific principle. then through conjunction with matters from a natural origin they are able to produce forms of uses, and thereafter to deliver them as from a womb, that they may come forth into light, and thus sprout up and grow. this conatus is afterwards continuous from the lands through the root even to outmosts, and from outmosts to firsts, wherein use itself is in its origin. thus uses pass into forms; and forms, in their progression from firsts to outmosts and from outmosts to firsts, derive from use (which is like a soul) that each and every thing of the form is of some use. use is said to be like a soul, since its form is like a body. it also follows that there is a conatus more interior, that is, the conatus to produce uses for the animal kingdom through vegetable growths, since by these animals of every kind are nourished. it further follows that in all these there is an inmost conatus, the conatus to perform use to the human race. from all this these things follow: ( ) that there are outmosts, and in outmosts are all prior things simultaneously in their order, according to what has been frequently explained above; ( ) that as there are degrees of both kinds in the greatest and least of all things (as was shown above, n. - ), so there are likewise in this conatus; ( ) that as all uses are brought forth by the lord out of outmosts, so in outmosts there must be a conatus to uses. . still none of these are living conatus, for they are the conatus of life's outmost forces; within which forces there exists, from the life out of which they spring, a striving to return at last to their origin through the means afforded. in outmosts, atmospheres become such forces; and by these forces, substances and matters, such as are in the lands, are molded into forms and held together in forms both within and without. but the subject is too large to allow a more extended explanation here. . the first production from these earthy matters, while they were still new and in their simple state, was production of seed; the first conatus therein could not be any other. . ( ) in all forms of uses there is a kind of image of creation. forms of uses are of a threefold kind; forms of uses of the mineral kingdom, forms of uses of the vegetable kingdom, and forms of uses of the animal kingdom. the forms of uses of the mineral kingdom cannot be described, because they are not visible to the eye. the first forms are the substances and matters of which the lands consist, in their minutest divisions; the second forms are aggregates of these, and are of infinite variety; the third forms come from plants that have fallen to dust, and from animal remains, and from the continual evaporations and exhalations from these, which are added to lands and make their soil. these forms of the mineral kingdom in three degrees represent creation in an image in this, that, made active by the sun through the atmospheres and their heat and light, they bring forth uses in forms, which uses were creative ends. this image of creation lies deeply hidden within their conatus (of which see above, n. ). . in the forms of uses of the vegetable kingdom an image of creation appears in this, that from their firsts they proceed to their outmosts, and from outmosts to firsts. their firsts are seeds, their outmosts are stalks clothed with bark; and by means of the bark which is the outmost of the stalk, they tend to seeds which, as was said, are their firsts. the stalks clothed with layers of bark represent the globe clothed with lands, out of which come the creation and formation of all uses. that vegetation is effected through the outer and inner barks and coatings, by a climbing up, by means of the coverings of the roots (which are continued around the stalks and branches), into the beginnings of the fruit, and in like manner through the fruits into the seeds, is known to many. an image of creation is displayed in forms of uses in the progress of the formation of uses from firsts to outmosts, and from outmosts to firsts; also in this, that in the whole progression there lies the end of producing fruit and seeds, which are uses. from what has been said above it is plain, that the progression of the creation of the universe was from its first (which is the lord encircled by the sun) to outmosts which are lands, and from these through uses to its first, that is, the lord; also that the ends of the whole creation were uses. . it should be known that to this image of creation the heat, light, and atmospheres of the natural world contribute nothing whatever. it is only the heat, light, and atmospheres of the sun of the spiritual world that do this, bringing that image with them, and clothing it with the forms of uses of the vegetable kingdom. the heat, light, and atmospheres of the natural world simply open the seeds, keep their products in a state of expansion, and clothe them with the matters that give them fixedness. and this is done not by any forces from their own sun (which viewed in themselves are null), but by forces from the spiritual sun, by which the natural forces are unceasingly impelled to these services. natural forces contribute nothing whatever towards forming this image of creation, for the image of creation is spiritual. but that this image may be manifest and perform use in the natural world, and may stand fixed and be permanent, it must be materialized, that is, filled in with the matters of that world. . in the forms of uses of the animal kingdom there is a similar image of creation, in that the animal body, which is the outmost thereof, is formed by a seed deposited in a womb or an ovum, and this body, when mature, brings forth new seed. this progression is similar to the progression of the forms of uses of the vegetable kingdom: seeds are the beginnings; the womb or the ovum is like the ground; the state before birth is like the state of the seed in the ground while it takes root; the state after birth until the animal becomes prolific is like the growth of a tree until it reaches its state of fruit-bearing. from this parallelism it is plain that there is a likeness of creation in the forms of animals as well as in the forms of plants, in that there is a progression from firsts to outmosts, and from outmosts to firsts. a like image of creation exists in every single thing there is in man; for there is a like progression of love through wisdom into uses, consequently a like progression of the will through the understanding into acts, and of charity through faith into deeds. will and understanding, also charity and faith, are the firsts as their source; acts and deeds are the outmosts; from these, by means of the enjoyments of uses, a return is made to their firsts, which, as was said, are the will and understanding, or charity and faith. that the return is effected by means of the enjoyments of uses is very evident from the enjoyments felt in those acts and deeds which are from any love, in that they flow back to the first of the love from which they spring and that thereby conjunction is effected. the enjoyments of acts and deeds are what are called the enjoyments of uses. a like progression from firsts to outmosts, and from outmosts to firsts, is exhibited in the forms most purely organic of affections and thoughts in man. in his brains there are those star-like forms called the cineritious substances; out of these go forth fibers through the medullary substance by the neck into the body; passing through to the outmosts of the body, and from outmosts returning to their firsts. this return of fibers to their firsts is made through the blood vessels. there is a like progression of all affections and thoughts, which are changes and variations of state of those forms or substances, for the fibers issuing out of those forms or substances are comparatively like the atmospheres from the spiritual sun, which are containants of heat and light; while bodily acts are like the things produced from the lands by means of atmospheres, the enjoyments of their uses returning to the source from which they sprang. but that the progression of these is such, and that within this progression there is an image of creation, can hardly be comprehended fully by the understanding, both because thousands and myriads of forces operating in act appear as one, and because the enjoyments of uses do not appear as ideas in the thought, but only affect without distinct perception. on this subject see what has been declared and explained above, as follows: the uses of all created things ascend by degrees of height to man, and through man to god the creator from whom they are (n. - ). the end of creation takes form in outmosts, which end is that all things may return to the creator and that there may be conjunction (n. - ). but these things will appear in still clearer light in the following part, where the correspondence of the will and understanding with the heart and lungs will be treated of. . ( ) in all forms of uses there is a kind of image of man. this has been shown above (n. - ). that all uses, from firsts to outmosts and from outmosts to firsts, have relation to all parts of man and have correspondence with them, consequently that man is, in a kind of image, a universe, and conversely that the universe viewed as to uses is in image a man, will be seen in the following chapter. . ( ) in all forms of uses there is a kind of image of the infinite and the eternal. the image of the infinite in these forms is plain from their conatus and power to fill the spaces of the whole world, and even of many worlds, to infinity. for a single seed produces a tree, shrub, or plant, which fills its own space; and each tree, shrub, or plant produces seeds, in some cases thousands of them, which, when sown and grown up, fill their own spaces; and if from each seed of these there should proceed as many more, reproduced again and again, in the course of years the whole world would be filled; and if the production were still continued many worlds would be filled; and this to infinity. estimate a thousand seeds from one, and multiply the thousand by a thousand ten times, twenty times, even to a hundred times, and you will see. there is a like image of the eternal in these forms; seeds are propagated from year to year, and the propagations never cease; they have not ceased from the creation of the world till now, and will not cease to eternity. these two are standing proofs and attesting signs that all things of the universe have been created by an infinite and eternal god. beside these images of the infinite and eternal, there is another image of the infinite and eternal in varieties, in that there can never be a substance, state, or thing in the created universe the same as or identical with any other, neither in atmospheres, nor in lands, nor in the forms arising out of these. thus not in any of the things which fill the universe can any thing the same be produced to eternity. this is plainly to be seen in the variety of the faces of human beings; no one face can be found throughout the world which is the same as another, nor can there be to all eternity, consequently not one mind, for the face is the type of the mind. . all things of the created universe, viewed in reference to uses represent man in an image, and this testifies that god is a man by the ancients man was called a microcosm, from his representing the macrocosm, that is, the universe in its whole complex; but it is not known at the present day why man was so called by the ancients, for no more of the universe or macrocosm is manifest in him than that he derives nourishment and bodily life from its animal and vegetable kingdoms, and that he is kept in a living condition by its heat, sees by its light, and hears and breathes by its atmospheres. yet these things do not make man a microcosm, as the universe with all things thereof is a macrocosm. the ancients called man a microcosm, or little universe, from truth which they derived from the knowledge of correspondences, in which the most ancient people were, and from their communication with angels of heaven; for angels of heaven know from the things which they see about them that all things of the universe, viewed as to uses, represent man as an image. . but the truth that man is a microcosm, or little universe, because the created universe, viewed as to uses is, in image, a man, cannot come into the thought and from that into the knowledge of any one on earth from the idea of the universe as it is viewed in the spiritual world; and therefore it can be corroborated only by an angel, who is in the spiritual world, or by some one to whom it has been granted to be in that world, and to see things which are there. as this has been granted to me, i am able, from what i have seen there, to disclose this arcanum. . it should be known that the spiritual world is in external appearance, wholly like the natural world. lands, mountains, hills, valleys, plains, fields, lakes, rivers, springs of water are to be seen there, as in the natural world; thus all things belonging to the mineral kingdom. paradises, gardens, groves, woods, and in them trees and shrubs of all kinds bearing fruit and seeds; also plants, flowers, herbs, and grasses are to be seen there; thus all things pertaining to the vegetable kingdom. there are also to be seen there, beasts, birds, and fishes of every kind; thus all things pertaining to the animal kingdom. man there is an angel or spirit. this is premised that it may be known that the universe of the spiritual world is wholly like the universe of the natural world, with this difference only, that things in the spiritual world are not fixed and settled like those in the natural world, because in the spiritual world nothing is natural but every thing is spiritual. . that the universe of that world represents man in an image can be clearly seen from this, that all things just mentioned (n. ) appear to the life, and take form about the angel, and about the angelic societies, as if they were produced or created by them; they are about them permanently, and do not pass away. that they are as if they were produced or created by them is seen by their no longer appearing when the angel goes away, or when the society passes to another place; also when other angels come in place of these the appearance of all things about them is changed - in the paradises the trees and fruits are changed, in the flower gardens the flowers and seeds, in the fields the herbs and grasses, also the kinds of animals and birds are changed. such things take form and are changed in this manner, because all these things take form according to the affections and consequent thoughts of the angels, for they are correspondences. and because things that correspond make one with that to which they correspond they are an image representative of it. the image itself is not seen when these things are viewed in their forms, it is seen only when they are viewed in respect to uses. it has been granted me to perceive that angels, when their eyes were opened by the lord, and they saw these things from the correspondence of uses, recognized and saw themselves therein. . inasmuch as these things which have existence about the angels, corresponding to their affections and thoughts, represent a universe, in that there are lands, plants, and animals, and these constitute an image representative of the angel, it is evident why the ancients called man a microcosm. . that this is so has been abundantly confirmed in the arcana coelestia, also in the work heaven and hell, and occasionally in the preceding pages where correspondence is treated of. it has been there shown also that nothing is to be found in the created universe which has not a correspondence with something in man, not only with his affections and their thoughts, but also with his bodily organs and viscera; not with these however as substances, but as uses. from this it is that in the word, where the church and the man of the church are treated of, such frequent mention is made of trees, such as "olives," "vines," and "cedars;" of "gardens," "groves" and "woods;" and of the "beasts of the earth," "birds of the air," and "fish of the sea." they are there mentioned because they correspond, and by correspondence make one, as was said above; consequently, when such things are read in the word by man, these objects are not perceived by angels, but the church or the men of the church in respect to their states are perceived instead. . since all things of the universe have relation in an image to man, the wisdom and intelligence of adam are described by the "garden of eden," wherein were all kinds of trees, also rivers, precious stones, and gold, and animals to which he gave names; by all of which are meant such things as were in adam, and constitute that which is called man. nearly the same things are said of ashur, by whom the church in respect to intelligence is signified (ezek. : - ); and of tyre, by which the church in respect to knowledges of good and truth is signified (ezek. : , ). . from all this it can be seen that all things in the universe, viewed from uses, have relation in an image to man, and that this testifies that god is a man. for such things as have been mentioned above take form about the angelic man, not from the angels, but from the lord through the angels. for they take their form from the influx of the lord's divine love and divine wisdom into the angel, who is a recipient, and before whose eyes all this is brought forth like the creation of a universe. from this they know there that god is a man, and that the created universe, viewed in its uses, is an image of god. . all things created by the lord are use; they are uses in the order, degree, and respect in which they have relation to man, and through man to the lord, from whom [they are]. in respect to this it has been shown above: that from god the creator nothing can take form except uses (n. ); that the uses of all created things ascend by degrees from outmost things to man, and through man to god the creator, from whom they are (n. - ); that the end of creation takes form in outmosts, which end is, that all things may return to god the creator, and that there may be conjunction (n. - ); that things are uses so far as they have regard to the creator (n. ); that the divine must necessarily have being and form in other things created by itself (n. - ); that all things of the universe are recipients according to uses, and this according to degrees (n. ); that the universe, viewed from uses, is an image of god (n. ); and many other things. from all which this- truth is plain, that all things created by the lord are uses, and that they are uses in that order, degree, and respect in which they have relation to man, and through man to the lord from whom [they are]. it remains now that some things should be said in detail respecting uses. . by man, to whom uses have relation, is meant not alone an individual but an assembly of men, also a society smaller or larger, as a commonwealth, kingdom, or empire, or that largest society, the whole world, for each of these is a man. likewise in the heavens, the whole angelic heaven is as one man before the lord, and equally every society of heaven; from this it is that every angel is a man. that this is so may be seen in the work heaven and hell (n. - ). this makes clear what is meant by man in what follows. . the end of the creation of the universe clearly shows what use is. the end of the creation of the universe is the existence of an angelic heaven; and as the angelic heaven is the end, man also or the human race is the end, since heaven is from that. from which it follows that all created things are mediate ends, and that these are uses in that order, degree, and respect in which they have relation to man, and through man to the lord. . inasmuch as the end of creation is an angelic heaven out of the human race, and thus the human race itself, all other created things are mediate ends, and these, as having relation to man, with a view to his conjunction with the lord, refer themselves to these three things in him, his body, his rational, and his spiritual. for man cannot be conjoined to the lord unless he be spiritual, nor can he be spiritual unless he be rational, nor can he be rational unless his body is in a sound state. these three are like a house; the body like the foundation, the rational like the superstructure, the spiritual like those things which are in the house, and conjunction with the lord like dwelling in it. from this can be seen in what order, degree, and respect uses (which are the mediate ends of creation) have relation to man, namely, ( ) for sustaining his body, ( ) for perfecting his rational, ( ) for receiving what is spiritual from the lord. . uses for sustaining the body relate to its nourishment, its clothing, its habitation, its recreation and enjoyment, its protection and the preservation of its state. the uses created for the nourishment of the body are all things of the vegetable kingdom suitable for food and drink, as fruits, grapes, grain, pulse, and herbs; in the animal kingdom all things which are eaten, as oxen, cows, calves, deer, sheep, kids, goats, lambs, and the milk they yield; also fowls and fish of many kinds. the uses created for the clothing of the body are many other products of these two kingdoms; in like manner, the uses for habitation, also for recreation, enjoyment, protection, and preservation of state. these are not mentioned because they are well known, and their mere enumeration would fill pages. there are many things, to be sure, which are not used by man; but what is superfluous does not do away with the use, but ensures its continuance. misuse of uses is also possible, but misuse does not do away with use, even as falsification of truth does not do away with truth except with those who falsify it. . uses for perfecting the rational are all things that give instruction about the subjects above mentioned, and are called sciences and branches of study, pertaining to natural, economical, civil and moral affairs, which are learned either from parents and teachers, or from books, or from interaction with others, or by reflection on these subjects by oneself. these things perfect the rational so far as they are uses in a higher degree, and they are permanent as far as they are applied to life. space forbids the enumeration of these uses, by reason both of their multitude and of their varied relation to the common good. . uses for receiving the spiritual from the lord, are all things that belong to religion and to worship therefrom; thus all things that teach the acknowledgment and knowledge of god and the knowledge and acknowledgment of good and truth and thus eternal life, which are acquired in the same way as other learning, from parents, teachers, discourses, and books, and especially by applying to life what is so learned; and in the christian world, by doctrines and discourses from the word, and through the word from the lord. these uses in their full extent may be described under the same heads as the uses of the body, as nourishment, clothing, habitation, recreation and enjoyment, and preservation of state, if only they are applied to the soul; as nutrition to goods of love, clothing to truths of wisdom, habitation to heaven, recreation and enjoyment to felicity of life and heavenly joy, protection to safety from infesting evils, and preservation of state to eternal life. all these things are given by the lord according to the acknowledgment that all bodily things are also from the lord, and that a man is only as a servant and house-steward appointed over the goods of his lord. . that such things have been given to man to use and enjoy, and that they are free gifts, is clearly evident from the state of angels in the heavens, who have, like men on earth, a body, a rational, and a spiritual. they are nourished freely, for food is given them daily; they are clothed freely, for garments are given them; their dwellings are free, for houses are given them; nor have they any care about all these things; and so far as they are rational-spiritual do they have enjoyment, protection, and preservation of state. the difference is that angels see that these things, - because created according to the state of their love and wisdom, - are from the lord (as was shown in the preceding chapter, n. ); but men do not see this, because their harvest returns yearly, and is not in accord with the state of their love and wisdom, but in accord with the care bestowed by them. . these things are called uses, because through man they have relation to the lord; nevertheless, they must not be said to be uses from man for the lord's sake, but from the lord for man's sake, inasmuch as in the lord all uses are infinitely one, but in man there are no uses except from the lord; for man cannot do good from himself, but only from the lord, and good is what is called use. the essence of spiritual love is doing good to others, not for the sake of self but for the sake of others; infinitely more is this the essence of divine love. it is like the love of parents for their children, in that parents do good to their children from love, not for their own sake but for their children's sake. this is especially manifest in a mothers love for her offspring. because the lord is to be adored, worshiped and glorified, he is supposed to love adoration, worship, and glory for his own sake; but he loves these for man's sake, because by means of them man comes into a state in which the divine can flow in and be perceived; since by means of them man puts away that which is his own, which hinders influx and reception, for what is man's own, which is self-love, hardens the heart and shuts it up. this is removed by man's acknowledging that from himself comes nothing but evil and from the lord nothing but good; from this acknowledgment there is a softening of the heart and humiliation, out of which flow forth adoration and worship. from all this it follows, that the use which the lord performs for himself through man is that man may be able to do good from love, and since this is the lord's love, its reception is the enjoyment of his love. therefore, let no one believe that the lord is with those who merely worship him, he is with those who do his commandments, thus who perform uses; with such he has his abode, but not with the former. (see what was said above on this subject, n. - .) . evil uses were not created by the lord, but originated together with hell. all good things that take form in act are called uses; and all evil things that take form in act are also called uses, but evil uses, while the former are called good uses. now, since all good things are from the lord and all evil things from hell, it follows that none but good uses were created by the lord, and that evil uses arose out of hell. by the uses specially treated of in this chapter are meant all those things which are to be seen upon the earth, as animals of every kind and plants of every kind. such things of both kingdoms as are useful to man are from the lord, but those which are harmful to man are from hell. by uses from the lord are likewise meant all things that perfect the rational of man, and cause him to receive the spiritual from the lord; but by evil uses are meant all things that destroy the rational, and make man unable to become spiritual. those things that are harmful to man are called uses because they are of use to the evil in doing evil, and also are serviceable in absorbing malignities and thus also as remedies. "use" is employed in both senses, as love is when we speak of good love and evil love; moreover, everything that love does it calls use. . that good uses are from the lord, and evil uses from hell, will be shown in the following order. ( ) what is meant by evil uses on the earth. ( ) all things that are evil uses are in hell, and all things that are good uses are in heaven. ( ) there is unceasing influx from the spiritual world into the natural world. ( ) those things that are evil uses are effected by the operation of influx from hell, wherever there are such things as correspond thereto. ( ) this is done by the lowest spiritual separated from what is above it. ( ) there are two forms into which the operation by influx takes place, the vegetable and the animal. ( ) both these forms receive the ability to propagate their kind and the means of propagation. . ( ) what is meant by evil uses on the earth. by evil uses on earth are meant all noxious things in both the animal and vegetable kingdom, also in the mineral kingdom. it is needless to enumerate all the noxious things in these kingdoms, for to do so would merely heap up names, and doing this without indicating the noxious effect that each kind produces would not contribute to the object which this work has in view. for the sake of information a few examples will suffice:-in the animal kingdom there are poisonous serpents, scorpions, crocodiles, great snakes, horned owls, screech owls, mice, locusts, frogs, spiders; also flies, drones, moths, lice, mites; in a word, creatures that destroy grasses, leaves, fruits, seed, food, and drink, and are harmful to beast and man. in the vegetable kingdom there are all hurtful, virulent, and poisonous herbs, with leguminous plants and shrubs of like character; and in the mineral kingdom all poisonous earths. from these few examples it can be seen what is meant by evil uses on earth; for evil uses are all things that are opposite to good uses (of which, in the preceding paragraph, n. ). . ( ) all things that are evil uses are in hell, and all things that are good uses are in heaven. before it can be seen that all evil uses that take form on earth are not from the lord but from hell, something must be premised concerning heaven and hell, without a knowledge of which evil uses as well as good may be attributed to the lord, and it may be believed that they are together from creation; or they may be attributed to nature, and their origin to the sun of nature. from these two errors man cannot be delivered, unless he knows that nothing whatever takes form in the natural world that does not derive its cause and therefore its origin from the spiritual world, and that good is from the lord, and evil from the devil, that is, from hell. by the spiritual world is meant both heaven and hell. in heaven are to be seen all those things that are good uses (of which in a preceding article, n. ). in hell are to be seen all those that are evil uses (see just above, n. , where they are enumerated). these are wild creatures of every kind, as serpents, scorpions, great snakes, crocodiles, tigers, wolves, foxes, swine, owls of different kinds, bats, rats, and mice, frogs, locusts, spiders, and noxious insects of many kinds; also hemlocks and aconites, and all kinds of poisons, both of herbs and of earths; in a word, everything hurtful and deadly to man. such things appear in the hells to the life precisely like those on and in the earth. they are said to appear there; yet they are not there as on earth, for they are mere correspondences of lusts that swarm out of their evil loves, and present themselves in such forms before others. because there are such things in the hells, these abound in foul smells, cadaverous, stercoraceous, urinous, and putrid, wherein the diabolical spirits there take delight, as animals do in rank stenches. from this it can be seen that like things in the natural world did not derive their origin from the lord, and were not created from the beginning, neither did they spring from nature through her sun, but are from hell. that they are not from nature through her sun is plain, for the spiritual inflows into the natural, and not the reverse. and that they are not from the lord is plain, because hell is not from him, therefore nothing in hell corresponding to the evils of its inhabitants is from him. . ( ) there is unceasing influx out of the spiritual world into the natural world. he who does not know that there is a spiritual world, or that it is distinct from the natural world, as what is prior is distinct from what is subsequent, or as cause from the thing caused, can have no knowledge of this influx. this is the reason why those who have written on the origin of plants and animals could not do otherwise than ascribe that origin to nature; or if to god, then in the sense that god had implanted in nature from the beginning a power to produce such things, - not knowing that no power has been implanted in nature, since nature, in herself, is dead, and contributes no more to the production of these things than a tool does, for instance, to the work of a mechanic, the tool acting only as it is continually moved. it is the spiritual, deriving its origin from the sun where the lord is, and proceeding to the outmosts of nature, that produces the forms of plants and animals, exhibiting the marvels that exist in both, and filling the forms with matters from the earth, that they may become fixed and enduring. but because it is now known that there is a spiritual world, and that the spiritual is from the spiritual sun, in which the lord is and which is from the lord, and that the spiritual is what impels nature to act, as what is living impels what is dead, also that like things exist in the spiritual world as in the natural world, it can now be seen that plants and animals have had their existence only from the lord though that world, and through that world they have perpetual existence. thus there is unceasing influx from the spiritual world into the natural. that this is so will be abundantly corroborated in the next chapter. noxious things are produced on earth through influx from hell, by the same law of permission whereby evils themselves from hell flow into men. this law will be set forth in the angelic wisdom concerning the divine providence. . ( ) those things that are evil uses are effected by the operation of influx from hell, wherever there are such things as correspond thereto. the things that correspond to evil uses, that is, to hurtful plants and noxious animals, are cadaverous, putrid, excrementitious, stercoraceous, rancid, and urinous matters; consequently, in places where these are, such herbs and such animalcules spring forth as are mentioned above; and in the torrid zone, like things of larger size, as serpents, basilisks, crocodiles, scorpions, rats, and so forth. every one knows that swamps, stagnant ponds, dung, fetid bogs, are full of such things; also that noxious insects fill the atmosphere in clouds, and noxious vermin walk the earth in armies, and consume its herbs to the very roots. i once observed in my garden, that in the space of a half yard, nearly all the dust was turned into minute insects, for when it was stirred with a stick, they rose in clouds. that cadaverous and putrid matters are in accord with these noxious and useless little things, and that the two are homogeneous, is evident from mere observation; and it is still more clearly seen from the cause, which is, that like stenches and fumes exist in the hells, where such little things are likewise to be seen. those hells are therefore named accordingly; some are called cadaverous, some stercoraceous, some urinous, and so on. but all these hells are covered over, that those vapors may not escape from them. for when they are opened a very little, which happens when novitiate devils enter, they excite vomiting and cause headache, and such as are also poisonous induce fainting. the very dust there is also of the same nature, wherefore it is there called damned dust. from this it is evident that there are such noxious insects wherever there are such stenches, because the two correspond. . it now becomes a matter of inquiry whether such things spring from eggs conveyed to the spot by means of air, or rain, or water oozing through the soil, or whether they spring from the damp and stenches themselves. that these noxious animalcules and insects mentioned above are hatched from eggs which have been carried to the spot, or which have lain hidden everywhere in the ground since creation, is opposed to all observation. for worms spring forth in minute seeds, in the kernels of nuts, in wood, in stones, and even from leaves, and upon plants and in plants there are lice and grubs which are accordant with them. of flying insects, too, there are such as appear in houses, fields, and woods, which arise in like manner in summer, with no oviform matters sufficient to account for them; also such as devour meadows and lawns, and in some hot localities fill and infest the air; besides those that swim and fly unseen in filthy waters, wines becoming sour, and pestilential air. these facts of observation support those who say that the odors, effluvia, and exhalations emitted from plants, earths, and ponds, are what give the initiative to such things. that when they have come forth, they are afterwards propagated either by eggs or offshoots, does not disprove their immediate generation; since every living creature, along with its minute viscera, receives organs of generation and means of propagation (see below, n. ). in agreement with these phenomena is the fact heretofore unknown that there are like things also in the hells. . that the hells mentioned above have not only communication but conjunction with such things in the earths may be concluded from this, that the hells are not distant from men, but are about them, yea, are within those who are evil; thus they are contiguous to the earth; for man, in regard to his affections and lusts, and consequent thoughts, and in regard to his actions springing from these, which are good or evil uses, is in the midst either of angels of heaven or of spirits of hell; and as such things as are on the earth are also in the heavens and hells, it follows that influx therefrom directly produces such things when the conditions are favorable. all things, in fact, that appear in the spiritual world, whether in heaven or in hell, are correspondences of affections or lusts, for they take form there in accordance with these; consequently when affections or lusts, which in themselves are spiritual, meet with homogeneous or corresponding things in the earths, there are present both the spiritual that furnishes a soul, and the material that furnishes a body. moreover, within everything spiritual there is a conatus to clothe itself with a body. the hells are about men, and therefore contiguous to the earth, because the spiritual world is not in space, but is where there is a corresponding affection. . i heard two presidents of the english royal society, sir hans sloane and martin folkes, conversing together in the spiritual world about the existence of seeds and eggs, and about productions from them in the earths. the former ascribed them to nature, and contended that nature was endowed from creation with a power and force to produce such effects by means of the sun's heat. the other maintained that this force is in nature unceasingly from god the creator. to settle the discussion, a beautiful bird appeared to sir hans sloane, and he was asked to examine it to see whether it differed in the smallest particle from a similar bird on earth. he held it in his hand, examined it, and declared that there was no difference. he knew indeed that it was nothing but an affection of some angel represented outside of the angel as a bird, and that it would vanish or cease with its affection. and this came to pass. by this experience sir hans sloane was convinced that nature contributes nothing whatever to the production of plants and animals, that they are produced solely by what flows into the natural world out of the spiritual world. if that bird, he said, were to be infilled, in its minutest parts, with corresponding matters from the earth, and thus fixed, it would be a lasting bird, like the birds on the earth; and that it is the same with such things as are from hell. to this he added that had he known what he now knew of the spiritual world, he would have ascribed to nature no more than this, that it serves the spiritual, which is from god, in fixing the things which flow in unceasingly into nature. . ( ) this is effected by the lowest spiritual separated from what is above it. it was shown in part third that the spiritual flows down from its sun even to the outmosts of nature through three degrees, which are called the celestial, the spiritual, and the natural; that these three degrees are in man from creation, consequently from birth; that they are opened according to man's life; that if the celestial degree which is the highest and inmost is opened, man becomes celestial; if the spiritual degree which is the middle is opened, he becomes spiritual; but if only the natural degree which is the lowest and outermost is opened, he becomes natural; that if man becomes natural only, he loves only corporeal and worldly things; and that so far as he loves these, so far he does not love celestial and spiritual things, and does not look to god, and so far he becomes evil. from all this it is evident that the lowest spiritual, which is called the spiritual-natural, can be separated from its higher degrees, and is separated in such men as hell consists of. this lowest spiritual can separate itself from its higher parts, and look to hell, in men only; it cannot be so separated in beasts, or in soils. from which it follows that these evil uses mentioned above are effected on the earth by this lowest spiritual separated from what is above it, such as it is in those who are in hell. that the noxious things on the earth have their origin in man, thus from hell, may be shown by the state of the land of canaan, as described in the word; in that when the children of israel lived according to the commandments, the earth yielded its increase, likewise the flocks and herds; but when they lived contrary to the commandments the ground was barren, and as it is said, accursed; instead of harvests it yielded thorns and briars, the flocks and herds miscarried, and wild beasts broke in. the same may be inferred from the locusts, frogs, and lice in egypt. . ( ) there are two forms into which the operation by influx takes place, the vegetable and the animal form. that there are only two universal forms produced out of the earth is known from the two kingdoms of nature, called the animal and the vegetable kingdoms, also that all the subjects of either kingdom possess many things in common. thus the subjects of the animal kingdom have organs of sense and organs of motion and members and viscera that are actuated by brains, hearts, and lungs. so the subjects of the vegetable kingdom send down a root into the ground, and bring forth stem, branches, leaves, flowers, fruits, and seeds. both the animal and the vegetable kingdoms, as regards the production of their forms, derive their origin from spiritual influx and operation out of the sun of heaven where the lord is, and not from the influx and operation of nature out of her sun; from this they derive nothing except their fixation, as was said above. all animals, great and small, derive their origin from the spiritual in the outmost degree, which is called the natural; man alone from all three degrees, called the celestial, spiritual, and natural. as each degree of height or discrete degree decreases from its perfection to its imperfection, as light to shade, by continuity, so do animals; there are therefore perfect, less perfect, and imperfect animals. the perfect animals are elephants, camels, horses, mules, oxen, sheep, goats, and others which are of the herd or the flock; the less perfect are birds; and the imperfect are fish and shell-fish; these, as being the lowest of that degree, are as it were in shade, while the former are in light. yet animals, since they live only from the lowest spiritual degree, which is called the natural, can look nowhere else than towards the earth and to food there, and to their own kind for the sake of propagation; the soul of all these is natural affection and appetite. the subjects of the vegetable kingdom comprise, in like manner, the perfect, less perfect, and imperfect; the perfect are fruit trees, the less perfect are vines and shrubs, and the imperfect are grasses. but plants derive from the spiritual out of which they spring that they are uses, while animals derive from the spiritual out of which they spring that they are affections and appetites, as was shown above. . ( ) each of these forms receives with its existence the means of propagation. in all products of the earth, which pertain, as was said above, either to the vegetable or to the animal kingdom, there is a kind of image of creation, and a kind of image of man, and also a kind of image of the infinite and the eternal; this was shown above (n. - ); also that the image of the infinite and the eternal is clearly manifest in the capacity of all these for infinite and eternal propagation. they all, therefore, receive means of propagation; the subjects of the animal kingdom through seed, in the egg or in the womb or by spawning; and the subjects of the vegetable kingdom through seeds in the ground. from which it can be seen that although the more imperfect and the noxious animals and plants originate through immediate influx out of hell, yet afterwards they are propagated mediately by seeds, eggs, or grafts; consequently, the one position does not annul the other. . that all uses, both good and evil, are from a spiritual origin, thus from the sun where the lord is, may be illustrated by this experience. i have heard that goods and truths have been sent down through the heavens by the lord to the hells, and that these same, received by degrees to the lowest deep, were there turned into evils and falsities, which are the opposite of the goods and truths sent down. this took place because recipient subjects turn all things that inflow into such things as are in agreement with their own forms, just as the white light of the sun is turned into ugly colors or into black in those objects whose substances are interiorly of such a form as to suffocate and extinguish the light, and as stagnant ponds, dung-hills, and dead bodies turn the heat of the sun into stenches. from all this it can be seen that even evil uses are from the spiritual sun, but that good uses are changed in hell into evil uses. it is evident, therefore, that the lord has not created and does not create any except good uses, but that hell produces evil uses. . the visible things in the created universe bear witness that nature has produced and does produce nothing, but that the divine out of itself, and through the spiritual world, has produced and does produce all things. speaking from appearances, most men say that the sun by heat and light produces whatever is to be seen in plains, fields, gardens, and forests; also that the sun by its heat hatches worms from eggs, and makes prolific the beasts of the earth and the fowls of the air; and that it even gives life to man. those who speak from appearances only may speak in this way without ascribing these things to nature, because they are not thinking about the matter; as there are those who speak of the sun as rising and setting, and causing days and years, and being now at this or that altitude; such persons speak from appearances, and in doing so, do not ascribe such effects to the sun, because they are not thinking of the sun's fixity or the earth's revolution. but those who confirm themselves in the idea that the sun produces the things that appear upon the earth by means of its heat and light, end by ascribing all things to nature, even the creation of the universe, and become naturalists and, at last, atheists. these may continue to say that god created nature and endowed her with the power of producing such things, but this they say from fear of losing their good name; and by god the creator they still mean nature, and some mean the innermost of nature, and then the divine things taught by the church they regard as of no account. . there are some who are excusable for ascribing certain visible things to nature, for two reasons. first, because they have had no knowledge of the sun of heaven, where the lord is, or of influx therefrom, or of the spiritual world and its state, or even of its presence with man, and therefore had no other idea than that the spiritual is a purer natural; consequently, that angels are in the ether or in the stars; and that the devil is either man's evil or if an actual existence, that he is in the air or the abyss; also that the souls of men, after death, are either in the interior of the earth, or in an undetermined somewhere till the day of judgment; and other like things deduced by fancy out of ignorance of the spiritual world and its sun. secondly, they are excusable, because they are unable to see how the divine could produce everything that appears on the earth, where there are not only good things but also evil things; and they are afraid to confirm themselves in such an idea, lest they ascribe the evil things also to god, and form a material conception of god, and make god and nature one, and thus confound the two. for these two reasons those are excusable who have believed that nature produces the visible world by a power implanted in her by creation. but those who have made themselves atheists by confirmations in favor of nature are not excusable, because they might have confirmed themselves in favor of the divine. ignorance indeed excuses, but does not remove, falsity - which has been confirmed, for such falsity coheres with evil, thus with hell. consequently, those same persons who have confirmed themselves in favor of nature to such an extent as to separate the divine from nature, regard nothing as sin, because all sin is against the divine, and this they have separated, and thus have rejected it; and those who in spirit regard nothing as sin, after death when they become spirits, since they are in bonds to hell, rush into wickednesses which are in accord with the lusts to which they have given rein. . those who believe in a divine operation in all the details of nature, are able by very many things they see in nature to confirm themselves in favor of the divine, as fully as others confirm themselves in favor of nature, yea, more fully. for those who confirm themselves in favor of the divine give attention to the wonders which are displayed in the production both of plants and animals. in the production of plants, how out of a little seed cast into the ground there goes forth a root, and by means of the root a stem, and branches, leaves, flowers, and fruits in succession, even to new seeds; just as if the seed knew the order of succession, or the process by which it is to renew itself. can any reasonable person think that the sun, which is mere fire, has this knowledge, or that it is able to empower its heat and light to effect these results, or is able to fashion these wonderful things in plants, and to contemplate use? any man of elevated reason who sees and weighs these things, cannot think otherwise than that they come from him who has infinite reason, that is, from god. those who acknowledge the divine also see and think this, but those who do not acknowledge the divine do not see or think this because they do not wish to; thus they sink their rational into the sensual, which draws all its ideas from the lumen which is proper to the bodily senses and which confirms their illusions, saying, do you not see the sun effecting these things by its heat and light? what is a thing that you do not see? is it anything? those who confirm themselves in favor of the divine give attention to the wonders which are displayed in the production of animals; to mention here only, in reference to eggs, how the chick in its seed or beginning lies hidden therein, with everything requisite till it is hatched, also with everything pertaining to its subsequent development, until it becomes a bird or winged thing of the same form as its parent. and if one observes the living form, it is such as to fill any one with astonishment who thinks deeply, seeing that in the minutest as in the largest living creatures, even in the invisible, as in the visible, there are the organs of sense, namely, sight, hearing, smell, taste, and touch; and organs of motion which are muscles, for they fly and walk; also viscera surrounding the heart and lungs, which are set in action by brains. that even the commonest insects enjoy such organisms is shown in their anatomy as described by some writers, and especially by swammerdam, in his biblia naturae. those who ascribe everything to nature, see all these things, but they merely perceive that they exist, and say that nature produces them. they say this because they have turned their minds away from thinking about the divine; and those who have done this are unable, when they see the wonderful things in nature, to think rationally, still less spiritually; but they think sensually and materially; and then they think in nature from nature, and not above nature, just as those do who are in hell. they differ from beasts only in having the power to think rationally, that is, in being able to understand, and therefore to think otherwise, if they choose. . those who have averted themselves from thinking about the divine when observing the wonderful things in nature, and who thereby become sensual, do not reflect that the sight of the eye is so gross as to see many little insects as an obscure speck, when yet each one of these is organized to feel and to move, and is accordingly furnished with fibers and vessels, also with a minute heart, pulmonary tubes, viscera, and brains; also that these organs are woven out of the purest substances in nature, their tissues corresponding to that somewhat of life by which their minutest parts are separately moved. when the sight of the eye is so gross that many such creatures, with innumerable particulars in each, appear to it as an obscure speck, and yet those who are sensual think and judge by that sight, it is clear how dulled their minds are, and therefore what thick darkness they are in concerning spiritual things. . any one who chooses may confirm himself in favor of the divine from things seen in nature, and whoever thinks about god in reference to life does so confirm himself; as when he observes the birds of the air, how each species knows its food and where to find it, recognizes its kind by sound and sight, and which among other kinds are its friends and which its enemies; how also they mate, have knowledge of the sexual relation, skillfully build nests, lay eggs therein, sit upon these, know the period of incubation, and this having elapsed, bring forth their young, love them most tenderly, cherish them under their wings, bring them food and feed them, until they can do for themselves, perform the same offices, and bring forth a family to perpetuate their kind. any one who is willing to reflect on the divine influx through the spiritual world into the natural can see such influx in these things, and if he will, can say from his heart, such knowledges cannot flow into these creatures out of the sun through its rays of light, for the sun, from which nature derives its origin and essence, is mere fire, consequently its rays of light are wholly dead; and thus he may conclude that such things are from the influx of divine wisdom into the outmosts of nature. . any one may confirm himself in favor of the divine from things visible in nature, when he sees larvae, from the delight of some impulse, desiring and longing to change their terrestrial state to a certain likeness of the heavenly state, and for this purpose creeping into corners, and putting themselves as it were into a womb in order to be born again, and there becoming chrysalises, aurelias, caterpillars, nymphs, and at length butterflies; and having undergone this metamorphosis, and each after its kind been decked with beautiful wings, they ascend into the air as into their heaven, and there disport themselves joyfully, form marriage unions, lay eggs, and provide for themselves a posterity, nourished meanwhile with pleasant and sweet food from flowers. who that confirms himself in favor of the divine from the visible things in nature can help seeing a kind of image of man's earthly state in these as larvae, and in them as butterflies an image of the heavenly state? those who confirm themselves in favor of nature see the same things, but because in heart they have rejected the heavenly state of man they call them merely natural instincts. . any one may confirm himself in favor of the divine from things seen in nature by giving attention to what is known about bees: that they know how to collect wax and suck honey from herbs and flowers, and to build cells like little houses, and set them in the form of a city, with streets through which to come in and go out; that they scent at long distances the flowers and herbs from which they collect wax for their houses and honey for food, and laden with these fly back in a direct line to their hive; thus providing themselves with food and habitation for the coming winter, as if they had foresight and knowledge of it. they also set over them a mistress as queen, out of whom a posterity may be propagated; and for her they build a sort of a palace over themselves with guards around it; and when her time of bringing forth is at hand, she goes attended by her guards from cell to cell, and lays her eggs, which the crowd of followers smear over to protect them from the air, from which a new progeny springs forth for them. when this progeny becomes mature enough to do the same, it is driven from the hive. the expelled swarm first collects, and then in a close body, to preserve its integrity, flies away in quest of a home for itself. moreover, in the autumn the useless drones are led out and are deprived of their wings to prevent their returning and consuming the food for which they have not labored; not to mention other particulars. from all this it can be seen that bees, because of their use to the human race, have from influx from the spiritual world, a form of government similar to that among men on earth, and even like that of angels in heaven. can any man of unimpaired reason fail to see that these doings of the bees are not from the natural world? what has that sun, from which nature springs, in common with a government that vies with and resembles the government of heaven? from these things and others very similar to them in the brute creation, the confessor and worshiper of nature confirms himself in favor of nature, while the confessor and worshiper of god confirms himself from the same things in favor of the divine; for the spiritual man sees in them spiritual things and the natural man natural things, thus each according to his character. as for myself, such things have been proofs to me of an influx of the spiritual into the natural, that is, of the spiritual world into the natural world, thus of an influx from the lord's divine wisdom. consider, moreover, whether you can think analytically concerning any form of government, or any civil law, or moral virtue, or spiritual truth, unless the divine out of his wisdom flows in through the spiritual world ? for myself, i could not and cannot. for having now observed that influx perceptibly and sensibly for about nineteen years continually, i speak as an eye-witness. . can anything natural regard use as an end and dispose uses into series and forms? no one can do this unless he be wise; and no one but god, whose wisdom is infinite, can so give order and form to the universe. who else or what else is able to foresee and provide all things needful for the food and clothing of man, - food from the fruits of earth and from animals, and clothing from the same? how marvelous that so insignificant a creature as the silk-worm should clothe in silk and splendidly adorn both women and men, from queens and kings to maidservants and menservants, and that insignificant insects like the bees should supply wax for the candles by which temples and palaces are made brilliant. these and many other things are manifest proofs that the lord from himself by means of the spiritual world, brings about everything that comes into existence in nature. . to this must be added that those who have confirmed themselves in favor of nature, from the visible things of the world, until they have become atheists, have been seen by me in the spiritual world; and in the spiritual light their understanding appeared open below, but closed above, because in thought they had looked downward toward the earth, and not upward toward heaven. above their sensual, which is the bottom of the understanding, appeared something like a veil; which in some flashed with hellish fire, in some was black like soot, and in some livid like a corpse. therefore let every one beware of confirmations in favor of nature; let him confirm himself in favor of the divine; there is no lack of material. . part fifth. two receptacles and abodes for himself, called will and understanding, have been created and formed by the lord in man; the will for his divine love, and the understanding for his divine wisdom. the divine love and divine wisdom of god the creator, who is the lord from eternity, and also the creation of the universe, have been treated of; something shall now be said of the creation of man. we read (in gen. : ) that man was created "in the image of god, after his likeness." by "image of god" is there meant the divine wisdom, and by "likeness" of god the divine love; since wisdom is nothing but an image of love, for in wisdom love presents itself to be seen and recognized, and because it is seen and recognized in wisdom, wisdom is an image of it. moreover love is the esse of life, and wisdom is the existere of life therefrom. in angels the likeness and image of god clearly appear, since love from within shines forth in their faces, and wisdom in their beauty, and their beauty is a form of their love. i have seen and know. . man cannot be an image of god, after his likeness, unless god is in him and is his life from the inmost. that god is in man and, from the inmost, is his life, follows from what has been shown above (n. - ), that god alone is life, and that men and angels are recipients of life from him. moreover, that god is in man and that he makes his abode with him, is known from the word; for which reason it is customary for preachers to declare that men ought to prepare themselves to receive god, that he may enter into them, and be in their hearts, that they may be his dwelling-place. the devout man says the same in his prayers, and some speak more openly respecting the holy spirit, which they believe to be in them when they are in holy zeal, and from that zeal they think, speak, and preach. that the holy spirit is the lord, and not a god who is a person by himself, has been shown in the doctrine of the new jerusalem concerning the lord (n. - ). for the lord declares: in that day ye shall know that ye are in me, and i in you (john : ; so also in chap. : , ; and chap. : ). . now because the lord is divine love and divine wisdom, and these two essentially are himself, it is necessary, in order that he may abide in man and give life to man, that he should create and form in man receptacles and abodes for himself; the one for love and the other for wisdom. these receptacles and abodes in man are called will and understanding; the receptacle and abode of love is called the will, and the receptacle and abode of wisdom is called the understanding. that these two are the lord's in man, and that from these two man has all his life, will be seen in what follows. . that every man has these two, will and understanding, and that they are distinct from each other, as love and wisdom are distinct, is known and is not known in the world. it is known from common perception, but it is not known from thought and still less from thought when written out; for who does not know from common perception that the will and the understanding are two distinct things in man? for every one perceives this when he hears it stated, and may himself say to another, this man means well, but does not understand clearly; while that one's understanding is good, but his will is not; i like the man whose understanding and will are both good; but i do not like him whose understanding is good and his will bad. yet when he thinks about the will and the understanding he does not make them two and distinguish them, but confounds them, since his thought then acts in common with the bodily sight. when writing he apprehends still less that will and understanding are two distinct things, because his thought then acts in common with the sensual, that is, with what is the man's own. from this it is that some can think and speak well, but cannot write well. this is common with women. it is the same with many other things. is it not known by everyone from common perception that a man whose life is good is saved, but that a man whose life is bad is condemned? also that one whose life is good will enter the society of angels, and will there see, hear, and speak like a man? also that one who from justice does what is just and from what is right does right, has a conscience? but if one lapses from common perception, and submits these things to thought, he does not know what conscience is; or that the soul can see, hear, and speak like a man; or that the good of life is anything except giving to the poor. and if from thought you write about these things, you confirm them by appearances and fallacies, and by words of sound but of no substance. for this reason many of the learned who have thought much, and especially who have written much, have weakened and obscured, yea, have destroyed their common perception; while the simple see more clearly what is good and true than those who think themselves their superiors in wisdom. this common perception comes by influx from heaven, and descends into thought even to sight; but thought separated from common perception falls into imagination from the sight and from what is man's own. you may observe that this is so. tell some truth to any one that is in common perception, and he will see it; tell him that from god and in god we are and live and are moved, and he will see it; tell him that god dwells with man in love and in wisdom, and he will see it; tell him further that the will is the receptacle of love, and the understanding of wisdom, and explain it a little, and he will see it; tell him that god is love itself and wisdom itself, and he will see it; ask him what conscience is, and he will tell you. but say the same things to one of the learned, who has not thought from common perception, but from principles or from ideas obtained from the world through sight, and he will not see. then consider which is the wiser. . will and understanding, which are the receptacles of love and wisdom, are in the brains, in the whole and in every part of them, and therefrom in the body, in the whole and in every part of it. this shall be shown in the following order: ( ) love and wisdom, and will and understanding therefrom, make the very life of man. ( ) the life of man in its first principles is in the brains, and in its derivatives in the body. ( ) such as life is in its first principles, such it is in the whole and in every part. ( ) by means of first principles life is in the whole from every part, and in every part from the whole. ( ) such as the love is, such is the wisdom, consequently such is the man. . ( ) love and wisdom, and will and understanding therefrom, make the very life of man. scarcely any one knows what life is. when one thinks about life, it seems as if it were a fleeting something, of which no distinct idea is possible. it so seems because it is not known that god alone is life, and that his life is divine love and divine wisdom. from this it is evident that in man life is nothing else than love and wisdom, and that there is life in man in the degree in which he receives these. it is known that heat and light go forth from the sun, and that all things in the universe are recipients and grow warm and bright in the degree in which they receive. so do heat and light go forth from the sun where the lord is; the heat going forth therefrom is love, and the light wisdom (as shown in part second). life, therefore, is from these two which go forth from the lord as a sun. that love and wisdom from the lord is life can be seen also from this, that man grows torpid as love recedes from him, and stupid as wisdom recedes from him, and that were they to recede altogether he would become extinct. there are many things pertaining to love which have received other names because they are derivatives, such as affections, desires, appetites, and their pleasures and enjoyments; and there are many things pertaining to wisdom, such as perception, reflection, recollection, thought, intention to an end; and there are many pertaining to both love and wisdom, such as consent, conclusion, and determination to action; besides others. all of these, in fact, pertain to both, but they are designated from the more prominent and nearer of the two. from these two are derived ultimately sensations, those of sight, hearing, smell, taste, and touch, with their enjoyments and pleasures. it is according to appearance that the eye sees; but it is the understanding that sees through the eye; consequently seeing is predicated also of the understanding. the appearance is that the ear hears; but it is the understanding that hears through the ear; consequently hearing is predicated also of attention and giving heed, which pertain to the understanding. the appearance is that the nose smells, and the tongue tastes but it is the understanding that smells and also tastes by virtue of its perception; therefore smelling and tasting are predicated also of perception. so in other cases. the sources of all these are love and wisdom; from which it can be seen that these two make the life of man. . everyone sees that the understanding is the receptacle of wisdom, but few see that the will is the receptacle of love. this is because the will does not act at all by itself, but only through the understanding; also because the love of the will, in passing over into the wisdom of the understanding, is first changed into affection, and thus passes over; and affection is not perceived except by something pleasant in thinking, speaking, and acting, which is not noticed. still it is evident that love is from the will, for the reason that everyone wills what he loves, and does not will what he does not love. . ( ) the life of man in its first principles is in the brains, and in its derivatives in the body. in first principles means in its firsts, and in derivatives means in what is brought forth and formed from its firsts. by life in first principles is meant will and understanding. these two are what are in their first principles in the brains, and in their derivatives in the body. it is evident that the first principles or firsts of life are in the brains: ( ) from the feeling itself; since man perceives, when he exerts his mind and thinks, that he thinks in the brain. he draws in as it were the sight of the eye, contracts the forehead, and perceives the mental process to be within, especially inside the forehead and somewhat above it. ( ) from man's formation in the womb; in that the brain or head is first developed, and continues for some time larger than the body. ( ) in that the head is above and the body below; and it is according to order for the higher to act upon the lower, and not the reverse. ( ) in that, when the brain is injured in the womb or by a wound or by disease, or by excessive application, thought is weakened and sometimes the mind becomes deranged. ( ) in that all the external senses of the body sight, hearing, smell, and taste, with touch (the universal sense) as also speech, are in the front part of the head, which is called the face, and communicate immediately through fibers with the brains, and derive therefrom their sensitive and active life. ( ) it is from this that affections, which are of love, appear imaged forth in the face, and that thoughts, which are of wisdom, are revealed in a kind of sparkle of the eyes. ( ) anatomy teaches that all fibers descend from the brains through the neck into the body, and that none ascend from the body through the neck into the brains. and where the fibers are in their first principles or firsts, there life is in its first principles or firsts. will any one venture to deny that life has its origin where the fibers have their origin? ( ) ask any one of common perception where his thought resides or where he thinks, and he will say, in the head. then appeal to some one who has assigned the seat of the soul to some gland or to the heart or somewhere else, and ask him where affection and thought therefrom are in their firsts, whether they are not in the brain? and he will answer, no, or that he does not know. the cause of this ignorance may be seen above (n. ). . ( ) such as life is in its first principles, such it is in the whole and in every part. that this may be perceived, it shall now be told where in the brains these first principles are, and how they become derivative. anatomy shows where in the brains these first principles are; it teaches that there are two brains; that these are continued from the head into the spinal column; that they consist of two substances, called cortical substance and medullary substance; that cortical substance consists of innumerable gland-like forms, and medullary substance of innumerable fiber-like forms. now as these little glands are heads of fibrils, they are also their first principles. for from these, fibers begin and thereupon go forth, gradually bundling themselves into nerves. these bundles or nerves, when formed, descend to the organs of sense in the face, and to the organs of motion in the body, and form them. consult any one skilled in the science of anatomy, and you will be convinced. this cortical or glandular substance constitutes the surface of the cerebrum, and also the surface of the corpora striata, from which proceeds the medulla oblongata; it also constitutes the middle of the cerebellum, and the middle of the spinal marrow. but medullary or fibrillary substance everywhere begins in and proceeds from the cortical; out of it nerves arise, and from them all things of the body. that this is true is proved by dissection. they who know these things, either from the study of anatomical science or from the testimony of those who are skilled in the science, can see that the first principles of life are in the same place as the beginnings of the fibers, and that fibers cannot go forth from themselves, but must go forth from first principles. these first principles, that is, beginnings, which appear as little glands, are almost countless; their multitude may be compared to the multitude of stars in the universe; and the multitude of fibrils coming out of them may be compared to the multitude of rays going forth from the stars and bearing their heat and light to the earth. the multitude of these little glands may also be compared to the multitude of angelic societies in the heavens, which also are countless, and, i have been told, are in like order as the glands. also the multitude of fibrils going out from these little glands may be compared to the spiritual truths and goods which in like manner flow down from the angelic societies like rays. from this it is that man is like a universe, and like a heaven in least form (as has been frequently said and shown above). from all which it can now be seen that such as life is in first principles, such it is in derivatives; or such as it is in its firsts in the brains, such it is in the things arising therefrom in the body. . ( ) by means of first principles life is in the whole from every part, and in every part from the whole. this is because the whole, which is the brain and the body together, is originally made up of nothing but fibers proceeding from their first principles in the brains. it has no other origin, as is evident from what has been shown just above (n. ); consequently, the whole is from every part; and by means of these first principles life is in every part from the whole, because the whole dispenses to each part its task and needs, thereby making it to be a part in the whole. in a word, the whole has existence from the parts, and the parts have permanent existence from the whole. that there is such reciprocal communion, and conjunction thereby, is clear from many things in the body. for the same order prevails there as in a state, commonwealth, or kingdom; the community has its existence from the individuals which are its parts, and the parts or individuals have permanent existence from the community. it is the same with every thing that has form, most of all in man. . ( ) such as the love is, such is the wisdom, consequently such is the man. for such as the love and wisdom are, such are the will and understanding, since the will is the receptacle of love, and the understanding of wisdom, as has been shown above; and these two make the man and his character. love is manifold, so manifold that its varieties are limitless; as can be seen from the human race on the earths and in the heavens. there is no man or angel so like another that there is no difference. love is what distinguishes; for every man is his own love. it is supposed that wisdom distinguishes; but wisdom is from love; it is the form of love; love is the esse of life, and wisdom is the existere of life from that esse. in the world it is believed that the understanding makes the man; but this is believed because the understanding can be elevated, as was shown above, into the light of heaven, giving man the appearance of being wise; yet so much of the understanding as transcends, that is to say, so much as is not of the love, although it appears to be man's and therefore to determine man's character, is only an appearance. for so much of the understanding as transcends is, indeed, from the love of knowing and being wise, but not at the same time from the love of applying to life what man knows and is wise in. consequently, in the world it either in time passes away or lingers outside of the things of memory in its mere borders as something ready to drop off; and therefore after death it is separated, no more of it remaining than is in accord with the spirit's own love. inasmuch as love makes the life of man, and thus the man himself, all societies of heaven, and all angels in societies, are arranged according to affections belonging to love, and no society nor any angel in a society according to anything of the understanding separate from love. so likewise in the hells and their societies, but in accordance with loves opposite to the heavenly loves. from all this it can be seen that such as the love is such is the wisdom, and consequently such is the man. . it is acknowledged, indeed, that man is such as his reigning love is, but only in respect to his mind and disposition, not in respect to his body, thus not wholly. but it has been made known to me by much experience in the spiritual world, that man from head to foot, that is, from things primary in the head to the outmosts in the body, is such as his love is. for all in the spiritual world are forms of their own love; the angels forms of heavenly love, the devils of hellish love; the devils deformed in face and body, but the angels beautiful in face and body. moreover, when their love is assailed their faces are changed, and if much assailed they wholly disappear. this is peculiar to that world, and so happens because their bodies make one with their minds. the reason is evident from what has been said above, that all things of the body are derivatives, that is, are things woven together by means of fibers out of first principles, which are receptacles of love and wisdom. howsoever these first principles may be, their derivatives cannot be different; therefore wherever first principles go their derivatives follow, and cannot be separated. for this reason he who raises his mind to the lord is wholly raised up to him, and he who casts his mind down to hell is wholly cast down thither; consequently the whole man, in conformity to his life's love, comes either into heaven or into hell. that man's mind is a man because god is a man, and that the body is the mind's external, which feels and acts, and that they are thus one and not two, is a matter of angelic wisdom. . it is to be observed that the very forms of man's members, organs, and viscera, as regards the structure itself, are from fibers that arise out of their first principles in the brains; but these become fixed by means of such substances and matters as are in earths, and from earths in air and in ether. this is effected by means of the blood. consequently, in order that all parts of the body may be maintained in their formation and rendered permanent in their functions, man requires to be nourished by material food, and to be continually renewed. . there is a correspondence of the will with the heart, and of the understanding with the lungs. this shall be shown in the following series: ( ) all things of the mind have relation to the will and understanding, and all things of the body to the heart and lungs. ( ) there is a correspondence of the will and understanding with the heart and lungs, consequently a correspondence of all things of the mind with all things of the body. ( ) the will corresponds to the heart. ( ) the understanding corresponds to the lungs. ( ) by means of this correspondence many arcana relating to the will and understanding, thus also to love and wisdom, may be disclosed. ( ) man's mind is his spirit, and the spirit is the man, while the body is the external by means of which the mind or spirit feels and acts in its world. ( ) the conjunction of man's spirit with his body is by means of the correspondence of his will and understanding with his heart and lungs, and their separation is from non-correspondence. . ( ) all things of the mind have relation to the will and understanding, and all things of the body to the heart and lungs. by the mind nothing else is meant than the will and understanding, which in their complex are all things that affect man and all that he thinks, thus all things of man's affection and thought. the things that affect man are of his will, and the things that he thinks are of his understanding. that all things of man's thought are of his understanding is known, since he thinks from the understanding; but it is not so well known that all things of man's affection are of his will, this is not so well known because when man is thinking he pays no attention to the affection, but only to what he is thinking; just as when he hears a person speaking, he pays no attention to the tone of the voice but only to the language. yet affection is related to thought as the tone of the voice is to the language; consequently the affection of the one speaking is known by the tone, and his thought by the language. affection is of the will, because all affection is of love, and the will is the receptacle of love, as was shown above. he that is not aware that affection is of the will confounds affection with understanding, for he declares it to be one with thought, yet they are not one but act as one. that they are confounded is evident from the common expression, i think i will do this, meaning, i will to do it. but that they are two is also evident from a common expression, i wish to think about this matter; and when one thinks about it, the affection of the will is present in the thought of the understanding, like the tone in speech, as was said before. that all parts of the body have relation to the heart and lungs is known, but that there is a correspondence of the heart and lungs with the will and understanding is not known. this subject will therefore be treated in what follows. . because the will and understanding are the receptacles of love and wisdom, these two are organic forms, or forms organized out of the purest substances; for such they must be to be receptacles. it is no objection that their organization is imperceptible to the eye; it lies beyond the reach of vision, even when this is increased by the microscope. the smallest insects are also too small to be seen, yet they have organs of sense and motion, for they feel, walk, and fly. that they have brains, hearts, pulmonary pipes, and viscera, acute observers have discovered from their anatomy by means of the microscope. since minute insects themselves are not visible, and still less so their component viscera, and since it is not denied that they are organized even to each single particle in them, how can it be said that the two receptacles of love and wisdom, called will and understanding, are not organic forms? how can love and wisdom, which are life from the lord, act upon what is not a subject, or upon what has no substantial existence? without organic forms, how can thought inhere; and from thought inherent in nothing can one speak? is not the brain, where thought comes forth, complete and organized in every part? the organic forms themselves are there visible even to the naked eye; and the receptacles of the will and understanding, in their first principles, are plainly to be seen in the cortical substance, where they are perceptible as minute glands (on which see above, n. ). do not, i pray, think of these things from an idea of vacuum. vacuum is nothing, and in nothing nothing takes place, and from nothing nothing comes forth. (on the idea of vacuum, see above, n. .) . ( ) there is a correspondence of the will and understanding with the heart and lungs, consequently a correspondence of all things of the mind with all things of the body. this is new: it has hitherto been unknown because it has not been known what the spiritual is, and how it differs from the natural; therefore it has not been known what correspondence is; for there is a correspondence between things spiritual and things natural, and by means of correspondence they are conjoined. it is said that heretofore there has been no knowledge of what the spiritual is, or of what its correspondence with the natural is and therefore what correspondence is; yet these might have been known. who does not know that affection and thought are spiritual, therefore that all things of affection and thought are spiritual? who does not know that action and speech are natural, therefore that all things of action and speech are natural: who does not know that affection and thought, which are spiritual, cause man to act and to speak? from this who cannot see what correspondence is between things spiritual and things natural? does not thought make the tongue speak, and affection together with thought make the body act? there are two distinct things: i can think without speaking, and i can will without acting; and the body, it is known, neither thinks nor wills, but thought falls into speech, and will descends into action. does not affection also beam forth from the face, and there exhibit a type of itself? this everyone knows. is not affection, regarded in itself, spiritual, and the change of countenance, called the expression, natural? from this who might not conclude that there is correspondence; and further, a correspondence of all things of the mind with all things of the body; and since all things of the mind have relation to affection and thought, or what is the same, to the will and understanding, and all things of the body to the heart and lungs, - that there is a correspondence of the will with the heart and of the understanding with the lungs? such things have remained unknown, though they might have been known, because man has become so external as to be unwilling to acknowledge anything except the natural. this has become the joy of his love, and from that the joy of his understanding; consequently it has become distasteful to him to raise his thought above the natural to anything spiritual separate from the natural; therefore, from his natural love and its delights, he can think of the spiritual only as a purer natural, and of correspondence only as a something flowing in by continuity; yea, the merely natural man cannot think of anything separate from the natural; any such thing to him is nothing. again, these things have not heretofore been seen and known, because everything of religion, that is, everything called spiritual, has been banished from the sight of man by the dogma of the whole christian world, that matters theological, that is, spiritual, which councils and certain leaders have decreed, are to be believed blindly because (as they say) they transcend the understanding. some, therefore, have imagined the spiritual to be like a bird flying above the air in an ether to which the sight of the eye does not reach; when yet it is like a bird of paradise, which flies near the eye, even touching the pupil with its beautiful wings and longing to be seen. by the sight of the eye intellectual vision is meant. . the correspondence of the will and understanding with the heart and lungs cannot be abstractly proved, that is, by mere reasonings, but it may be proved by effects. it is much the same as it is with the causes of things which can be seen rationally, yet not clearly except by means of effects; for causes are in effects, and by means of effects make themselves visible; and until causes are thus made visible, the mind is not assured respecting them. in what follows, the effects of this correspondence will be described. but lest any one should fall into ideas of this correspondence imbibed from hypotheses about the soul, let him first read over carefully the propositions in the preceding chapter, as follows: love and wisdom, and the will and understanding therefrom, make the very life of man (n. , ). the life of man is in first principles in the brains, and in derivatives in the body (n. ). such as life is in first principles, such it is in the whole and in every part (n. ). by means of these first principles life is in the whole from every part, and in every part from the whole (n. ). such as the love is, such is the wisdom, consequently such is the man (n. ). . it is permitted to introduce here, in the way of evidence, a representation of the correspondence of the will and understanding with the heart and lungs which was seen in heaven among the angels. by a wonderful flowing into spiral movements, such as no words can express, the angels formed the likeness of a heart and the likeness of lungs, with all the interior structures therein; and in this they were falling in with the flow of heaven, for heaven from the inflowing of love and wisdom from the lord strives to come into such forms. they thus represented the conjunction of the heart and lungs, and at the same time the correspondence of these with the love of the will and with the wisdom of the understanding. this correspondence and union they called the heavenly marriage; saying that in the whole body, and in its several members, organs, and viscera, it is the same as in the things belonging to the heart and lungs; also that where the heart and lungs do not act, each in its turn, there can be no motion of life from any voluntary principle, and no sensation of life from any intellectual principle. . inasmuch as the correspondence of the heart and lungs with the will and understanding is treated of in what now follows, and upon this correspondence is based that of all parts of the body, namely, the members, the organs of the senses, and the viscera throughout the body, and inasmuch as the correspondence of natural things with spiritual has been heretofore unknown, and yet is amply shown in two works, one of which treats of heaven and hell and the other, the arcana coelestia, of the spiritual sense of the word in genesis and exodus, i will here point out what has been written and shown in those two works respecting correspondence. in the work on heaven and hell: the correspondence of all things of heaven with all things of man (n. - ). the correspondence of all things of heaven with all things on earth (n. - ). in the arcana coelestia, the work on the spiritual sense of the word in genesis and exodus: the correspondence of the face and its expressions with the affections of the mind (n. , , , , , , , , , , ). the correspondence of the body, its gestures and actions, with things intellectual and things voluntary (n. , , ). the correspondence of the senses in general (n. - ). the correspondence of the eyes and of their sight (n. - ). the correspondence of the nostrils and of smell (n. - ). the correspondence of the ear, and of hearing (n. - ). the correspondence of the tongue and of taste (n. - ). the correspondence of the hands, arms, shoulders and feet (n. - ). the correspondence of the loins and organs of generation (n. - ). thy correspondence of the internal viscera of the body, especially of the stomach, thymus gland, the receptacle and ducts of the chyle and lacteals, and of the mesentery (n. - , , ). the correspondence of the spleen (n. ). the correspondence of the peritonaeum, kidneys and bladder (n. - ). the correspondence of the liver, and of the hepatic, cystic and pancreatic ducts (n. - ). the correspondence of the intestines (n. - , ). the correspondence of the bones (n. - ). the correspondence of the skin (n. - ). the correspondence of heaven with man (n. , , , - , - , - , , , , , , , , , , , ). all things that exist in the natural world and in its three kingdoms correspond to all things which appear in the spiritual world (n. , , , , - , - , , - , , , , , , , , , , , ). all things that appear in the heavens are correspondences (n. , , - , , , , , , , , , , - , , , - , , , , , ). the correspondence of the sense of the letter of the word and of its spiritual sense is treated of in the arcana coelestia throughout; and on this subject see also the doctrine of the new jerusalem concerning the sacred scripture (n. - , - ). . ( ) the will corresponds to the heart. this can not be seen so clearly taken by itself as when the will is considered in its effects (as was said above). taken by itself it can be seen by this, that all affections, which are of love, induce changes in the heart's pulsations, as is evident from the pulse of the arteries, which act synchronously with the heart. the heart's changes and pulsations in accordance with the love's affections are innumerable. those felt by the finger are only that the beats are slow or quick, high or low, weak or strong, regular or irregular, and so on; thus that there is a difference in joy and in sorrow, in tranquillity of mind and in wrath, in fearlessness and in fear, in hot diseases and in cold, and so on. because the two motions of the heart, systolic and diastolic, change and vary in this manner according to the affections of each one's love, many of the ancient and after them some modern writers have assigned the affections to the heart, and have made the heart their dwelling-place. from this have come into common language such expressions as a stout heart, a timid heart, a joyful heart, a sad heart, a soft heart, a hard heart, a great heart, a weak heart, a whole heart, a broken heart, a heart of flesh, a heart of stone; likewise being gross, or soft, or tender in heart; giving the heart to a thing, giving a single heart, giving a new heart, laying up in the heart, receiving in the heart, not reaching the heart, hardening one's heart, a friend at heart; also the terms concord, discord, folly [vecordia], and other similar terms expressive of love and its affections. there are like expressions in the word, because the word was written by correspondences. whether you say love or will it is the same, because the will is the receptacle of love, as was explained above. . it is known that there is vital heat in man and in every living creature; but its origin is not known. every one speaks of it from conjecture, consequently such as have known nothing of the correspondence of natural things with spiritual have ascribed its origin, some to the sun's heat, some to the activity of the parts, some to life itself; but as they have not known what life is, they have been content with the mere phrase. but any one who knows that there is a correspondence of love and its affections with the heart and its derivations may know that the origin of vital heat is love. for love goes forth as heat from the spiritual sun where the lord is, and moreover is felt as heat by the angels. this spiritual heat which in its essence is love, is what inflows by correspondence into the heart and its blood, and imparts heat to it, and at the same time vivifies it. that a man grows hot, and, as it were, is fired, according to his love and the degree of it, and grows torpid and cold according to its decrease, is known, for it is felt and seen; it is felt by the heat throughout the body, and seen by the flushing of the face; and on the other hand, extinction of love is felt by coldness in the body, and is seen by paleness in the face. because love is the life of man, the heart is the first and the last of his life; and because love is the life of man, and the soul maintains its life in the body by means of the blood, in the word blood is called the soul (gen. : ; levit. : ). the various meanings of soul will be explained in what follows. . the redness, also, of the blood is from the correspondence of the heart and the blood with love and its affection; for in the spiritual world there are all kinds of colors, of which red and white are the fundamental, the rest deriving their varieties from these and from their opposites, which are a dusky fire color and black. red there corresponds to love, and white to wisdom. red corresponds to love because it originates in the fire of the spiritual sun, and white corresponds to wisdom because it originates in the light of that sun. and because there is a correspondence of love with the heart, the blood must needs be red, and reveal its origin. for this reason in the heavens where love to the lord reigns the light is flame-colored, and the angels there are clothed in purple garments; and in the heavens where wisdom reigns the light is white, and the angels there are clothed in white linen garments. . the heavens are divided into two kingdoms, one called celestial, the other spiritual; in the celestial kingdom love to the lord reigns, and in the spiritual kingdom wisdom from that love. the kingdom where love reigns is called heaven's cardiac kingdom, the one where wisdom reigns is called its pulmonic kingdom. be it known, that the whole angelic heaven in its aggregate represents a single man, and before the lord appears as a single man; consequently its heart makes one kingdom and its lungs another. for there is a general cardiac and pulmonic movement throughout heaven, and a particular movement therefrom in each angel. the general cardiac and pulmonic movement is from the lord alone, because love and wisdom are from him alone. for these two movements are in the sun where the lord is and which is from the lord, and from that in the angelic heavens and in the universe. banish spaces and think of omnipresence, and you will be convinced that it is so. that the heavens are divided into two kingdoms, celestial and spiritual, see the work on heaven and hell (n. - ); and that the whole angelic heaven in the aggregate represents a single man (n. - ). . ( ) the understanding corresponds to the lungs. this follows from what has been said of the correspondence of the will with the heart; for there are two things, will and understanding, which reign in the spiritual man, that is, in the mind, and there are two things, heart and lungs, which reign in the natural man, that is, in the body; and there is correspondence (as was said above) of all things of the mind with all thinks of the body; from which it follows that as the will corresponds to the heart, so the understanding corresponds to the lungs. moreover, that the understanding corresponds to the lungs any one may observe in himself, both from his thought and from his speech. ( ) from thought: no one is able to think except with the concurrence and concordance of the pulmonary respiration; consequently, when he thinks tacitly he breathes tacitly, if he thinks deeply he breathes deeply; he draws in the breath and lets it out, contracts and expands the lungs, slowly or quickly, eagerly, gently, or intently, all in conformity to his thought, thus to the influx of affection from love; yea, if he hold the breath entirely he is unable to think, except in his spirit by its respiration, which is not manifestly perceived. ( ) from speech: since not the least vocal sound flows forth from the mouth without the concurrent aid of the lungs, - for the sound, which is articulated into words, all comes forth from the lungs through the trachea and epiglottis, - therefore, according to the inflation of these bellows and the opening of the passage the voice is raised even to a shout, and according to their contraction it is lowered; and if the passage is entirely closed speech ceases and thought with it. . since the understanding corresponds to the lungs and thought therefrom to the respiration of the lungs, in the word, "soul" and "spirit" signify the understanding; for example: thou shalt love the lord thy god with all thy heart and with all thy soul (matt. : ). god will give a new heart and a new spirit (ezek. : ; psalm : ). that "heart" signifies the love of the will was shown above; therefore "soul" and "spirit" signify the wisdom of the understanding. that the spirit of god, also called the holy spirit, means divine wisdom, and therefore divine truth which is the light of men, may be seen in the doctrine of the new jerusalem concerning the lord (n. , ), therefore, the lord breathed on his disciples, and said, receive ye the holy spirit (john : ); for the same reason it is said that: jehovah god breathed into the nostrils of adam the breath of lives, and he was made into a living soul (gen. : ); also he said to the prophet: prophesy upon the breath, and say unto the wind, come from the four winds, o breath, and breathe upon these slain, that they may live (ezek. : ); likewise in other places; therefore the lord is called "the breath of the nostrils," and "the breath of life." because respiration passes through the nostrils, perception is signified by them; and an intelligent man is said to be keen-scented, and an unintelligent man to be dull-scented. for the same reason, spirit and wind in the hebrew, and in some other languages, are the same word; for the word spirit is derived from a word that means breathing; and therefore when a man dies he is said to give up the ghost [anima]. it is for the same reason that men believe the spirit to be wind, or an airy something like breath breathed out from the lungs, and the soul to be of like nature. from all this it can be seen that to "love god with all the heart and all the soul" means to love him with all the love and with all the understanding, and to "give a new heart and a new spirit" means to give a new will and a new understanding. because "spirit" signifies understanding, it is said of bezaleel: that he was filled with the spirit of wisdom, of intelligence, and of knowledge (exod. : ); and of joshua: that he was filled with the spirit of wisdom (deut. : ); and nebuchadnezzar says of daniel: that an excellent spirit of knowledge, of intelligence, and of wisdom, was in him (dan. : , , ); and it is said in isaiah: they that err in spirit shall learn intelligence ( : ); likewise in many other places. . since all things of the mind have relation to the will and understanding, and all things of the body to the heart and lungs, there are in the head two brains, distinct from each other as will and understanding are distinct. the cerebellum is especially the organ of the will, and the cerebrum of the understanding. likewise the heart and lungs in the body are distinct from the remaining parts there. they are separated by the diaphragm, and are enveloped by their own covering, called the pleura, and form that part of the body called the chest. in the other parts of the body, called members, organs, and viscera, there is a joining together of the two, and thus there are pairs; for instance, the arms, hands, loins, feet, eyes, and nostrils; and within the body the kidneys, ureters, and testicles; and the viscera which are not in pairs are divided into right and left. moreover, the brain itself is divided into two hemispheres, the heart into two ventricles, and the lungs into two lobes; the right of all these having relation to the good of truth, and the left to the truth of good, or, what is the same, the right having relation to the good of love from which is the truth of wisdom, and the left having relation to the truth of wisdom which is from the good of love. and because the conjunction of good and truth is reciprocal, and by means of that conjunction the two become as it were one, therefore the pairs in man act together and conjointly in functions, motions, and senses. . ( ) by means of this correspondence many arcana relating to the will and understanding, thus also to love and wisdom, may be disclosed. in the world it is scarcely known what the will is or what love is, for the reason that man is not able, by himself, to love, and from love to will, although he is able as it were by himself to exercise intelligence and thought; just as he is not able of himself to cause the heart to beat, although he is able of himself to cause the lungs to respire. now because it is scarcely known in the world what the will is or what love is, but it is known what the heart and the lungs are, - for these are objects of sight and can be examined, and have been examined and described by anatomists, while the will and the understanding are not objects of sight, and cannot be so examined - therefore when it is known that these correspond, and by correspondence act as one, many arcana relating to the will and understanding may be disclosed that could not otherwise be disclosed; those for instance relating to the conjunction of the will with the understanding, and the reciprocal conjunction of the understanding with the will; those relating to the conjunction of love with wisdom, and the reciprocal conjunction of wisdom with love; also those relating to the derivation of love into affections, and to the consociation of affections, to their influx into perceptions and thoughts, and finally their influx according to correspondence into the bodily acts and senses. these and many other arcana may be both disclosed and illustrated by the conjunction of the heart and lungs, and by the influx of the blood from the heart into the lungs, and reciprocally from the lungs into the heart, and therefrom through the arteries into all the members, organs and viscera of the body. . ( ) man's mind is his spirit, and the spirit is the man, while the body is an external by means of which the mind or spirit feels and acts in its world. that man's mind is his spirit, and that the spirit is the man, can hardly enter the faith of those who have supposed the spirit to be wind, and the soul to be an airy something like breath breathed out from the lungs. for they say, how can the spirit, when it is spirit, be the man, and how can the soul, when it is soul, be the man? they think in the same way of god because he is called a spirit. this idea of the spirit and the soul has come from the fact that spirit and wind in some languages are the same word; also, that when a man dies, he is said to give up the ghost or spirit; also, that life returns, after suffocation or swooning, when the spirit or breath of the lungs comes back. because in these cases nothing but the breath or air is perceived, it is concluded from the eye and bodily sense that the spirit and soul of man after death is not the man. from this corporeal conclusion about the spirit and soul, various hypotheses have arisen, and these have given birth to a belief that man after death does not become a man until the day of the last judgment, and that meanwhile his spirit remains somewhere or other awaiting reunion with the body, according to what has been shown in the continuation concerning the last judgment (n. - ). because man's mind is his spirit, the angels, who also are spirits, are called minds. . man's mind is his spirit, and the spirit is the man, because by the mind all things of man's will and understanding are meant, which things are in first principles in the brains and in derivatives in the body; therefore in respect to their forms they are all things of man. this being so, the mind (that is, the will and understanding) impels the body and all its belongings at will. does not the body do whatever the mind thinks and wills? does not the mind incite the ear to hear, and direct the eye to see, move the tongue and the lips to speak, impel the hands and fingers to do whatever it pleases, and the feet to walk whither it will? is the body, then, anything but obedience to its mind; and can the body be such unless the mind is in its derivatives in the body? is it consistent with reason to think that the body acts from obedience simply because the mind so wills? in which case they should be two, the one above and the other below, one commanding, the other obeying. as this is in no way consistent with reason, it follows that man's life is in its first principles in the brains, and in its derivatives in the body (according to what has been said above, n. ); also that such as life is in first principles, such it is in the whole and in every part (n. ); and by means of these first principles life is in the whole from every part, and in every part from the whole (n. ). that all things of the mind have relation to the will and understanding, and that the will and understanding are the receptacles of love and wisdom from the lord, and that these two make the life of man, has been shown in the preceding pages. . from what has now been said it can also be seen that man's mind is the man himself. for the primary texture of the human form, that is, the human form itself with each and every thing thereof, is from first principles continued from the brain through the nerves, in the manner described above. it is this form into which man comes after death, who is then called a spirit or an angel, and who is in all completeness a man, but a spiritual man. the material form that is added and superinduced in the world, is not a human form by itself, but only by virtue of the spiritual form, to which it is added and superinduced that man may be enabled to perform uses in the natural world, and also to draw to himself out of the purer substances of the world a fixed containant of spiritual things, and thus continue and perpetuate life. it is a truth of angelic wisdom that man's mind, not alone in general, but in every particular, is in a perpetual conatus toward the human form, for the reason that god is a man. . that man may be man there must be no part lacking, either in head or in body, that has existence in the complete man; since there is nothing therein that does not enter into the human form and constitute it; for it is the form of love and wisdom, and this, in itself considered, is divine. in it are all terminations of love and wisdom, which in god-man are infinite, but in his image, that is, in man, angel, or spirit, are finite. if any part that has existence in man were lacking, there would be lacking something of termination from the love and wisdom corresponding to it, whereby the lord might be from firsts in outmosts with man, and might from his divine love through his divine wisdom provide uses in the created world. . ( ) the conjunction of man's spirit with his body is by means of the correspondence of his will and understanding with his heart and lungs, and their separation is from non- correspondence. as it has heretofore been unknown that man's mind, by which is meant the will and understanding, is his spirit, and that the spirit is a man; and as it has been unknown that man's spirit, as well as his body, has a pulse and respiration, it could not be known that the pulse and respiration of the spirit in man flow into the pulse and respiration of his body and produce them. since, then, man's spirit, as well as his body, enjoys a pulse and respiration, it follows that there is a like correspondence of the pulse and respiration of man's spirit with the pulse and respiration of his body, - for, as was said, his mind is his spirit, - consequently, when the two pairs of motions cease to correspond, separation takes place, which is death. separation or death ensues when from any kind of disease or accident the body comes into such a state as to be unable to act in unison with its spirit, for thus correspondence perishes, and with it conjunction; not, however, when respiration alone ceases, but when the heart's pulsation ceases. for so long as the heart is moved, love with its vital heat remains and preserves life, as is evident in cases of swoon and suffocation, and in the condition of fetal life in the womb. in a word, man's bodily life depends on the correspondence of its pulse and respiration with the pulse and respiration of his spirit; and when that correspondence ceases, the bodily life ceases, and his spirit departs and continues its life in the spiritual world, which is so similar to his life in the natural world that he does not know that he has died. men generally enter the spiritual world two days after the death of the body. for i have spoken with some after two days. . that a spirit, as well as a man on earth in the body enjoys a pulse and a respiration, can only be proved by spirits and angels themselves, when privilege is granted to speak with them. this privilege has been granted to me. when questioned about the matter they declared that they are just as much men as those in the world are, and possess a body as well as they, but a spiritual body, and feel the beat of the heart in the chest, and the beat of the arteries in the wrist, just as men do in the natural world. i have questioned many about the matter, and they all gave like answer. that man's spirit respires within his body has been granted me to learn by personal experience. on one occasion angels were allowed to control my respiration, and to diminish it at pleasure, and at length to withdraw it, until only the respiration of my spirit remained, which i then perceived by sense. a like experience was granted me when permitted to learn the state of the dying (as may be seen in the work on heaven and hell, n. ). i have sometimes been brought into the respiration of my spirit only, which i have then sensibly perceived to be in accord with the common respiration of heaven. also many times i have been in a state like that of angels, and also raised up into heaven to them, and being then out of the body in spirit, i talked with angels with a respiration in like manner as in the world. from this and other personal evidence it has been made clear to me that man's spirit respires, not only in the body but also after it has left the body; that the respiration of the spirit is so silent as not to be perceptible to man; and that it inflows into the manifest respiration of the body almost as cause flows into effect, or thought into the lungs and through the lungs into speech. from all this it is also evident that conjunction of spirit and body in man is by means of the correspondence of the cardiac and pulmonic movement in both. . these two movements, the cardiac and the pulmonic, derive their origin and persistence from this, that the whole angelic heaven, in general and in particular, is in these two movements of life; and the whole angelic heaven is in these movements because the lord pours them in from the sun, where he is, and which is from him; for these two movements are maintained by that sun from the lord. it is evident that such is their origin since all things of heaven and all things of the world depend on the lord through that sun in a connection, by virtue of form, like a chain-work from the first to outmosts, also since the life of love and wisdom is from the lord, and all the forces of the universe are from life. that the variation of these movements is according to the reception of love and wisdom, also follows. . more will be said in what follows of the correspondence of these movements, as what the nature of that correspondence is in those who respire with heaven, and what it is in those who respire with hell; also what it is in those who speak with heaven, but think with hell, thus what it is with hypocrites, flatterers, deceivers, and others. . from the correspondence of the heart with the will and of the lungs with the understanding, everything may be known that can be known about the will and understanding, or about love and wisdom, therefore about the soul of man. many in the learned world have wearied themselves with inquiries respecting the soul; but as they knew nothing of the spiritual world, or of man's state after death, they could only frame theories, not about the nature of the soul, but about its operation on the body. of the nature of the soul they could have no idea except as something most pure in the ether, and of its containing form they could have no idea except as being ethereal. but knowing that the soul is spiritual, they dared not say much about the matter openly, for fear of ascribing to the soul something natural. with this conception of the soul, and yet knowing that the soul operates on the body, and produces all things in it that relate to its sensation and motion, they have wearied themselves, as was said, with inquiries respecting the operation of the soul on the body. this has been held by some to be effected by influx, and by some to be effected by harmony. but as this investigation has disclosed nothing in which the mind anxious to see the real truth can acquiesce, it has been granted me to speak with angels, and to be enlightened on the subject by their wisdom; the fruits of which are as follows: man's soul, which lives after death, is his spirit, and is in complete form a man; the soul of this form is the will and understanding, and the soul of these is love and wisdom from the lord; these two are what constitute man's life, which is from the lord above; yet for the sake of man's reception of him, he causes life to appear as if it were man's; but that man may not claim life for himself as his, and thus withdraw himself from this reception of the lord, the lord has also taught that everything of love, which is called good, and everything of wisdom, which is called truth, is from him, and nothing of these from man; and as these two are life, that everything of life which is life is from him. . since the soul in its very esse is love and wisdom, and these two in man are from the lord, there are created in man two receptacles, which are also the abodes of the lord in man; one for love, the other for wisdom, the one for love called the will, the other for wisdom called the understanding. now since love and wisdom in the lord are one distinctly (as may be seen above, n. - ), and divine love is of his divine wisdom, and divine wisdom is of his divine love (n. - ), and since these so go forth from god-man, that is, from the lord, therefore these two receptacles and abodes of the lord in man, the will and understanding, are so created by the lord as to be distinctly two, and yet make one in every operation and every sensation; for in these the will and understanding cannot be separated. nevertheless, to enable man to become a receptacle and an abode of the lord, it is provided, as necessary to this end, that man's understanding can be raised above his proper love into some light of wisdom in the love of which the man is not, and that he can thereby see and be taught how he must live if he would come also into that higher love, and thus enjoy eternal happiness. but by the misuse of this power to elevate the understanding above his proper love, man has subverted in himself that which might have been the receptacle and abode of the lord (that is, of love and wisdom from the lord), by making the will an abode for the love of self and the world, and the understanding an abode for whatever confirms those loves. from this it has come that these two abodes, the will and understanding, have become abodes of infernal love, and by confirmations in favor of these loves, abodes of infernal thought, which in hell is esteemed as wisdom. . the reason why the love of self and love of the world are infernal loves, and yet man has been able to come into them and thus subvert the will and understanding within him, is as follows: the love of self and the love of the world by creation are heavenly loves; for they are loves of the natural man serviceable to spiritual loves, as a foundation is to a house. for man, from the love of self and the world, seeks the welfare of his body, desires food, clothing, and habitation, is solicitous for the welfare of his family, and to secure employment for the sake of use, and even, in the interest of obedience, to be honored according to the dignity of the affairs which he administers, and to find delight and refreshment in worldly enjoyment; yet all this for the sake of the end, which must be use for through these things man is in a state to serve the lord and to serve the neighbor. when, however, there is no love of serving the lord and serving the neighbor, but only a love of serving himself by means of the world, then from being heavenly that love becomes hellish, for it causes a man to sink his mind and disposition in what is his own, and that in itself is wholly evil. . now that man may not by the understanding be in heaven while by the will he is in hell, as is possible, and may thereby have a divided mind, after death everything of the understanding which transcends its own love is removed; whereby it comes that in everyone the will and understanding finally make one. with those in heaven the will loves good and the understanding thinks truth; but with those in hell the will loves evil and the understanding thinks falsity. the same is true of man in this world when he is thinking from his spirit, as he does when alone; yet many, so long as they are in the body, when they are not alone think otherwise. they then think otherwise because they raise their understanding above the proper love of their will, that is, of their spirit. these things have been said, to make known that the will and understanding are two distinct things, although created to act as one, and that they are made to act as one after death, if not before. . now since love and wisdom, and therefore will and understanding, are what are called the soul, and how the soul acts upon the body, and effects all its operations, is to be shown in what follows, and since this may be known from the correspondence of the heart with the will, and of the lungs with the understanding, by means of that correspondence what follows has been disclosed: ( ) love or the will is man's very life. ( ) love or the will strives unceasingly towards the human form and all things of that form. ( ) love or the will is unable to effect anything by its human form without a marriage with wisdom or the understanding. ( ) love or the will prepares a house or bridal chamber for its future wife, which is wisdom or the understanding. ( ) love or the will also prepares all things in its human form, that it may act conjointly with wisdom or the understanding. ( ) after the nuptials, the first conjunction is through affection for knowing, from which springs affection for truth. ( ) the second conjunction is through affection for understanding, from which springs perception of truth. ( ) the third conjunction is through affection for seeing truth, from which springs thought. ( ) through these three conjunctions love or the will is in its sensitive life and in its active life. ( ) love or the will introduces wisdom or the understanding into all things of its house. ( ) love or the will does nothing except in conjunction with wisdom or the understanding. ( ) love or the will conjoins itself to wisdom or the understanding, and causes wisdom or the understanding to be reciprocally conjoined to it. ( ) wisdom or the understanding, from the potency given to it by love or the will, can be elevated, and can receive such things as are of light out of heaven, and perceive them. ( ) love or the will can in like manner be elevated and can perceive such things as are of heat out of heaven, provided it loves its consort in that degree. ( ) otherwise love or the will draws down wisdom or the understanding from its elevation, that it may act as one with itself. ( ) love or the will is purified by wisdom in the understanding, if they are elevated together. ( ) love or the will is defiled in the understanding and by it, if they are not elevated together. ( ) love, when purified by wisdom in the understanding, becomes spiritual and celestial. ( ) love, when defiled in the understanding and by it, becomes natural and sensual. ( ) the capacity to understand called rationality, and the capacity to act called freedom, still remain. ( ) spiritual and celestial love is love towards the neighbor and love to the lord; and natural and sensual love is love of the world and love of self. ( ) it is the same with charity and faith and their conjunction as with the will and understanding and their conjunction. . ( ) love or the will is man's very life. this follows from the correspondence of the heart with the will (considered above, n. - ). for as the heart acts in the body, so does the will act in the mind; and as all things of the body depend for existence and motion upon the heart, so do all things of the mind depend for existence and life upon the will. it is said, upon the will, but this means upon the love, because the will is the receptacle of love, and love is life itself (see above, n. - ), and love, which is life itself, is from the lord alone. by the heart and its extension into the body through the arteries and veins it can be seen that love or the will is the life of man, for the reason that things that correspond to each other act in a like manner, except that one is natural and the other spiritual. how the heart acts in the body is evident from anatomy, which shows that wherever the heart acts by means of the vessels put forth from it, everything is alive or subservient to life; but where the heart by means of its vessels does not act, everything is lifeless. moreover, the heart is the first and last thing to act in the body. that it is the first is evident from the fetus, and that it is the last is evident from the dying, and that it may act without the cooperation of the lungs is evident from cases of suffocation and swooning; from which it can be seen that the life of the mind depends solely upon the will, in the same way as the substitute life of the body depends on the heart alone; and that the will lives when thought ceases, in the same way as the heart lives when breathing ceases. this also is evident from the fetus, from the dying, and from cases of suffocation and swooning. from which it follows that love or the will is man's very life. . ( ) love or the will strives unceasingly towards the human form and all things of that form. this is evident from the correspondence of heart and will. for it is known that all things of the body are formed in the womb, and that they are formed by means of fibers from the brains and blood vessels from the heart, and that out of these two the tissues of all organs and viscera are made; from which it is evident that all things of man have their existence from the life of the will, which is love, from their first principles, out of the brains, through the fibers; and all things of his body out of the heart through the arteries and veins. from this it is clearly evident that life (which is love and the will therefrom), strives unceasingly towards the human form. and as the human form is made up of all the things there are in man, it follows that love or the will is in a continual conatus and effort to form all these. there is such a conatus and effort towards the human form, because god is a man, and divine love and divine wisdom is his life, and from his life is everything of life. any one can see that unless life which is very man acted into that which in itself is not life, the formation of anything such as exists in man would be impossible, in whom are thousands of thousands of things that make a one, and that unanimously aspire to an image of the life from which they spring, that man may become a receptacle and abode of that life. from all this it can be seen that love, and out of the love the will, and out of the will the heart, strive unceasingly towards the human form. . ( ) love or the will is unable to effect anything by its human form without a marriage with wisdom or the understanding. this also is evident from the correspondence of the heart with the will. the embryo man lives by the heart, not by the lungs. for in the fetus the blood does not flow from the heart into the lungs, giving it the ability to respire; but it flows through the foramen ovale into the left ventricle of the heart; consequently the fetus is unable to move any part of its body, but lies enswathed, neither has it sensation, for its organs of sense are closed. so is it with love or the will, from which the fetus lives indeed, though obscurely, that is, without sensation or action. but as soon as the lungs are opened, which is the case after birth, he begins to feel and act, and likewise to will and think. from all this it can be seen, that love or the will is unable to effect anything by means of its human form without a marriage with wisdom or the understanding. . ( ) love or the will prepares a house or bridal chamber for its future wife, which is wisdom or the understanding. in the created universe and in each of its particulars there is a marriage of good and truth; and this is so because good is of love and truth is of wisdom, and these two are in the lord, and out of him all things are created. how this marriage has existence in man can be seen mirrored in the conjunction of the heart with the lungs; since the heart corresponds to love or good, and the lungs to wisdom or truth (see above, n. - , - ). from that conjunction it can be seen how love or the will betroths to itself wisdom or the understanding, and afterwards weds it, that is, enters into a kind of marriage with it. love betroths to itself wisdom by preparing for it a house or bridal chamber, and marries it by conjoining it to itself by affections, and afterwards lives wisely with it in that house. how this is cannot be fully described except in spiritual language, because love and wisdom, consequently will and understanding, are spiritual; and spiritual things can, indeed, be expressed in natural language, but can be perceived only obscurely, from a lack of knowledge of what love is, what wisdom is, what affections for good are, and what affections for wisdom, that is, affections for truth, are. yet the nature of the betrothal and of the marriage of love with wisdom, or of will with understanding, can be seen by the parallel that is furnished by their correspondence with the heart and lungs. what is true of these is true of love and wisdom, so entirely that there is no difference whatever except that one is natural and the other spiritual. thus it is evident from the heart and lungs, that the heart first forms the lungs, and afterwards joins itself to them; it forms the lungs in the fetus, and joins itself to them after birth. this the heart does in its abode which is called the breast, where the two are encamped together, separated from the other parts of the body by a partition called the diaphragm and by a covering called the pleura. so it is with love and wisdom or with will and understanding. . ( ) love or the will prepares all things in its own human form, that it may act conjointly with wisdom or the understanding. we say, will and understanding, but it is to be carefully borne in mind that the will is the entire man; for it is the will that, with the understanding, is in first principles in the brains, and in derivatives in the body, consequently in the whole and in every part (see above, n. - ). from this it can be seen that the will is the entire man as regards his very form, both the general form and the particular form of all parts; and that the understanding is its partner, as the lungs are the partner of the heart. beware of cherishing an idea of the will as something separate from the human form, for it is that same form. from this it can be seen not only how the will prepares a bridal chamber for the understanding, but also how it prepares all things in its house (which is the whole body) that it may act conjointly with the understanding. this it prepares in such a way that as each and every thing of the body is conjoined to the will, so is it conjoined to the understanding; in other words, that as each and everything of the body is submissive to the will, so is it submissive to the understanding. how each and every thing of the body is prepared for conjunction with the understanding as well as with the will, can be seen in the body only as in a mirror or image, by the aid of anatomical knowledge, which shows how all things in the body are so connected, that when the lungs respire each and every thing in the entire body is moved by the respiration of the lungs, and at the same time from the beating of the heart. anatomy shows that the heart is joined to the lungs through the auricles, which are continued into the interiors of the lungs; also that all the viscera of the entire body are joined through ligaments to the chamber of the breast; and so joined that when the lungs respire, each and all things, in general and in particular, partake of the respiratory motion. thus when the lungs are inflated, the ribs expand the thorax, the pleura is dilated, and the diaphragm is stretched wide, and with these all the lower parts of the body, which are connected with them by ligaments therefrom, receive some action through the pulmonic action; not to mention further facts, lest those who have no knowledge of anatomy, on account of their ignorance of its terms should be confused in regard to the subject. consult any skillful and discerning anatomist whether all things in the entire body, from the breast down be not so bound together, that when the lungs expand by respiration, each and all of them are moved to action synchronous with the pulmonic action. from all this the nature of the conjunction prepared by the will between the understanding and each and every thing of the human form is now evident. only explore the connections well and scan them with an anatomical eye; then, following the connections, consider their cooperation with the breathing lungs and with the heart; and finally, in thought, substitute for the lungs the understanding, and for the heart the will, and you will see. . ( ) after the nuptials, the first conjunction is through affection for knowing, from which springs affection for truth. by the nuptials is meant man's state after birth, from a state of ignorance to a state of intelligence, and from this to a state of wisdom. the first state which is one of pure ignorance, is not meant here by nuptials, because there is then no thought from the understanding, and only an obscure affection from the love or will. this state is initiatory to the nuptials. in the second state, which belongs to man in childhood, there is, as we know, an affection for knowing, by means of which the infant child learns to speak and to read, and afterwards gradually learns such things as belong to the understanding. that it is love, belonging to the will, that effects this, cannot be doubted; for unless it were effected by love or the will it would not be done. that every man has, after birth, an affection for knowing, and through that acquires the knowledge by which his understanding is gradually formed, enlarged, and perfected, is acknowledged by every one who thoughtfully takes counsel of experience. it is also evident that from this comes affection for truth; for when man, from affection for knowing, has become intelligent, he is led not so much by affection for knowing as by affection for reasoning and forming conclusions on subjects which he loves, whether economical or civil or moral. when this affection is raised to spiritual things, it becomes affection for spiritual truth. that its first initiatory state was affection for knowing, may be seen from the fact that affection for truth is an exalted affection for knowing; for to be affected by truths is the same as to wish from affection to know them, and when found, to drink them in from the joy of affection. ( ) the second conjunction is through affection for understanding, from which springs perception of truth. this is evident to any one who is willing by rational insight to examine the matter. from rational insight it is clear that affection for truth and perception of truth are two powers of the understanding, which in some persons harmonize as one, and in others do not. they harmonize as one in those who wish to perceive truths with the understanding, but do not in those who only wish to know truths. it is also clear that every one is in perception of truth so far as he is in an affection for understanding; for if you take away affection for understanding truth, there will be no perception of truth; but give the affection for understanding truth, and there will be perception of truth according to the degree of affection for it. no man of sound reason ever lacks perception of truth, so long as he has affection for understanding truth. that every man has a capacity to understand truth, which is called rationality, has been shown above. ( ) the third conjunction is through affection for seeing truth, from which springs thought. that affection for knowing is one thing, affection for understanding another, and affection for seeing truth another, or that affection for truth is one thing, perception of truth another, and thought another, is seen but obscurely by those who cannot perceive the operations of the mind as distinct, but is seen clearly by those who can. this is obscurely seen by those who do not perceive the operations of the mind as distinct, because with those who are in affection for truth and in perception of truth, these operations are simultaneous in the thought, and when simultaneous they cannot be distinguished. man is in manifest thought when his spirit thinks in the body, which is especially the case when he is in company with others; but when he is in affection for understanding, and through that comes into perception of truth, he is then in the thought of his spirit, which is meditation. this passes, indeed, into the thought of the body, but into silent thought; for it is above bodily thought, and looks upon what belongs to thought from the memory as below itself, drawing therefrom either conclusions or confirmations. but real affection for truth is perceived only as a pressure of will from something pleasurable which is interiorly in meditation as its life, and is little noticed. from all this it can now be seen that these three, affection for truth, perception of truth, and thought, follow in order from love, and that they have existence only in the understanding. for when love enters into the understanding, which it does when their conjunction is accomplished, it first brings forth affection for truth, then affection for understanding that which it knows, and lastly, affection for seeing in the bodily thought that which it understands; for thought is nothing but internal sight. it is true that thought is the first to be manifest, because it is of the natural mind; but thought from perception of truth which is from affection for truth is the last to be manifest; this thought is the thought of wisdom, but the other is thought from the memory through the sight of the natural mind. all operations of love or the will not within the understanding have relation not to affections for truth, but to affections for good. . that these three from the will's love follow in order in the understanding can, indeed, be comprehended by the rational man but yet cannot be clearly seen and thus so proved as to command belief. but as love that is of the will acts as one with the heart by correspondence, and wisdom that is of the understanding acts as one with the lungs (as has been shown above) therefore what has been said (in n. ) about affection for truth, perception of truth, and thought, can nowhere be more clearly seen and proved than in the lungs and the mechanism thereof. these, therefore, shall be briefly described. after birth, the heart discharges the blood from its right ventricle into the lungs; and after passing through these it is emptied into the left ventricle: thus the heart opens the lungs. this it does through the pulmonary arteries and veins. the lungs have bronchial tubes which ramify, and at length end in air-cells, into which the lungs admit the air, and thus respire. around the bronchial tubes and their ramifications there are also arteries and veins called the bronchial, arising from the vena azygos or vena cava, and from the aorta. these arteries and veins are distinct from the pulmonary arteries and veins. from this it is evident that the blood flows into the lungs by two ways, and flows out from them by two ways. this enables the lungs to respire non-synchronously with the heart. that the alternate movements of the heart and the alternate movements of the lungs do not act as one is well known. now, inasmuch as there is a correspondence of the heart and lungs with the will and understanding (as shown above), and inasmuch as conjunction by correspondence is of such a nature that as one acts so does the other, it can be seen by the flow of the blood out of the heart into the lungs how the will flows into the understanding, and produces the results mentioned just above (n. ) respecting affection for and perception of truth, and respecting thought. by correspondence this and many other things relating to the subject, which cannot be explained in a few words, have been disclosed to me. whereas love or the will corresponds to the heart, and wisdom or the understanding to the lungs, it follows that the blood vessels of the heart in the lungs correspond to affections for truth, and the ramifications of the bronchia of the lungs to perceptions and thoughts from those affections. whoever will trace out all the tissues of the lungs from these origins, and disclose the analogy with the love of the will and the wisdom of the understanding, will be able to see in a kind of image the things mentioned above (n. ), and thereby attain to a confirmed belief. but since a few only are familiar with the anatomical details respecting the heart and lungs, and since confirming a thing by what is unfamiliar induces obscurity, i omit further demonstration of the analogy. . ( ) through these three conjunctions love or the will is in its sensitive life and in its active life. love without the understanding, or affection which is of love without thought, which is of the understanding, can neither feel nor act in the body; since love without the understanding is as it were blind, and affection without thought is as it were in thick darkness, for the understanding is the light by which love sees. the wisdom of the understanding, moreover, is from the light that proceeds from the lord as a sun. since, then, the will's love, without the light of the understanding, sees nothing and is blind, it follows that without the light of the understanding even the bodily senses would be blind and blunted, not only sight and hearing, but the other senses also, - the other senses, because all perception of truth is a property of love in the understanding (as was shown above), and all the bodily senses derive their perception from their mind's perception. the same is true of every bodily act; for action from love without understanding is like man's action in the dark, when he does not know what he is doing; consequently in such action there would be nothing of intelligence and wisdom. such action cannot be called living action, for action derives its esse from love and its quality from intelligence. moreover, the whole power of good is by means of truth; consequently good acts in truth, and thus by means of truth; and good is of love, and truth is of the understanding. from all this it can be seen that love or the will through these three conjunctions (see above, n. ) is in its sensitive life and in its active life. . that this is so can be proved to the life by the conjunction of the heart with the lungs, because the correspondence between the will and the heart, and between the understanding and the lungs, is such that just as the love acts with the understanding spiritually, so does the heart act with the lungs naturally: from this, what has been said above can be seen as in an image presented to the eye. that man has neither any sensitive life nor any active life, so long as the heart and the lungs do not act together, is evident from the state of the fetus or the infant in the womb, and from its state after birth. so long as man is a fetus, that is, in the womb, the lungs are closed, wherefore he has no feeling nor any action; the organs of sense are closed up, the hands are bound, likewise the feet; but after birth the lungs are opened, and as they are opened man feels and acts; the lungs are opened by means of the blood sent into them from the heart. that man has neither sensitive life nor active life without the co-operation of the heart and the lungs, is evident also in swoons, when the heart alone acts, and not the lungs, for respiration then ceases; in this case there is no sensation and no action, as is well known. it is the same with persons suffocated, either by water or by anything obstructing the larynx and closing the respiratory passage; it is well-known that the man then appears to be dead, he feels nothing and does nothing; and yet he is alive in the heart; for he returns to both his sensitive and his active life as soon as the obstructions to the lungs are removed. the blood, it is true, circulates in the meantime through the lungs, but through the pulmonary arteries and veins, not through the bronchial arteries and veins, and these last are what give man the power of breathing. it is the same with the influx of love into the understanding. . ( ) love or the will introduces wisdom or the understanding into all things of its house. by the house of love or the will is meant the whole man as to all things of his mind; and as these correspond to all things of the body (as shown above), by the house is meant also the whole man as to all things of his body, called members, organs, and viscera. that the lungs are introduced into all these things just as the understanding is introduced into all things of the mind, can be seen from what has been shown above, namely, that love or the will prepares a house or bridal chamber for its future wife, which is wisdom or the understanding (n. ); and that love or the will prepares all things in its own human form, that is, in its house, that it may act conjointly with wisdom or the understanding (n. ). from what is there said, it is evident that each and all things in the whole body are so connected by ligaments issuing from the ribs, vertebrae, sternum, and diaphragm, and from the peritonaeum which depends on these, that when the lungs respire all are likewise drawn and borne along in alternate movements. anatomy shows that the alternate waves of respiration even enter into the very viscera to their inmost recesses; for the ligaments above mentioned cleave to the sheaths of the viscera, and these sheaths, by their extensions, penetrate to their innermost parts, as do the arteries and veins also by their ramifications. from this it is evident that the respiration of the lungs is in entire conjunction with the heart in each and every thing of the body; and in order that the conjunction may be complete in every respect, even the heart itself is in pulmonic motion, for it lies in the bosom of the lungs and is connected with them by the auricles, and reclines upon the diaphragm, whereby its arteries also participate in the pulmonic motion. the stomach, too, is in similar conjunction with the lungs, by the coherence of its oesophagus with the trachea. these anatomical facts are adduced to show what kind of a conjunction there is of love or the will with wisdom or the understanding, and how the two in consort are conjoined with all things of the mind; for the spiritual and the bodily conjunction are similar. . ( ) love or the will does nothing except in conjunction with wisdom or the understanding. for as love has no sensitive nor any active life apart from the understanding; and as love introduces the understanding into all things of the mind (as was shown above, n. , ), it follows that love or the will does nothing except in conjunction with the understanding. for what is it to act from love without the understanding? such action can only be called irrational; for the understanding teaches what ought to be done and how it ought to be done. apart from the understanding love does not know this; consequently such is the marriage between love and the understanding, that although they are two, they act as one. there is a like marriage between good and truth, for good is of love and truth is of the understanding. in every particular thing of the universe as created by the lord there is such a marriage, their use having relation to good, and the form of their use to truth. from this marriage it is that in each and every thing of the body there is a right and a left, the right having relation to the good from which truth proceeds, and the left to truth from good, thus to their conjunction. from this it is that there are pairs in man; there are two brains, two hemispheres of the brain, two ventricles of the heart, two lobes of the lungs, two eyes, ears, nostrils, arms, hands, loins, feet, kidneys, testicles, etc.; and where there are not pairs, there is a right and a left side, all this for the reason that good looks to truth that it may take form, and truth looks to good that it may have being. it is the same in the angelic heavens and in their several societies. on this subject more may be seen above (n. ), where it is shown that love or the will is unable to effect anything by its human form without a marriage with wisdom or the understanding. conjunction of evil and falsity, which is opposite to the conjunction of good and truth, will be spoken of elsewhere. . ( ) love or the will conjoins itself to wisdom or the understanding, and causes wisdom or the understanding to be reciprocally conjoined to it. that love or the will conjoins itself to wisdom or the understanding is plain from their correspondence with the heart and lungs. anatomical observation shows that the heart is in its life's motion when the lungs are not yet in motion; this it shows by cases of swooning and of suffocation, also by the fetus in the womb and the chick in the egg. anatomical observation shows also that the heart, while acting alone, forms the lungs and so adjusts them that it may carry on respiration in them; also that it so forms the other viscera and organs that it may carry on various uses in them, the organs of the face that it may have sensation, the organs of motion that it may act, and the remaining parts of the body that it may exhibit uses corresponding to the affections of love. from all this it can now for the first time be shown that as the heart produces such things for the sake of the various functions which it is afterwards to discharge in the body, so love, in its receptacle called the will, produces like things for the sake of the various affections that constitute its form, which is the human form (as was shown above). now as the first and nearest of love's affections are affection for knowing, affection for understanding, and affection for seeing what it knows and understands, it follows, that for these affections love forms the understanding and actually enters into them when it begins to feel and to act and to think. to this the understanding contributes nothing, as is evident from the analogy of the heart and lungs (of which above). from all this it can be seen, that love or the will conjoins itself to wisdom or the understanding, and not wisdom or the understanding to love or the will; also from this it is evident that knowledge, which love acquires to itself by the affection for knowing, and perception of truth, which it acquires by the affection for understanding, and thought which it acquires by the affection for seeing what it knows and understands, are not of the understanding but of love. thoughts, perceptions, and knowledges therefrom, flow in, it is true, out of the spiritual world, yet they are received not by the understanding but by love, according to its affections in the understanding. it appears as if the understanding received them, and not love or the will, but this is an illusion. it appears also as if the understanding conjoined itself to love or the will, but this too, is an illusion; love or the will conjoins itself to the understanding, and causes the understanding to be reciprocally conjoined to it. this reciprocal conjunction is from love's marriage with wisdom, wherefrom a conjunction seemingly reciprocal, from the life and consequent power of love, is effected. it is the same with the marriage of good and truth; for good is of love and truth is of the understanding. good does everything and it receives truth into its house and conjoins itself with it so far as the truth is accordant. good can also admit truths which are not accordant; but this it does from an affection for knowing, for understanding, and for thinking its own things, whilst it has not as yet determined itself to uses, which are its ends and are called its goods. of reciprocal conjunction, that is, the conjunction of truth with good, there is none whatever. that truth is reciprocally conjoined is from the life belonging to good. from this it is that every man and every spirit and angel is regarded by the lord according to his love or good, and no one according to his intellect, or his truth separate from love or good. for man's life is his love (as was shown above), and his life is qualified according as he has exalted his affections by means of truth, that is, according as he has perfected his affections by wisdom. for the affections of love are exalted and perfected by means of truths, thus by means of wisdom. then love acts conjointly with its wisdom, as though from it; but it acts from itself through wisdom, as through its own form, and this derives nothing whatever from the understanding, but everything from a kind of determination of love called affection. . all things that favor it love calls its goods, and all things that as means lead to goods it calls its truths; and because these are means they are loved and come to be of its affection and thus become affections in form; therefore truth is nothing else than a form of the affection that is of love. the human form is nothing else than the form of all the affections of love; beauty is its intelligence, which it procures for itself through truths received either by sight or by hearing, external and internal. these are what love disposes into the form of its affections; and these forms exist in great variety; but all derive a likeness from their general form, which is the human. to the love all such forms are beautiful and lovely, but others are unbeautiful and unlovely. from this, again, it is evident that love conjoins itself to the understanding, and not the reverse, and that the reciprocal conjunction is also from love. this is what is meant by love or the will causing wisdom or the understanding to be reciprocally conjoined to it. . what has been said may be seen in a kind of image and thus corroborated by the correspondence of the heart with love and of the lungs with the understanding (of which above). for if the heart corresponds to love, its determinations, which are arteries and veins, correspond to affections, and in the lungs to affections for truth; and as there are also other vessels in the lungs called air vessels, whereby respiration is carried on, these vessels correspond to perceptions. it must be distinctly understood that the arteries and veins in the lungs are not affections, and that respirations are not perceptions and thoughts, but that they are correspondences, that is, they act correspondently or synchronously; likewise that the heart and the lungs are not the love and understanding, but correspondences: and inasmuch as they are correspondences the one can be seen in the other. whoever from anatomy has come to understand the whole structure of the lungs can see clearly, when he compares it with the understanding, that the understanding does not act at all by itself, does not perceive nor think by itself, but acts wholly by affections which are of love. these, in the understanding, are called affection for knowing, for understanding, and for seeing truth (which have been treated of above). for all states of the lungs depend on the blood from the heart and from the vena cava and aorta; and respirations, which take place in the bronchial branches, proceed in accordance with the state of those vessels; for when the flow of the blood stops, respiration stops. much more may be disclosed by comparing the structure of the lungs with the understanding, to which the lungs correspond; but as few are familiar with anatomical science, and to try to demonstrate or prove anything by what is unknown renders it obscure, it is not well to say more on this subject. by what i know of the structure of the lungs i am fully convinced that love through its affections conjoins itself to the understanding, and that the understanding does not conjoin itself to any affection of love, but that it is reciprocally conjoined by love, to the end that love may have sensitive life and active life. but it must not be forgotten that man has a twofold respiration, one of the spirit and another of the body; and that the respiration of the spirit depends on the fibers from the brains, and the respiration of the body on the blood-vessels from the heart, and from the vena cava and aorta. it is evident, moreover, that thought produces respiration; it is evident, also, that affection, which is of love, produces thought, for thought without affection is precisely like respiration without a heart, a thing impossible. from this it is clear that affection, which is of love, conjoins itself to thought, which is of the understanding (as was said above), in like manner as the heart does in the lungs. . ( ) wisdom or the understanding, from the potency given to it by love, can be elevated and can receive such things as are of light out of heaven, and perceive them. that man has the ability to perceive arcana of wisdom when he hears them, has been shown above in many places. this capacity of man is called rationality. it belongs to every man by creation. it is the capacity to understand things interiorly, and to decide what is just and right, and what is good and true; and by it man is distinguished from beasts. this, then, is what is meant when it is said, that the understanding can be elevated and receive things that are of light out of heaven, and perceive them. that this is so can also be seen in a kind of image in the lungs, for the reason that the lungs correspond to the understanding. in the lungs it can be seen from their cellular substance, which consists of bronchial tubes continued down to the minutest air-cells, which are receptacles of air in respirations; these are what the thoughts make one with by correspondence. this cell-like substance is such that it can be expanded and contracted in a twofold mode, in one mode with the heart, in the other almost separate from the heart. in the former, it is expanded and contracted through the pulmonary arteries and veins, which are from the heart alone; in the latter, through the bronchial arteries and veins, which are from the vena cava and aorta, and these vessels are outside of the heart. this takes place in the lungs for the reason that the understanding is capable of being raised above its proper love, which corresponds to the heart, and to receive light from heaven. still, when the understanding is raised above its proper love, it does not withdraw from it, but derives from it what is called the affection for knowing and understanding, with a view to somewhat of honor, glory, or gain in the world; this clings to every love as a surface, and by it the love shines on the surface; but with the wise, the love shines through. these things respecting the lungs are brought forward to prove that the understanding can be elevated and can receive and perceive things that are of the light of heaven; for the correspondence is plenary. to see from correspondence is to see the lungs from the understanding, and the understanding from the lungs, and thus from both together to perceive proof. . ( ) love or the will can in like manner be elevated and can receive such things as are of heat out of heaven provided it loves wisdom, its consort, in that degree. that the understanding can be elevated into the light of heaven, and from that light draw forth wisdom, has been shown in the preceding chapter and in many places above; also that love or the will can be elevated as well, provided it loves those things that are of the light of heaven or that are of wisdom, has also been shown in many places. yet love or the will cannot be thus elevated through anything of honor, glory, or gain as an end, but only through a love of use, thus not for the sake of self, but for the sake of the neighbor; and because this love is given only by the lord out of heaven, and is given by the lord when man flees from evils as sins, therefore it is that love or the will can be elevated by these means, and cannot without these means. but love or the will is elevated into heaven's heat, while the understanding is elevated into its light. when both are elevated, a marriage of the two takes place there, which is called celestial marriage, because it is a marriage of celestial love and wisdom; consequently it is said that love also is elevated if it loves wisdom, its consort, in that degree. the love of wisdom, that is, the genuine love of the human understanding is love towards the neighbor from the lord. it is the same with light and heat in the world. light exists without heat and with heat; light is without heat in winter time, and with heat in summer time; and when heat is with light all things flourish. the light with man that corresponds to the light of winter is wisdom without its love; and the light with man that corresponds to the light of summer is wisdom with its love. . this conjunction and disjunction of wisdom and love can be seen effigied, as it were, in the conjunction of the lungs with the heart. for the heart can be conjoined to the clustering vesicles of the bronchia by blood sent out from itself, and also by blood sent out not from itself but from the vena cava and the aorta. thereby the respiration of the body can be separated from the respiration of the spirit; but when blood from the heart alone acts the respirations cannot be separated. now since thoughts act as one with respirations by correspondence it is plain, from the twofold state of the lungs in respirations, that man is able to think and from thoughts to speak and act in one way when in company with others, and to think and from thought to speak and act in another way when not in company, that is, when he has no fear of loss of reputation; for he can then think and speak against god, the neighbor, the spiritual things of the church, and against moral and civil laws; and he can also act contrary to them, by stealing, by being revengeful, by blaspheming, by committing adultery. but in company with others, where he is afraid of losing reputation, he can talk, preach and act precisely like a spiritual, moral and civil man. from all this it can be seen that love or the will as well as the understanding can be elevated and can receive such things as are of the heat or love of heaven, provided it loves wisdom in that degree, and if it does not love wisdom, that it can as it were be separated. . ( ) otherwise love or the will draws down wisdom, or the understanding, from its elevation, that it may act as one with itself. there is natural love and there is spiritual love. a man who is in natural and in spiritual love both at once, is a rational man; but one who is in natural love alone, although able to think rationally, precisely like a spiritual man, is not a rational man; for although he elevates his understanding even to heavenly light, thus to wisdom, yet the things of wisdom, that is, of heavenly light, do not belong to his love. his love, it is true, effects the elevation, but from desire for honor, glory and gain. but when he perceives that he gains nothing of the kind from that elevation (as is the case when he thinks with himself from his own natural love), then he does not love the things of heavenly light or wisdom; consequently he then draws down the understanding from its height, that it may act as one with himself. for example: when the understanding by its elevation is in wisdom, then the love sees what justice is, what sincerity is, what chastity is, even what genuine love is. this the natural love can see by its capacity to understand and contemplate things in heavenly light; it can even talk and preach about these and explain them as at once moral and spiritual virtues. but when the understanding is not elevated, the love, if it is merely natural, does not see these virtues, but instead of justice it sees injustice, instead of sincerity deceit, instead of chastity lewdness, and so on. if it then thinks of the things it spoke of when its understanding was in elevation, it can laugh at them and speak of them merely as serviceable to it in captivating the souls of men. from all this it can be seen how it is to be understood that love, unless it loves wisdom, its consort, in that degree, draws wisdom down from its elevation, that it may act as one with itself. that love is capable of elevation if it loves wisdom in that degree, can be seen above (n. ). . now as love corresponds to the heart, and the understanding to the lungs, the foregoing statements may be corroborated by their correspondence; as, for instance, how the understanding can be elevated above its own love even into wisdom; and how, if that love is merely natural, the understanding is drawn down by it from that elevation. man has a twofold respiration; one of the body, the other of the spirit. these two respirations may be separated and they may be conjoined; with men merely natural, especially with hypocrites, they are separated, but rarely with men who are spiritual and sincere. consequently a merely natural man and hypocrite, whose understanding has been elevated, and in whose memory therefore various things of wisdom remain, can talk wisely in company by thought from the memory; but when not in company, he does not think from the memory, but from his spirit, thus from his love. he also respires in like manner, inasmuch as thought and respiration act correspondently. that the structure of the lungs is such that they can respire both by blood from the heart and by blood from outside of the heart has been shown above. . it is the common opinion that wisdom makes the man; therefore when any one is heard to talk and teach wisely he is believed to be wise; yea, he himself believes it at the time, because when he talks or teaches in company he thinks from the memory, and if he is a merely natural man, from the surface of his love, which is a desire for honor, glory, and gain; but when the same man is alone he thinks from the more inward love of his spirit, and then not wisely, but sometimes insanely. from all this it can be seen that no one is to be judged of by wise speaking, but by his life; that is, not by wise speaking separate from life, but by wise speaking conjoined to life. by life is meant love. that love is the life has been shown above. . ( ) love or the will is purified in the understanding, if they are elevated together. from birth man loves nothing but self and the world, for nothing else appears before his eyes, consequently nothing else occupies his mind. this love is corporeal-natural, and may be called material love. moreover, this love has become impure by reason of the separation of heavenly love from it in parents. this love could not be separated from its impurity unless man had a power to raise his understanding into the light of heaven, and to see how he ought to live in order that his love, as well as his understanding, may be elevated into wisdom. by means of the understanding, love, that is, the man, sees what the evils are that defile and corrupt the love; he also sees that if he flees from those evils as sins and turns away from them, he loves the things that are opposite to those evils; all of which are heavenly. then also he perceives the means by which he is enabled to flee from and turn away from those evils as sins. this the love, that is, the man, sees, by the exercise of his power to elevate his understanding into the light of heaven, which is the source of wisdom. then so far as love gives heaven the first place and the world the second, and at the same time gives the lord the first place and self the second, so far love is purged of its uncleanness and is purified; in other words, is raised into the heat of heaven, and conjoined with the light of heaven in which the understanding is; and the marriage takes place that is called the marriage of good and truth, that is, of love and wisdom. any one can comprehend intellectually and see rationally, that so far as he flees from and turns away from theft and cheating, so far he loves sincerity, rectitude and justice; so far as he flees and turns away from revenge and hatred, so far he loves the neighbor; and so far as he flees and turns away from adulteries, so far he loves chastity; and so on. and yet scarcely any one knows what there is of heaven and the lord in sincerity, rectitude, justice, love towards the neighbor, chastity, and other affections of heavenly love, until he has removed their opposites. when he has removed the opposites, then he is in those affections, and therefrom recognizes and sees them. previously there is a kind of veil interposed, that does, indeed, transmit to love the light of heaven; yet inasmuch as the love does not in that degree love its consort, wisdom, it does not receive it, yea, may even contradict and rebuke it when it returns from its elevation. still man flatters himself that the wisdom of his understanding may be made serviceable as a means to honor, glory, or gain. then man gives self and the world the first place, and the lord and heaven the second, and what has the second place is loved only so far as it is serviceable, and if it is not serviceable it is disowned and rejected; if not before death, then after it. from all this the truth is now evident, that love or the will is purified in the understanding if they are elevated together. . the same thing is imaged in the lungs, whose arteries and veins correspond to the affections of love, and whose respirations correspond to the perceptions and thoughts of the understanding, as has been said above. that the heart's blood is purified of undigested matters in the lungs, and nourishes itself with suitable food from the inhaled air, is evident from much observation. ( ) that the blood is purified of undigested matter in the lungs, is evident not only from the influent blood, which is venous, and therefore filled with the chyle collected from food and drink, but also from the moisture of the outgoing breath and from its odor as perceived by others, as well as from the diminished quantity of the blood flowing back into the left ventricle of the heart. ( ) that the blood nourishes itself with suitable food from the inhaled air is evident from the immense volumes of odors and exhalations continually flowing forth from fields, gardens, and woods; from the immense supply of salts of various kinds in the water that rises from the ground and from rivers and ponds, and from the immense quantity of exhalations and effluvia from human beings and animals with which the air is impregnated. that these things flow into the lungs with the inhaled air is undeniable: it is therefore undeniable also that from them the blood draws such things as are useful to it; and such things are useful as correspond to the affections of its love. for this reason there are, in the vesicles or innermost recesses of the lungs, little veins in great abundance with tiny mouths that absorb these suitable matters; consequently, the blood that flows back into the left ventricle of the heart is changed into arterial blood of brilliant hue. these facts prove that the blood purifies itself of heterogeneous things and nourishes itself with homogeneous things. that the blood in the lungs purifies and nourishes itself correspondently to the affections of the mind is as yet unknown; but in the spiritual world it is very well known, for angels in the heavens find delight only in the odors that correspond to the love of their wisdom, while the spirits in hell find delight only in the odors that correspond to a love opposed to wisdom; these are foul odors, but the former are fragrant. it follows that men in the world impregnate their blood with similar things according to correspondence with the affections of their love; for what the spirit of a man loves, his blood according to correspondence craves and by respiration attracts. from this correspondence it results that man as regards his love is purified if he loves wisdom, and is defiled if he does not love it. moreover, all purification of man is effected by means of the truths of wisdom, and all pollution of man is effected by means of falsities that are opposite to the truths of wisdom. . ( ) love or the will is defiled in the understanding and by it, if they are not elevated together. this is because love, if not elevated, remains impure (as stated above, n. , ); and while it remains impure it loves what is impure, such as revenges, hatreds, deceits, blasphemes, adulteries, for these are then its affections that are called lusts, and it rejects what belongs to charity, justice, sincerity, truth, and chastity. love is said to be defiled in the understanding, and by it; in the understanding, when love is affected by these impure things; by the understanding, when love makes the things of wisdom to become its servants, and still more when it perverts, falsifies, and adulterates them. of the corresponding state of the heart, or of its blood in the lungs, there is no need to say more than has been said above (n. ), except that instead of the purification of the blood its defilement takes place; and instead of the nutrition of the blood by fragrant odors its nutrition is effected by stenches, precisely as it is respectively in heaven and in hell. . ( ) love, when purified by wisdom in the understanding, becomes spiritual and celestial. man is born natural, but in the measure in which his understanding is raised into the light of heaven, and his love conjointly is raised into the heat of heaven, he becomes spiritual and celestial; he then becomes like a garden of eden, which is at once in vernal light and vernal heat. it is not the understanding that becomes spiritual and celestial, but the love; and when the love has so become, it makes its consort, the understanding, spiritual and celestial. love becomes spiritual and celestial by a life according to the truths of wisdom which the understanding teaches and requires. love imbibes these truths by means of its understanding, and not from itself; for love cannot elevate itself unless it knows truths, and these it can learn only by means of an elevated and enlightened understanding; and then so far as it loves truths in the practice of them so far it is elevated; for to understand is one thing and to will is another; or to say is one thing and to do is another. there are those who understand and talk about the truths of wisdom, yet neither will nor practise them. when, therefore, love puts in practice the truths of light which it understands and speaks, it is elevated. this one can see from reason alone; for what kind of a man is he who understands the truths of wisdom and talks about them while he lives contrary to them, that is, while his will and conduct are opposed to them? love purified by wisdom becomes spiritual and celestial, for the reason that man has three degrees of life, called natural, spiritual, and celestial (of which in the third part of this work), and he is capable of elevation from one degree into another. yet he is not elevated by wisdom alone, but by a life according to wisdom, for a man's life is his love. consequently, so far as his life is according to wisdom, so far he loves wisdom; and his life is so far according to wisdom as he purifies himself from uncleannesses, which are sins; and so far as he does this does he love wisdom. . that love purified by the wisdom in the understanding becomes spiritual and celestial cannot be seen so clearly by their correspondence with the heart and lungs, because no one can see the quality of the blood by which the lungs are kept in their state of respiration. the blood may abound in impurities, and yet not be distinguishable from pure blood. moreover, the respiration of a merely natural man appears the same as the respiration of a spiritual man. but the difference is clearly discerned in heaven, for there every one respires according to the marriage of love and wisdom; therefore as angels are recognized according to that marriage, so are they recognized according to their respiration. for this reason it is that when one who is not in that marriage enters heaven, he is seized with anguish in the breast, and struggles for breath like a man in the agonies of death; such persons, therefore throw themselves headlong from the place, nor do they find rest until they are among those who are in a respiration similar to their own; for then by correspondence they are in similar affection, and therefore in similar thought. from all this it can be seen that with the spiritual man it is the purer blood, called by some the animal spirit, which is purified; and that it is purified so far as the man is in the marriage of love and wisdom. it is this purer blood which corresponds most nearly to that marriage; and because this blood inflows into the blood of the body, it follows that the latter blood is also purified by means of it. the reverse is true of those in whom love is defiled in the understanding. but, as was said, no one can test this by any experiment on the blood; but he can by observing the affections of love, since these correspond to the blood. . ( ) love, when defiled in the understanding and by it, becomes natural, sensual, and corporeal. natural love separated from spiritual love is the opposite of spiritual love; because natural love is love of self and of the world, and spiritual love is love to the lord and love to the neighbor; and love of self and the world looks downward and outward, and love to the lord looks upward and inward. consequently when natural love is separated from spiritual love it cannot be elevated above what is man's own, but remains immersed in it, and so far as it loves it, is glued to it. then if the understanding ascends, and sees by the light of heaven such things as are of wisdom, this natural love draws down such wisdom, and joins her to itself in what is its own; and there either rejects the things of wisdom or falsifies them or encircles itself with them, that it may talk about them for reputation's sake. as natural love can ascend by degrees and become spiritual and celestial, in the same way it can descend by degrees and become sensual and corporeal, and it does descend so far as it loves dominion from no love of use, but solely from love of self. it is this love which is called the devil. those who are in this love are able to speak and act in the same manner as those who are in spiritual love; but they do this either from memory or from the understanding elevated by itself into the light of heaven. nevertheless, what they say and do is comparatively like fruit that appears beautiful on the surface but is wholly rotten within; or like almonds which from the shell appear sound but are wholly worm-eaten within. these things in the spiritual world are called fantasies, and by means of them harlots, there called sirens, make themselves appear handsome, and adorn themselves with beautiful garments; but when the fantasy is dissipated the sirens appear like ghosts, and are like devils who make themselves angels of light. for when that corporeal love draws its understanding down from its elevation, as it does when man is alone and thinks from his own love, then he thinks against god in favor of nature, against heaven in favor of the world, and against the truths and goods of the church in favor of the falsities and evils of hell; thus against wisdom. from this the character of those who are called corporeal men can be seen: for they are not corporeal in understanding, but corporeal in love; that is, they are not corporeal in understanding when they converse in company, but are so when they hold converse with themselves in spirit; and being such in spirit, therefore after death they become, both in love and in understanding, spirits that are called corporeal. those who in the world had been in a supreme love of ruling from the love of self, and had also surpassed others in elevation of understanding, then appear in body like egyptian mummies, and in mind gross and silly. who in the world at the present day is aware that this love in itself is of such a nature? yet a love of ruling from love of use is possible, but only from love of use for the sake of the common good, not for the sake of self. it is difficult, however, for man to distinguish the one love from the other, although the difference between them is like that between heaven and hell. the differences between these two loves of ruling may be seen in the work on heaven and hell (n. - ). . ( ) the capacity to understand called rationality and the capacity to act called freedom, still remain. these two capacities belonging to man have been treated of above (n. - ). man has these two capacities that he may from being natural become spiritual, that is, may be regenerated. for, as was said above, it is man's love that becomes spiritual, and is regenerated; and it cannot become spiritual or be regenerated unless it knows, by means of its understanding, what evil is and what good is, and therefore what truth is and what falsity is. when it knows this it can choose either one or the other; and if it chooses good it can, by means of its understanding, be instructed about the means by which to attain to good. all the means by which man is enabled to attain good are provided. it is by rationality that man is able to know and understand these means, and by freedom that he is able to will and to do them. there is also a freedom to will to know, to understand, and to think these means. those who hold from church doctrine that things spiritual or theological transcend the understanding, and are therefore to be believed apart from the understanding know nothing of these capacities called rationality and freedom. these cannot do otherwise than deny that there is a capacity called rationality. those, too, who hold from church doctrine that no one is able to do good from himself, and consequently that good is not to be done from any will to be saved, cannot do otherwise than deny, from a principle of religion, the existence of both these capacities which belong to man. therefore, those who have confirmed themselves in these things, after death, in agreement with their faith, are deprived of both these capacities; and in place of heavenly freedom, in which they might have been, are in infernal freedom, and in place of angelic wisdom from rationality, in which they might have been, are in infernal insanity; and what is wonderful, they claim that both these capacities have place in doing what is evil and thinking what is false, not knowing that the exercise of freedom in doing what is evil is slavery, and that the exercise of the reason to think what is false is irrational. but it is to be carefully noted that these capacities, freedom and rationality, are neither of them man's, but are of the lord in man, and that they cannot be appropriated to man as his; nor indeed, can they be given to man as his, but are continually of the lord in man, and yet are never taken away from man; and this because without them man cannot be saved, for without them he cannot be regenerated (as has been said above). for this reason man is instructed by the church that from himself he can neither think what is true nor do what is good. but inasmuch as man perceives no otherwise than that he thinks from himself what is true and does from himself what is good, it is very evident that he ought to believe that he thinks as if from himself what is true, and does as if from himself what is good. for if he does not believe this, either he does not think what is true nor do what is good, and therefore has no religion, or he thinks what is true and does what is good from himself, and thus ascribes to himself that which is divine. that man ought to think what is true and do good as if from himself, may be seen in the doctrine of life for the new jerusalem, from beginning to end. . ( ) spiritual and celestial love is love toward the neighbor and love to the lord; and natural and sensual love is love of the world and love of self. by love toward the neighbor is meant the love of uses, and by love to the lord is meant the love of doing uses (as has been shown before). these loves are spiritual and celestial, because loving uses and doing them from a love of them, is distinct from the love of what is man's own; for whoever loves uses spiritually looks not to self, but to others outside of self for whose good he is moved. opposed to these loves are the loves of self and of the world, for these look to uses not for the sake of others but for the sake of self; and those who do this invert divine order, and put self in the lord's place, and the world in the place of heaven; as a consequence they look backward, away from the lord and away from heaven, and looking backward away from these is looking to hell. (more about these loves may be seen above, n. .) yet man does not feel and perceive the love of performing uses for the sake of uses as he feels and perceives the love of performing uses for the sake of self; consequently when he is performing uses he does not know whether he is doing them for the sake of uses or for the sake of self. but let him know that he is performing uses for the sake of uses in the measure in which he flees from evils; for so far as he flees from evils, he performs uses not for himself, but from the lord. for evil and good are opposites; so far as one is not in evil he is in good. no one can be in evil and in good at the same time, because no one can serve two masters at the same time. all this has been said to show that although man does not sensibly perceive whether the uses which he performs are for the sake of use or for the sake of self, that is, whether the uses are spiritual or merely natural, still he can know it by this, whether or not he considers evils to be sins. if he regards them as sins, and for that reason abstains from doing them, the uses which he does are spiritual. and when one who does this flees from sins from a feeling of aversion, he then begins to have a sensible perception of the love of uses for the sake of uses, and this from spiritual enjoyment in them. . ( ) it is the same with charity and faith and their conjunction as with the will and understanding and their conjunction. there are two loves, according to which the heavens are distinct, celestial love and spiritual love. celestial love is love to the lord, and spiritual love is love towards the neighbor. these loves are distinguished by this, that celestial love is the love of good, and spiritual love the love of truth; for those who are in celestial love perform uses from love of good, and those in spiritual love from love of truth. the marriage of celestial love is with wisdom, and the marriage of spiritual love with intelligence; for it is of wisdom to do good from good, and it is of intelligence to do good from truth, consequently celestial love does what is good, and spiritual love does what is true. the difference between these two loves can be defined only in this way, that those who are in celestial love have wisdom inscribed on their life, and not on the memory, for which reason they do not talk about divine truths, but do them; while those who are in spiritual love have wisdom inscribed on their memory, therefore they talk about divine truths, and do them from principles in the memory. because those who are in celestial love have wisdom inscribed on their life, they perceive instantly whether whatever they hear is true or not; and when asked whether it is true, they answer only, it is, or it is not. these are they who are meant by the words of the lord: let your speech be yea, yea, nay, nay (matt. : ). and because they are such, they are unwilling to hear anything about faith, saying, what is faith? is it not wisdom? and what is charity? is it not doing ? and when told that faith is believing what is not understood, they turn away, saying, the man is crazy. these are they who are in the third heaven, and who are the wisest of all. such have they become who in the world have applied the divine truths which they have heard immediately to the life by turning away from evils as infernal, and worshiping the lord alone. these, since they are in innocence, appear to others as infants; and since they never talk about the truths of wisdom and there is nothing of pride in their discourse, they also appear simple. nevertheless, when they hear any one speaking, they perceive from the tone all things of his love, and from the speech all things of his intelligence. these are they who are in the marriage of love and wisdom from the lord; and who represent the heart region of heaven, mentioned above. . those, however, who are in spiritual love, which is love towards the neighbor, do not have wisdom inscribed on their life, but intelligence; for it is of wisdom to do good from affection for good, while it is of intelligence to do good from affection for truth (as has been said above). neither do these know what faith is. when faith is mentioned they understand truth, and when charity is mentioned they understand doing the truth; and when told that they must believe, they call it empty talk, and ask, who does not believe what is true? this they say because they see truth in the light of their own heaven; therefore, to believe what they do not see they call either simplicity or foolishness. these are they who constitute the lung region of heaven, also mentioned above. . but those who are in spiritual-natural love have neither wisdom nor intelligence inscribed on their life, but only something of faith out of the word, so far as this has been conjoined with charity. inasmuch as these do not know what charity is, or whether faith be truth, they cannot be among those in the heavens who are in wisdom and intelligence, but among those who are in knowledge only. yet such of them as have fled from evil as sins are in the outmost heaven, and are in a light there like the light of the moon by night; while those who have not confirmed themselves in a faith in what is unknown, but have cherished a kind of affection for truth are instructed by angels, and according to their reception of truths and a life in agreement therewith, are raised into the societies of those who are in spiritual love and therefore in intelligence. those become spiritual, the rest becoming spiritual-natural. but those who have lived in faith separate from charity are removed, and sent away into deserts, because they are not in any good, thus not in any marriage of good and truth, in which all are who are in the heavens. . all that has been said of love and wisdom in this part may be said of charity and faith, if by charity spiritual love is understood, and by faith the truth whereby there is intelligence. it is the same whether the terms will and understanding, or love and intelligence be used, since the will is the receptacle of love, and the understanding of intelligence. . to this i will add the following notable experience:-in heaven all who perform uses from affection for use, because of the communion in which they live are wiser and happier than others; and with them performing uses is acting sincerely, uprightly, justly, and faithfully in the work proper to the calling of each. this they call charity; and observances pertaining to worship they call signs of charity, and other things they call obligations and favors; saying that when one performs the duties of his calling sincerely, uprightly, justly, and faithfully, the good of the community is maintained and perpetuated, and that this is to "be in the lord," because all that flows in from the lord is use, and it flows in from the parts into the community, and flows out from the community to the parts. the parts there are angels, and the community is a society of them. . what man's beginning is from conception. what man's beginning or primitive form is in the womb after conception no one can know, because it cannot be seen; moreover, it is made up of spiritual substance, which is not visible by natural light. now because there are some in the world who are eager to investigate even the primitive form of man, which is seed from the father, from which conception is effected, and because many of these have fallen into the error of thinking that man is in his fullness from his first, which is the rudiment, and is afterwards perfected by growth, it has been disclosed to me what that rudiment or first is in its form. it has been disclosed to me by angels, to whom it was revealed by the lord; and because they had made it a part of their wisdom, and it is the joy of their wisdom to communicate to others what they know, permission having been granted, they presented before my eyes in the light of heaven a type of man's initial form, which was as follows: there appeared as it were a tiny image of a brain with a delicate delineation of something like a face in front, with no appendage. this primitive form in the upper convex part was a structure of contiguous globules or spherules, and each spherule was a joining together of those more minute, and each of these in like manner of those most minute. it was thus of three degrees. in front, in the flat part, a kind of delineation appeared for a face. the convex part was covered round about with a very delicate skin or membrane which was transparent. the convex part, which was a type of the brain in least forms, was also divided into two beds, as it were, just as the brain in its larger form is divided into hemispheres. it was told me that the right bed was the receptacle of love, and the left the receptacle of wisdom; and that by wonderful interweavings these were like consorts and partners. it was further shown in the light of heaven, which fell brightly on it, that the structure of this little brain within, as to position and movement, was in the order and form of heaven, and that its outer structure was in direct opposition to that order and form. after these things were seen and pointed out, the angels said that the two interior degrees, which were in the order and form of heaven, were the receptacles of love and wisdom from the lord; and that the exterior degree, which was in direct opposition to the order and form of heaven, was the receptacle of hellish love and insanity; for the reason that man, by hereditary corruption, is born into evils of every kind, and these evils reside there in the outermosts; and that this corruption is not removed unless the higher degrees are opened, which, as was said, are the receptacles of love and wisdom from the lord. and as love and wisdom are very man, for love and wisdom in their essence are the lord, and this primitive form of man is a receptacle, it follows that in that primitive form there is a continual effort towards the human form, which also it gradually assumes. this ebook was produced by david widger from etext # prepared by dennis mccarthy, atlanta, georgia and tad book, student, pontifical north american college, rome. the holy bible translated from the latin vulgate diligently compared with the hebrew, greek, and other editions in divers languages the old testament first published by the english college at douay a.d. & and the new testament first published by the english college at rheims a.d. with annotations the whole revised and diligently compared with the latin vulgate by bishop richard challoner a.d. - the book of wisdom this book is so called, because it treats of the excellence of wisdom, the means to obtain it, and the happy fruits it produces. it is written in the person of solomon, and contains his sentiments. but it is uncertain who was the writer. it abounds with instructions and exhortations to kings and all magistrates to minister justice in the commonwealth, teaching all kinds of virtues under the general names of justice and wisdom. it contains also many prophecies of christ's coming, passion, resurrection, and other christian mysteries. the whole may be divided into three parts. in the first six chapters, the author admonishes all superiors to love and exercise justice and wisdom. in the next three, he teacheth that wisdom proceedeth only from god, and is procured by prayer and a good life. in the other ten chapters, he sheweth the excellent effects and utility of wisdom and justice. wisdom chapter an exhortation to seek god sincerely, who cannot be deceived, and desireth not our death. : . love justice, you that are the judges of the earth. think of the lord in goodness, and seek him in simplicity of heart: : . for he is found by them that tempt him not: and he sheweth himself to them that have faith in him. : . for perverse thoughts separate from god: and his power, when it is tried, reproveth the unwise: : . for wisdom will not enter into a malicious soul, nor dwell in a body subject to sins. : . for the holy spirit of discipline will flee from the deceitful, and will withdraw himself from thoughts that are without understanding, and he shall not abide when iniquity cometh in. : . for the spirit of wisdom is benevolent, and will not acquit the evil speaker from his lips: for god is witness of his reins, and he is a true searcher of his heart, and a hearer of his tongue. : . for the spirit of the lord hath filled the whole world: and that which containeth all things, hath knowledge of the voice. : . therefore he that speaketh unjust things, cannot be hid, neither shall the chastising judgment pass him by. : . for inquisition shall be made into the thoughts of the ungodly, and the hearing of his words shall come to god, to the chastising of his iniquities. : . for the ear of jealousy heareth all things, and the tumult of murmuring shall not be hid. : . keep yourselves, therefore, from murmuring, which profiteth nothing, and refrain your tongue from detraction, for an obscure speech shall not go for nought: and the mouth that belieth, killeth the soul. : . seek not death in the error of your life, neither procure ye destruction by the works of your hands. : . for god made not death, neither hath he pleasure in the destruction of the living. : . for he created all things that they might be: and he made the nations of the earth for health: and there is no poison of destruction in them, nor kingdom of hell upon the earth. : . for justice is perpetual and immortal. : . but the wicked with works and words have called it to them: and esteeming it a friend, have fallen away and have made a covenant with it: because they are worthy to be of the part thereof. wisdom chapter the vain reasonings of the wicked: their persecuting the just, especially the son of god. : . for they have said, reasoning with themselves, but not right: the time of our life is short and tedious, and in the end of a man there is no remedy, and no man hath been known to have returned from hell: : . for we are born of nothing, and after this we shall be as if we had not been: for the breath in our nostrils is smoke: and speech a spark to move our heart, : . which being put out, our body shall be ashes, and our spirit shall be poured abroad as soft air, and our life shall pass away as the trace of a cloud, and shall be dispersed as a mist, which is driven away by the beams of the sun, and overpowered with the heat thereof: : . and our name in time shall be forgotten, and no man shall have any remembrance of our works. : . for our time is as the passing of a shadow, and there is no going back of our end: for it is fast sealed, and no man returneth: : . come, therefore, and let us enjoy the good things that are present, and let us speedily use the creatures as in youth. : . let us fill ourselves with costly wine, and ointments: and let not the flower of the time pass by us. : . let us crown ourselves with roses, before they be withered: let no meadow escape our riot. : . let none of us go without his part in luxury: let us every where leave tokens of joy: for this is our portion, and this our lot. : . let us oppress the poor just man, and not spare the widow, nor honour the ancient grey hairs of the aged. : . but let our strength be the law of justice: for that which is feeble is found to be nothing worth. : . let us, therefore, lie in wait for the just, because he is not for our turn, and he is contrary to our doings, and upbraideth us with transgressions of the law, and divulgeth against us the sins of our way of life. : . he boasteth that he hath the knowledge of god, and calleth himself the son of god. : . he is become a censurer of our thoughts. : . he is grievous unto us, even to behold: for his life is not like other men's, and his ways are very different. : . we are esteemed by him as triflers, and he abstaineth from our ways as from filthiness, and he preferreth the latter end of the just, and glorieth that he hath god for his father. : . let us see then if his words be true, and let us prove what shall happen to him, and we shall know what his end shall be. : . for if he be the true son of god, he will defend him, and will deliver him from the hands of his enemies. : . let us examine him by outrages and tortures, that we may know his meekness, and try his patience. : . let us condemn him to a most shameful death: for there shall be respect had unto him by his words. : . these things they thought, and were deceived: for their own malice blinded them. : . and they knew not the secrets of god, nor hoped for the wages of justice, nor esteemed the honour of holy souls. : . for god created man incorruptible, and to the image of his own likeness he made him. : . but by the envy of the devil, death came into the world: : . and they follow him that are of his side. wisdom chapter the happiness of the just: and the unhappiness of the wicked. : . but the souls of the just are in the hand of god, and the torment of death shall not touch them. : . in the sight of the unwise they seemed to die: and their departure was taken for misery: : . and their going away from us, for utter destruction: but they are in peace. : . and though in the sight of men they suffered torments, their hope is full of immortality. : . afflicted in few things, in many they shall be well rewarded: because god hath tried them, and found them worthy of himself. : . as gold in the furnace, he hath proved them, and as a victim of a holocaust, he hath received them, and in time there shall be respect had to them. : . the just shall shine, and shall run to and fro like sparks among the reeds. : . they shall judge nations, and rule over people, and their lord shall reign for ever. : . they that trust in him shall understand the truth: and they that are faithful in love, shall rest in him: for grace and peace are to his elect. : . but the wicked shall be punished according to their own devices: who have neglected the just, and have revolted from the lord. : . for he that rejecteth wisdom, and discipline, is unhappy: and their hope is vain, and their labours without fruit, and their works unprofitable. : . their wives are foolish, and their children wicked. : . their offspring is cursed, for happy is the barren: and the undefiled, that hath not known bed in sin, she shall have fruit in the visitation of holy souls. : . and the eunuch, that hath not wrought iniquity with his hands, nor thought wicked things against god for the precious gift of faith shall be given to him, and a most acceptable lot in the temple of god. : . for the fruit of good labours is glorious, and the root of wisdom never faileth. : . but the children of adulterers shall not come to perfection, and the seed of the unlawful bed shall be rooted out. : . and if they live long, they shall be nothing regarded, and their last old age shall be without honour. : . and if they die quickly, they shall have no hope, nor speech of comfort in the day of trial. : . for dreadful are the ends of a wicked race. wisdom chapter the difference between the chaste and the adulterous generations: and between the death of the just and the wicked. : . how beautiful is the chaste generation with glory: for the memory thereof is immortal: because it is known both with god and with men. : . when it is present, they imitate it: and they desire it, when it hath withdrawn itself, and it triumpheth crowned for ever, winning the reward of undefiled conflicts. : . but the multiplied brood of the wicked shall not thrive, and bastard slips shall not take deep root, nor any fast foundation. : . and if they flourish in branches for a time, yet standing not fast, they shall be shaken with the wind, and through the force of winds they shall be rooted out. : . for the branches not being perfect, shall be broken, and their fruits shall be unprofitable, and sour to eat, and fit for nothing. : . for the children that are born of unlawful beds, are witnesses of wickedness against their parents in their trial. : . but the just man, if he be prevented with death, shall be in rest. : . for venerable old age is not that of long time, nor counted by the number of years: but the understanding of a man is grey hairs. : . and a spotless life is old age. : . he pleased god, and was beloved, and living among sinners, he was translated. : . he was taken away, lest wickedness should alter his understanding, or deceit beguile his soul. : . for the bewitching of vanity obscureth good things, and the wandering of concupiscence overturneth the innocent mind. : . being made perfect in a short space, he fulfilled a long time. : . for his soul pleased god: therefore he hastened to bring him out of the midst of iniquities: but the people see this, and understand not, nor lay up such things in their hearts: : . that the grace of god, and his mercy is with his saints, and that he hath respect to his chosen. : . but the just that is dead, condemneth the wicked that are living, and youth soon ended, the long life of the unjust. : . for they shall see the end of the wise man, and it shall not understand what god hath designed for him, and why the lord hath set him in safety. : . they shall see him, and shall despise him: but the lord shall laugh them to scorn. : . and they shall fall after this without honour, and be a reproach among the dead for ever: for he shall burst them puffed up and speechless, and shall shake them from the foundations, and they shall be utterly laid waste: they shall be in sorrow, and their memory shall perish. : . they shall come with fear at the thought of their sins, and their iniquities shall stand against them to convict them. wisdom chapter the fruitless repentance of the wicked in another world: the reward of the just. : . then shall the just stand with great constancy against those that have afflicted them, and taken away their labours. : . these seeing it, shall be troubled with terrible fear, and shall be amazed at the suddenness of their unexpected salvation, : . saying within themselves, repenting, and groaning for anguish of spirit: these are they, whom we had sometime in derision, and for a parable of reproach. : . we fools esteemed their life madness, and their end without honour. : . behold, how they are numbered among the children of god, and their lot is among the saints. : . therefore we have erred from the way of truth, and the light of justice hath not shined unto us, and the sun of understanding hath not risen upon us. : . we wearied ourselves in the way of iniquity and destruction, and have walked through hard ways, but the way of the lord we have not known. : . what hath pride profited us? or what advantage hath the boasting of riches brought us? : . all those things are passed away like a shadow, and like a post that runneth on, : . and as a ship, that passeth through the waves: whereof when it is gone by, the trace cannot be found nor the path of its keel in the waters: : . or as when a bird flieth through the air, of the passage of which no mark can be found, but only the sound of the wings beating the light air, and parting it by the force of her flight: she moved her wings, and hath flown through, and there is no mark found afterwards of her way: : . or as when an arrow is shot at a mark, the divided air quickly cometh together again, so that the passage thereof is not known: : . so we also being born, forthwith ceased to be: and have been able to shew no mark of virtue: but are consumed in our wickedness. : . such things as these the sinners said in hell: : . for the hope of the wicked is as dust, which is blown away with the wind, and as a thin froth which is dispersed by the storm: and a smoke that is scattered abroad by the wind: and as the remembrance of a guest of one day that passeth by. : . but the just shall live for evermore: and their reward is with the lord, and the care of them with the most high. : . therefore shall they receive a kingdom of glory, and a crown of beauty at the hand of the lord: for with his right hand he will cover them, and with his holy arm he will defend them. : . and his zeal will take armour, and he will arm the creature for the revenge of his enemies. : . he will put on justice as a breastplate, and will take true judgment instead of a helmet: : . he will take equity for an invincible shield: : . and he will sharpen his severe wrath for a spear, and the whole world shall fight with him against the unwise. : . then shafts of lightning shall go directly from the clouds, as from a bow well bent, they shall be shot out, and shall fly to the mark. : . and thick hail shall be cast upon them from the stone casting wrath: the water of the sea shall rage against them, and the rivers shall run together in a terrible manner. : . a mighty wind shall stand up against them, and as a whirlwind shall divide them: and their iniquity shall bring all the earth to a desert, and wickedness shall overthrow the thrones of the mighty. wisdom chapter an address to princes to seek after wisdom: she is easily found by those that seek her. : . wisdom is better than strength: and a wise man is better than a strong man. : . hear, therefore, ye kings, and understand, learn ye that are judges of the ends of the earth. : . give ear, you that rule the people, and that please yourselves in multitudes of nations: : . for power is given you by the lord, and strength by the most high, who will examine your works: and search out your thoughts: : . because being ministers of his kingdom, you have not judged rightly, nor kept the law of justice, nor walked according to the will of god. : . horribly and speedily will he appear to you: for a most severe judgment shall be for them that bear rule. : . for to him that is little, mercy is granted: but the mighty shall be mightily tormented. : . for god will not except any man's person, neither will he stand in awe of any man's greatness: for he made the little and the great, and he hath equally care of all. : . but a greater punishment is ready for the more mighty. : . to you, therefore, o kings, are these my words, that you may learn wisdom, and not fall from it. : . for they that have kept just things justly, shall be justified: and they that have learned these things, shall find what to answer. : . covet ye, therefore, my words, and love them, and you shall have instruction. : . wisdom is glorious, and never fadeth away, and is easily seen by them that love her, and is found by them that seek her. : . she preventeth them that covet her, so that she first sheweth herself unto them. : . he that awaketh early to seek her, shall not labour: for he shall find her sitting at his door. : . to think, therefore, upon her, is perfect understanding: and he that watcheth for her, shall quickly be secure. : . for she goeth about seeking such as are worthy of her, and she sheweth herself to them cheerfully in the ways, and meeteth them with all providence. : . for the beginning of her is the most true desire of discipline. : . and the care of discipline is love: and love is the keeping of her laws: and the keeping of her laws is the firm foundation of incorruption: : . and incorruption bringeth near to god. : . therefore the desire of wisdom bringeth to the everlasting kingdom. : . if then your delight be in thrones, and sceptres, o ye kings of the people, love wisdom, that you may reign for ever. : . love the light of wisdom, all ye that bear rule over peoples. : . now what wisdom is, and what was her origin, i will declare: and i will not hide from you the mysteries of god, but will seek her out from the beginning of her birth, and bring the knowledge of her to light, and will not pass over the truth: : . neither will i go with consuming envy: for such a man shall not be partaker of wisdom. : . now the multitude of the wise is the welfare of the whole world: and a wise king is the upholding of the people. : . receive, therefore, instruction by my words, and it shall be profitable to you. wisdom chapter the excellence of wisdom: how she is to be found. : . i myself am a mortal man, like all others, and of the race of him, that was first made of the earth, and in the womb of my mother i was fashioned to be flesh. : . in the time of ten months i was compacted in blood, of the seed of man, and the pleasure of sleep concurring. : . and being born, i drew in the common air, and fell upon the earth, that is made alike, and the first voice which i uttered was crying, as all others do. : . i was nursed in swaddling clothes, and with great cares. : . for none of the kings had any other beginning of birth. : . for all men have one entrance into life, and the like going out. : . wherefore i wished, and understanding was given me: and i called upon god, and the spirit of wisdom came upon me: : . and i preferred her before kingdoms and thrones, and esteemed riches nothing in comparison of her. : . neither did i compare unto her any precious stone: for all gold, in comparison of her, is as a little sand; and silver, in respect to her, shall be counted as clay. : . i loved her above health and beauty, and chose to have her instead of light: for her light cannot be put out. : . now all good things came to me together with her, and innumerable riches through her hands, : . and i rejoiced in all these: for this wisdom went before me, and i knew not that she was the mother of them all. : . which i have learned without guile, and communicate without envy, and her riches i hide not. : . for she is an infinite treasure to men: which they that use, become the friends of god, being commended for the gifts of discipline. : . and god hath given to me to speak as i would, and to conceive thoughts worthy of those things that are given me: because he is the guide of wisdom, and the director of the wise: : . for in his hand are both we, and our words, and all wisdom, and the knowledge and skill of works. : . for he hath given me the true knowledge of the things that are: to know the disposition of the whole world, and the virtues of the elements, : . the beginning, and ending, and midst of the times, the alterations of their courses, and the changes of seasons, : . the revolutions of the year, and the dispositions of the stars, : . the natures of living creatures, and rage of wild beasts, the force of winds, and reasonings of men, the diversities of plants, and the virtues of roots, : . and all such things as are hid, and not foreseen, i have learned: for wisdom, which is the worker of all things, taught me. : . for in her is the spirit of understanding; holy, one, manifold, subtile, eloquent, active, undefiled, sure, sweet, loving that which is good, quick, which nothing hindereth, beneficent, : . gentle, kind, steadfast, assured, secure, having all power, overseeing all things, and containing all spirits: intelligible, pure, subtile: : . for wisdom is more active than all active things; and reacheth everywhere, by reason of her purity. : . for she is a vapour of the power of god, and a certain pure emmanation of the glory of the almighty god: and therefore no defiled thing cometh into her. : . for she is the brightness of eternal light, and the unspotted mirror of god's majesty, and the image of his goodness. : . and being but one, she can do all things: and remaining in herself the same, she reneweth all things, and through nations conveyeth herself into holy souls, she maketh the friends of god and prophets. : . for god loveth none but him that dwelleth with wisdom. : . for she is more beautiful than the sun, and above all the order of the stars: being compared with the light, she is found before it. : . for after this cometh night, but no evil can overcome wisdom. wisdom chapter further praises of wisdom: and her fruits. : . she reacheth, therefore, from end to end mightily, and ordereth all things sweetly. : . her have i loved, and have sought her out from my youth, and have desired to take for my spouse, and i became a lover of her beauty. : . she glorifieth her nobility by being conversant with god: yea, and the lord of all things hath loved her. : . for it is she that teacheth the knowledge of god and is the chooser of his works. : . and if riches be desired in life, what is richer than wisdom, which maketh all things? : . and if sense do work: who is a more artful worker than she of those things that are? : . and if a man love justice: her labours have great virtues: for she teacheth temperance, and prudence, and justice, and fortitude, which are such things as men can have nothing more profitable in life. : . and if a man desire much knowledge: she knoweth things past, and judgeth of things to come: she knoweth the subtilties of speeches, and the solutions of arguments: she knoweth signs and wonders before they be done, and the events of times and ages. : . i purposed, therefore, to take her to me to live with me: knowing that she will communicate to me of her good things, and will be a comfort in my cares and grief. : . for her sake i shall have glory among the multitude, and honour with the ancients, though i be young: : . and i shall be found of a quick conceit in judgment, and shall be admired in the sight of the mighty, and the faces of princes shall wonder at me. : . they shall wait for me when i hold my peace, and they shall look upon me when i speak; and if i talk much, they shall lay their hands on their mouth. : . moreover, by the means of her i shall have immortality: and shall leave behind me an everlasting memory to them that come after me. : . i shall set the people in order: and nations shall be subject to me. : . terrible kings hearing, shall be afraid of me: among the multitude i shall be found good, and valiant in war. : . when i go into my house, i shall repose myself with her: for her conversation hath no bitterness, nor her company any tediousness, but joy and gladness. : . thinking these things with myself, and pondering them in my heart, that to be allied to wisdom is immortality, : . and that there is great delight in her friendship, and inexhaustible riches in the works of her hands, and in the exercise of conference with her, wisdom, and glory in the communication of her words: i went about seeking, that i might take her to myself. : . and i was a witty child, and had received a good soul. : . and whereas i was more good, i came to a body undefiled. : . and as i knew that i could not otherwise be continent, except god gave it, and this also was a point of wisdom, to know whose gift it was, i went to the lord, and besought him, and said with my whole heart: wisdom chapter solomon's prayer for wisdom. : . god of my fathers, and lord of mercy, who hast made all things with thy word, : . and by thy wisdom hast appointed man, that he should have dominion over the creature that was made by thee, : . that he should order the world according to equity and justice, and execute justice with an upright heart: : . give me wisdom, that sitteth by thy throne, and cast me not off from among thy children: : . for i am thy servant, and the son of thy handmaid, a weak man, and of short time, and falling short of the understanding of judgment and laws. : . for if one be perfect among the children of men, yet if thy wisdom be not with him, he shall be nothing regarded. : . thou hast chosen me to be king of thy people, and a judge of thy sons and daughters: : . and hast commanded me to build a temple on thy holy mount, and an altar in the city of thy dwelling place, a resemblance of thy holy tabernacle, which thou hast prepared from the beginning: : . and thy wisdom with thee, which knoweth thy works, which then also was present when thou madest the world, and knew what was agreeable to thy eyes, and what was right in thy commandments. : . send her out of thy holy heaven, and from the throne of thy majesty, that she may be with me, and may labour with me, that i may know what is acceptable with thee: : . for she knoweth and understandeth all things, and shall lead me soberly in my works, and shall preserve me by her power. : . so shall my works be acceptable, and i shall govern thy people justly, and shall be worthy of the throne of my father. : . for who among men is he that can know the counsel of god? or who can think what the will of god is? : . for the thoughts of mortal men are fearful, and our counsels uncertain. : . for the corruptible body is a load upon the soul, and the earthly habitation presseth down the mind that museth upon many things. : . and hardly do we guess aright at things that are upon earth: and with labour do we find the things that are before us. but the things that are in heaven, who shall search out? : . and who shall know thy thought, except thou give wisdom, and send thy holy spirit from above: : . and so the ways of them that are upon earth may be corrected, and men may learn the things that please thee? : . for by wisdom they were healed, whosoever have pleased thee, o lord, from the beginning. wisdom chapter what wisdom did for adam, noe, abraham, lot, jacob, joseph, and the people of israel. : . she preserved him, that was first formed by god, the father of the world, when he was created alone, : . and she brought him out of his sin, and gave him power to govern all things. : . but when the unjust went away from her in his anger, he perished by the fury wherewith he murdered his brother. the unjust... cain. : . for whose cause, when water destroyed the earth, wisdom healed it again, directing the course of the just by contemptible wood. for whose cause... viz., for the wickedness of the race of cain.-ibid. the just... noe. : . moreover, when the nations had conspired together to consent to wickedness, she knew the just, and preserved him without blame to god, and kept him strong against the compassion for his son. she knew the just... she found out and approved abraham. ibid. and kept him strong, etc... gave him strength to stand firm against the efforts of his natural tenderness, when he was ordered to sacrifice his son. : . she delivered the just man, who fled from the wicked that were perishing, when the fire came down upon pentapolis: the just man... lot.-ibid. pentapolis... the land of the five cities, sodom, gomorrha, etc. : . whose land, for a testimony of their wickedness, is desolate, and smoketh to this day, and the trees bear fruits that ripen not, and a standing pillar of salt is a monument of an incredulous soul. : . for regarding not wisdom, they did not only slip in this, that they were ignorant of good things; but they left also unto men a memorial of their folly, so that in the things in which they sinned, they could not so much as lie hid. : . but wisdom hath delivered from sorrow them that attend upon her. : . she conducted the just, when he fled from his brother's wrath, through the right ways, and shewed him the kingdom of god, and gave him the knowledge of the holy things, made him honourable in his labours, and accomplished his labours. the just... jacob. : . in the deceit of them that overreached him, she stood by him, and made him honourable. : . she kept him safe from his enemies, and she defended him from seducers, and gave him a strong conflict, that he might overcome, and know that wisdom is mightier than all. conflict... viz., with the angel. : . she forsook not the just when he was sold, but delivered him from sinners: she went down with him into the pit. the just when he was sold... viz., joseph. : . and in bands she left him not, till she brought him the sceptre of the kingdom, and power against those that oppressed him: and shewed them to be liars that had accused him, and gave him everlasting glory. : . she delivered the just people, and blameless seed, from the nations that oppressed them. : . she entered into the soul of the servant of god and stood against dreadful kings in wonders and signs. the servant of god... viz., moses. : . and she rendered to the just the wages of their labours, and conducted them in a wonderful way: and she was to them for a covert by day, and for the light of stars by night: : . and she brought them through the red sea, and carried them over through a great water. : . but their enemies she drowned in the sea, and from the depth of hell she brought them out. therefore the just took the spoils of the wicked. : . and they sung to thy holy name, o lord, and they praised with one accord thy victorious hand. : . for wisdom opened the mouth of the dumb, and made the tongues of infants eloquent. wisdom chapter other benefits of wisdom to the people of god. : . she prospered their works in the hands of the holy prophet. the holy prophet... moses. : . they went through wildernesses that were not inhabited, and in desert places they pitched their tents. : . they stood against their enemies, and revenged themselves of their adversaries. their enemies... the amalecites. : . they were thirsty, and they called upon thee, and water was given them out of the high rock, and a refreshment of their thirst out of the hard stone. : . for by what things their enemies were punished, when their drink failed them, while the children of israel abounded therewith, and rejoiced: by what things, etc... the meaning is, that god, who wrought a miracle to punish the egyptians by thirst, when he turned all their waters into blood, (at which time the israelites, who were exempt from those plagues, had plenty of water,) wrought another miracle in favour of his own people in their thirst, by giving them water out of the rock. : . by the same things they in their need were benefited. : . for instead of a fountain of an ever running river, thou gavest human blood to the unjust. : . and whilst they were diminished for a manifest reproof of their murdering the infants, thou gavest to thine abundant water unlooked for: : . shewing by the thirst that was then, how thou didst exalt thine, and didst kill their adversaries. : . for when they were tried, and chastised with mercy, they knew how the wicked were judged with wrath, and tormented. : . for thou didst admonish and try them as a father: but the others, as a severe king, thou didst examine and condemn. : . for whether absent or present, they were tormented alike. : . for a double affliction came upon them, and a groaning for the remembrance of things past. : . for when they heard that by their punishments the others were benefited, they remembered the lord, wondering at the end of what was come to pass. by their punishments, etc... that is, that the israelites had been benefited and miraculously favoured in the same kind, in which they had been punished. : . for whom they scorned before, when he was thrown out at the time of his being wickedly exposed to perish, him they admired in the end, when they saw the event: their thirsting being unlike to that of the just. : . but for the foolish devices of their iniqnity, because some being deceived worshipped dumb serpents and worthless beasts, thou didst send upon them a multitude of dumb beasts for vengeance: dumb beasts... viz., frogs, sciniphs, flies, and locusts. : . that they might know that by what things a man sinneth, by the same also he is tormented. : . for thy almighty hand, which made the world of matter without form, was not unable to send upon them a multitude of bears, or fierce lions, : . or unknown beasts of a new kind, full of rage; either breathing out a fiery vapour, or sending forth a stinking smoke, or shooting horrible sparks out of their eyes: : . whereof not only the hurt might be able to destroy them, but also the very sight might kill them through fear. : . yea, and without these, they might have been slain with one blast, persecuted by their own deeds, and scattered by the breath of thy power: but thou hast ordered all things in measure, and number, and weight. : . for great power always belonged to thee alone: and who shall resist the strength of thy arm? : . for the whole world before thee is as the least grain of the balance, and as a drop of the morning dew, that falleth down upon tho earth. : . but thou hast mercy upon all, because thou canst do all things, and overlookest the sins of men for the sake of repentance. : . for thou lovest all things that are, and hatest none of the things which thou hast made: for thou didst not appoint, or make any thing hating it. : . and how could any thing endure, if thou wouldst not? or be preserved, if not called by thee? : . but thou sparest all: because they are thine, o lord, who lovest souls. wisdom chapter god's wisdom and mercy in his proceedings with the chanaanites. : . o how good and sweet is thy spirit, o lord, in all things! : . and therefore thou chastisest them that err, by little and little: and admonishest them, and speakest to them, concerning the things wherein they offend: that leaving their wickedness, they may believe in thee, o lord. : . for those ancient inhabitants of thy holy land, whom thou didst abhor, : . because they did works hateful to thee by their sorceries, and wicked sacrifices, : . and those merciless murderers of their own children, and eaters of men's bowels, and devourers of blood from the midst of thy consecration, from the midst of thy consecration... literally, sacrament. that is, the land sacred to thee, in which thy temple was to be established, and man's redemption to be wrought. : . and those parents sacrificing with their own hands helpless souls, it was thy will to destroy by the hands of our parents, : . that the land which of all is most dear to thee, might receive a worthy colony of the children of god. : . yet even those thou sparedst as men, and didst send wasps forerunners of thy host, to destroy them by little and little. : . not that thou wast unable to bring the wicked under the just by war, or by cruel beasts, or with one rough word to destroy them at once: : . but executing thy judgments by degrees, thou gavest them place of repentance, not being ignorant that they were a wicked generation, and their malice natural, and that their thought could never be changed. : . for it was a cursed seed from the beginning: neither didst thou for fear of any one give pardon to their sins. : . for who shall say to thee: what hast thou done? or who shall withstand thy judgment? or who shall come before thee to be a revenger of wicked men? or who shall accuse thee, if the nations perish, which thou hast made? : . for there is no other god but thou, who hast care of all, that thou shouldst shew that thou dost not give judgment unjustly. : . neither shall king, nor tyrant, in thy sight inquire about them whom thou hast destroyed. : . for so much then, as thou art just, thou orderest all things justly: thinking it not agreeable to the power, to condemn him who deserveth not to be punished. : . for thy power is the beginning of justice: and because thou art lord of all, thou makest thyself gracious to all. : . for thou shewest thy power, when men will not believe thee to be absolute in power, and thou convincest the boldness of them that know thee not. : . but thou being master of power, judgest with tranquillity, and with great favour disposest of us: for thy power is at hand when thou wilt. : . but thou hast taught thy people by such works, that they must be just and humane, and hast made thy children to be of a good hope: because in judging, thou givest place for repentance for sins. : . for if thou didst punish the enemies of thy servants, and that deserved to die, with so great deliberation, giving them time and place whereby they might be changed from their wickedness: : . with what circumspection hast thou judged thy own children, to whose parents thou hast sworn, and made covenants of good promises? : . therefore whereas thou chastisest us, thou scourgest our enemies very many ways, to the end that when we judge we may think on thy goodness: and when we are judged, we may hope for thy mercy. : . wherefore thou hast also greatly tormented them, who, in their life, have lived foolishly and unjustly, by the same things which they worshipped. : . for they went astray for a long time in the ways of error, holding those things for gods which are the most worthless among beasts, living after the manner of children without understanding. : . therefore thou hast sent a judgment upon them, as senseless children, to mock them. : . but they that were not amended by mockeries and reprehensions, experienced the worthy judgment of god. : . for seeing, with indignation, that they suffered by those very things which they took for gods, when they were destroyed by the same, they acknowledged him the true god, whom in time past they denied that they knew: for which cause the end also of their condemnation came upon them. wisdom chapter idolaters are inexcusable: and those most of all that worship for gods the works of the hands of men. : . but all men are vain, in whom there is not the knowledge of god: and who by these good things that are seen, could not understand him that is, neither by attending to the works have acknowledged who was the workman: : . but have imagined either the fire, or the wind, or the swift air, or the circle of the stars, or the great water, or the sun and moon, to be the gods that rule the world. : . with whose beauty, if they, being delighted, took them to be gods: let them know how much the lord of them is more beautiful than they: for the first author of beauty made all those things. : . or if they admired their power, and their effects, let them understand by them, that he that made them, is mightier than they: : . for by the greatness of the beauty, and of the creature, the creator of them may be seen, so as to be known thereby. : . but yet as to these they are less to be blamed. for they perhaps err, seeking god, and desirous to find him. : . for being conversant among his works, they search: and they are persuaded that the things are good which are seen. : . but then again they are not to be pardoned. : . for if they were able to know so much as to make a judgment of the world: how did they not more easily find out the lord thereof? : . but unhappy are they, and their hope is among the dead, who have called gods the works of the hand of men, gold and silver, the inventions of art, and the resemblances of beasts, or an unprofitable stone the work of an ancient hand. : . or if an artist, a carpenter, hath cut down a tree proper for his use in the wood, and skilfully taken off all the bark thereof, and with his art, diligently formeth a vessel profitable for the common uses of life, : . and useth the chips of his work to dress his meat: : . and taking what was left thereof, which is good for nothing, being a crooked piece of wood, and full of knots, carveth it diligently when he hath nothing else to do, and by the skill of his art fashioneth it, and maketh it like the image of a man: : . or the resemblance of some beast, laying it over with vermilion, and painting it red, and covering every spot that is in it: : . and maketh a convenient dwelling place for it, and setting it in a wall, and fastening it with iron, : . providing for it, lest it should fall, knowing that it is unable to help itself: for it is an image, and hath need of help. : . and then maketh prayer to it, enquiring concerning his substance, and his children, or his marriage. and he is not ashamed to speak to that which hath no life: : . and for health he maketh supplication to the weak, and for life prayeth to that which is dead, and for help calleth upon that which is unprofitable: : . and for a good journey he petitioneth him that cannot walk: and for getting, and for working, and for the event of all things he asketh him that is unable to do any thing. wisdom chapter the beginning of worshipping idols: and the effects thereof. : . again, another designing to sail, and beginning to make his voyage through the raging waves, calleth upon a piece of wood more frail than the wood that carrieth him. : . for this the desire of gain devised, and the workman built it by his skill. : . but thy providence, o father, governeth it: for thou hast made a way even in the sea, and a most sure path among the waves, : . shewing that thou art able to save out of all things, yea, though a man went to sea without art. : . but that the works of thy wisdom might not be idle: therefore men also trust their lives even to a little wood, and passing over the sea by ship, are saved. : . and from the beginning also, when the proud giants perished, the hope of the world fleeing to a vessel, which was governed by thy hand, left to the world seed of generation. : . for blessed is the wood, by which justice cometh : . but the idol that is made by hands, is cursed, as well it, as he that made it: he because he made it; and it because being frail it is called a god. : . but to god the wicked and his wickedness are hateful alike. : . for that which is made, together with him that made it, shall suffer torments. : . therefore there shall be no respect had even to the idols of the gentiles: because the creatures of god are turned to an abomination, and a temptation to the souls of men, and a snare to the feet of the unwise. : . for the beginning of fornication is the devising of idols: and the invention of them is the corruption of life. : . for neither were they from the beginning, neither shall they be for ever. : . for by the vanity of men they came into the world: and therefore they shall be found to come shortly to an end. : . for a father being afflicted with bitter grief, made to himself the image of his son, who was quickly taken away: and him who then had died as a man, he began now to worship as a god, and appointed him rites and sacrifices among his servants. : . then, in process of time, wicked custom prevailing, this error was kept as a law, and statues were worshipped by the commandment of tyrants. : . and those whom men could not honour in presence, because they dwelt far off, they brought their resemblance from afar, and made an express image of the king, whom they had a mind to honour: that by this their diligence, they might honour as present, him that was absent. : . and to the worshipping of these, the singular diligence also of the artificer helped to set forward the ignorant. : . for he being willing to please him that employed him, laboured with all his art to make the resemblance in the best manner. : . and the multitude of men, carried away by the beauty of the work, took him now for a god, that little before was but honoured as a man. : . and this was the occasion of deceiving human life: for men serving either their affection, or their kings, gave the incommunicable name to stones and wood. : . and it was not enough for them to err about the knowledge of god, but whereas they lived in a great war of ignorance, they call so many and so great evils peace. : . for either they sacrifice their own children, or use hidden sacrifices, or keep watches full of madness, : . so that now they neither keep life, nor marriage undefiled, but one killeth another through envy, or grieveth him by adultery: : . and all things are mingled together, blood, murder, theft, and dissimulation, corruption and unfaithfulness, tumults and perjury, disquieting of the good, : . forgetfulness of god, defiling of souls, changing of nature, disorder in marriage, and the irregularity of adultery and uncleanness. : . for the worship of abominable idols is the cause, and the beginning and end of all evil. : . for either they are mad when they are merry: or they prophesy lies, or they live unjustly, or easily forswear themselves. : . for whilst they trust in idols, which are without life, though they swear amiss, they look not to be hurt. : . but for both these things they shall be justly punished, because they have thought not well of god, giving heed to idols, and have sworn unjustly, in guile despising justice. : . for it is not the power of them, by whom they swear, but the just vengeance of sinners always punisheth the transgression of the unjust. wisdom chapter the servants of god praise him who hath delivered them from idolatry; condemning both the makers and the worshippers of idols. : . but thou, our god, art gracious and true, patient, and ordering all things in mercy. : . for if we sin, we are thine, knowing thy greatness: and if we sin not, we know that we are counted with thee. : . for to know thee is perfect justice: and to know thy justice, and thy power, is the root of immortality. : . for the invention of mischievous men hath not deceived us, nor the shadow of a picture, a fruitless labour, a graven figure with divers colours, : . the sight whereof enticeth the fool to lust after it, and he loveth the lifeless figure of a dead image. : . the lovers of evil things deserve to have no better things to trust in, both they that make them, and they that love them, and they that worship them. : . the potter also tempering soft earth, with labour fashioneth every vessel for our service, and of the same clay he maketh both vessels that are for clean uses, and likewise such as serve to the contrary: but what is the use of these vessels, the potter is the judge. : . and of the same clay by a vain labour he maketh a god: he who a little before was made of earth himself, and a little after returneth to the same out of which he was taken, when his life, which was lent him, shall be called for again. : . but his care is, not that he shall labour, nor that his life is short, but he striveth with the goldsmiths and silversmiths: and he endeavoureth to do like the workers in brass, and counteth it a glory to make vain things. : . for his heart is ashes, and his hope vain earth and his life more base than clay: : . forasmuch as he knew not his maker, and him that inspired into him the soul that worketh, and that breathed into him a living spirit. : . yea, and they have counted our life a pastime and the business of life to be gain, and that we must be getting every way, even out of evil. : . for that man knoweth that he offendeth above all others, who of earthly matter maketh brittle vessels, and graven gods. : . but all the enemies of thy people that hold them in subjection, are foolish, and unhappy, and proud beyond measure: : . for they have esteemed all the idols of the heathens for gods, which neither have the use of eyes to see, nor noses to draw breath, nor ears to hear, nor fingers of hands to handle, and as for their feet, they are slow to walk. : . for man made them: and he that borroweth his own breath, fashioned them. for no man can make a god like to himself. : . for being mortal himself, he formeth a dead thing with his wicked hands. for he is better than they whom he worshippeth, because he indeed hath lived, though he were mortal, but they never. : . moreover, they worship also the vilest creatures: but things without sense, compared to these, are worse than they. : . yea, neither by sight can any man see good of these beasts. but they have fled from the praise of god, and from his blessing. wisdom chapter god's different dealings with the egyptians and with his own people. : . for these things, and by the like things to these, they were worthily punished, and were destroyed by a multitude of beasts. : . instead of which punishment, dealiug well with thy people, thou gavest them their desire of delicious food, of a new taste, preparing for them quails for their meat: : . to the end, that they indeed desiring food, by means of those things that were shewn and sent among them, might loath even that which was necessary to satisfy their desire. but these, after suffering want for a short time, tasted a new meat. they indeed desiring food, etc... he means the egyptians; who were restrained even from that food which was necessary, by the frogs and the flies that were sent amongst them, and spoiled all their meats.-ibid. but these... viz., the israelites. : . for it was requisite that inevitable destruction should come upon them that exercised tyranny: but to these it should only be shewn how their enemies were destroyed. : . for when the fierce rage of beasts came upon these, they were destroyed by the bitings of crooked serpents. : . but thy wrath endured not for ever, but they were troubled for a short time for their correction, having a sign of salvation, to put them in remembrance of the commandment of thy law. sign of salvation... the brazen serpent, an emblem of christ our saviour. : . for he that turned to it, was not healed by that which he saw, but by thee, the saviour of all. : . and in this thou didst shew to our enemies, that thou art he who deliverest from all evil. : . for the bitings of locusts, and of flies, killed them, and there was found no remedy for their life: because they were worthy to be destroyed by such things. : . but not even the teeth of venomous serpents overcame thy children: for thy mercy came and healed them. : . for they were examined for the remembrance of thy words, and were quickly healed, lest falling into deep forgetfulness, they might not be able to use thy help. : . for it was neither herb, nor mollifying plaster, that healed them, but thy word, o lord, which healeth all things. : . for it is thou, o lord, that hast power of life and death, and leadest down to the gates of death, and bringest back again: : . a man indeed killeth through malice, and when the spirit is gone forth, it shall not return, neither shall he call back the soul that is received: : . but it is impossible to escape thy hand: : . for the wicked that denied to know thee, were scourged by the strength of thy arm, being persecuted by strange waters, and hail, and rain, and consumed by fire. : . and which was wonderful, in water, which extinguisheth all things, the fire had more force: for the world fighteth for the just. the fire had more force... viz., when the fire and hail mingled together laid waste the land of egypt. ex. . : . for at one time the fire was mitigated, that the beasts which were sent against the wicked might not be burnt, but that they might see, and perceive that they were persecuted by the judgment of god. : . and at another time the fire, above its own power, burnt in the midst of water, to destroy the fruits of a wicked land. : . instead of which things, thou didst feed thy people with the food of angels, and gavest them bread from heaven, prepared without labour; having in it all that is delicious, and the sweetness of every taste. : . for thy sustenance shewed thy sweetness to thy children, and serving every man's will, it was turned to what every man liked. : . but snow and ice endured the force of fire, and melted not: that they might know that the fire, burning in the hail, and flashing in the rain, destroyed the fruits of the enemies. : . but this same again, that the just might be nourished, did even forget its own strength. : . for the creature serving thee, the creator, is made fierce against the unjust for their punishment: and abateth its strength for the benefit of them that trust in thee. : . therefore even then it was transformed into all things, and was obedient to thy grace, that nourisheth all, according to the will of them that desired it of thee: : . that thy children, o lord, whom thou lovedst, might know that it is not the growing of fruits that nourisheth men, but thy word preserveth them that believe in thee. : . for that which could not be destroyed by fire, being warmed with a little sunbeam, presently melted away: : . that it might be known to all, that we ought to prevent the sun to bless thee, and adore thee at the dawning of the light. : . for the hope of the unthankful shall melt away as the winter's ice, and shall run off as unprofitable water. wisdom chapter the egyptian darkness. : . for thy judgments, o lord, are great, and thy words cannot be expressed: therefore undisciplined souls have erred. : . for while the wicked thought to be able to have dominion over the holy nation, they themselves being fettered with the bonds of darkness, and a long night, shut up in their houses, lay there exiled from the eternal providence. : . and while they thought to lie hid in their obscure sins, they were scattered under a dark veil of forgetfullness, being horribly afraid, and troubled with exceeding great astonishment. : . for neither did the den that held them, keep them from fear: for noises coming down troubled them, and sad visions appearing to them, affrighted them. : . and no power of fire could give them light, neither could the bright flames of the stars enlighten that horrible night. : . but there appeared to them a sudden fire, very dreadful: and being struck with the fear of that face, which was not seen, they thought the things which they saw to be worse: : . and the delusions of their magic art were put down, and their boasting of wisdom was reproachfully rebuked. : . for they who promised to drive away fears and troubles from a sick soul, were sick themselves of a fear worthy to be laughed at. : . for though no terrible thing disturbed them: yet being scared with the passing by of beasts, and hissing of serpents, they died for fear and denying that they saw the air, which could by no means be avoided. : . for whereas wickedness is fearful, it beareth witness of its condemnation: for a troubled conscience always forecasteth grievous things. : . for fear is nothing else but a yielding up of the succours from thought. : . and while there is less expectation from within, the greater doth it count the ignorance of that cause which bringeth the torment. : . but they that during that night, in which nothing could be done, and which came upon them from the lowest and deepest hell, slept the same sleep, : . were sometimes molested with the fear of monsters, sometimes fainted away, their soul failing them: for a sudden and unlooked for fear was come upon them. : . moreover, if any of them had fallen down, he was kept shut up in prison without irons. : . for if any one were a husbandman, or a shepherd, or a labourer in the field, and was suddenly overtaken, he endured a necessity from which he could not fly. : . for they were all bound together with one chain of darkness. whether it were a whistling wind, or the melodious voice of birds, among the spreading branches of trees, or a fall of water running down with violence, : . or the mighty noise of stones tumbling down, or the running that could not be seen of beasts playing together, or the roaring voice of wild beasts, or a rebounding echo from the highest mountains: these things made them to swoon for fear. : . for the whole world was enlightened, with a clear light, and none were hindered in their labours. : . but over them only was spread a heavy night, an image of that darkness which was to come upon them. but they were to themselves more grievous than the darkness. wisdom chapter the slaughter of the firstborn in egypt: the efficacy of aaron's intercession, in the sedition on occasion of core. : . but thy saints had a very great light, and they heard their voice indeed, but did not see their shape. and because they also did not suffer the same things, they glorified thee: : . and they that before had been wronged, gave thanks, because they were not hurt now: and asked this gift, that there might be a difference. : . therefore they received a burning pillar of fire for a guide of the way which they knew not, and thou gavest them a harmless sun of a good entertainment. a harmless sun... a light that should not hurt or molest them; but that should be an agreeable guest to them. : . the others indeed were worthy to be deprived of light, and imprisoned in darkness, who kept thy children shut up, by whom the pure light of the law was to be given to the world. : . and whereas they thought to kill the babes of the just: one child being cast forth, and saved to reprove them, thou tookest away a multitude of their children, and destroyedst them altogether in a mighty water. one child... viz., moses. : . for that night was known before by our fathers, that assuredly knowing what oaths they had trusted to, they might be of better courage. : . so thy people received the salvation of the just, and destruction of the unjust. : . for as thou didst punish the adversaries so thou didst also encourage and glorify us. : . for the just children of good men were offering sacrifice secretly, and they unanimously ordered a law of justice: that the just should receive both good and evil alike, singing now the praises of the fathers. of good men... viz., of the patriarchs. their children, the israelites, offered in private the sacrifice of the paschal lamb; and were regulating what they were to do in their journey, when that last and most dreadful plague was coming upon their enemies. : . but on the other side there sounded an ill according cry of the enemies, and a lamentable mourning was heard for the children that were bewailed. : . and the servant suffered the same punishment as the master, and a common man suffered in like manner as the king. : . so all alike had innumerable dead, with one kind of death. neither were the living sufficient to bury them: for in one moment the noblest offspring of them was destroyed. the noblest offspring... that is, the firstborn. : . for whereas they would not believe any thing before by reason of the enchantments, then first upon the destruction of the firstborn, they acknowledged the people to be of god. : . for while all things were in quiet silence, and the night was in the midst of her course, : . thy almighty word leaped down from heaven from thy royal throne, as a fierce conqueror into the midst of the land of destruction, : . with a sharp sword carrying thy unfeigned commandment, and he stood and filled all things with death, and standing on the earth, reached even to heaven. : . then suddenly visions of evil dreams troubled them, and fears unlooked for came upon them. : . and one thrown here, another there, half dead, shewed the cause of his death. : . for the visions that troubled them foreshewed these things, lest they should perish, and not know why they suffered these evils. : . but the just also were afterwards touched by an assault of death, and there was a disturbance of the multitude in the wilderness: but thy wrath did not long continue; : . for a blameless man made haste to pry for the people, bringing forth the shield of his ministry, prayer, and by incense making supplication, withstood the wrath, and put an end to the calamity, shewing that he was thy servant. : . and he overcame the disturbance, not by strength of body nor with force of arms, but with a word he subdued him that punished them, alleging the oath and covenant made with the fathers. : . for when they were now fallen down dead by heaps one upon another, he stood between and stayed the assault, and cut off the way to the living. : . for in the priestly robe which he wore, was the whole world: and in the four rows of the stones, the glory of the fathers was graven, and thy majesty was written upon the diadem of his head. : . and to these the destroyer gave place, and was afraid of them: for the proof only of wrath was enough. wisdom chapter why god shewed no mercy to the egyptians. his favour to the israelites. all creatures obey god's orders for the service of the good, and the punishment of the wicked. : . but as to the wicked, even to the end there came upon them wrath without mercy. for he knew before also what they would do: : . for when they had given them leave to depart and had sent them away with great care, they repented and pursued after them. : . for whilst they were yet mourning, and lamenting at the graves of the dead, they took up another foolish device: and pursued them as fugitives whom they had pressed to be gone: : . for a necessity, of which they were worthy, brought them to this end: and they lost the remembrance of those things which had happened, that their punishment might fill up what was wanting to their torments: : . and that thy people might wonderfully pass through, but they might find a new death. : . for every creature, according to its kind was fashioned again as from the beginning, obeying thy commandments, that thy children might be kept without hurt. : . for a cloud overshadowed their camps and where water was before, dry land appeared, and in the red sea a way without hindrance, and out of the great deep a springing field: : . through which all the nation passed which was protected with thy hand, seeing thy miracles and wonders. : . for they fed on their food like horses, and they skipped like lambs, praising thee, o lord, who hadst delivered them. : . for they were yet mindful of those things which had been done in the time of their sojourning, how the ground brought forth flies instead of cattle, and how the river cast up a multitude of frogs instead of fishes. : . and at length they saw a new generation of birds, when being led by their appetite, they asked for delicate meats. : . for to satisfy their desire, the quail came up to them from the sea: and punishments came upon the sinners, not without foregoing signs by the force of thunders: for they suffered justly according to their own wickedness. : . for they exercised a more detestable inhospitality than any: others indeed received not strangers unknown to them, but these brought their guests into bondage that had deserved well of them. : . and not only so, but in another respect also they were worse: for the others against their will received the strangers. : . but these grievously afflicted them whom they had received with joy, and who lived under the same laws. : . but they were struck with blindness: as those others were at the doors of the just man, when they were covered with sudden darkness, and every one sought the passage of his own door. : . for while the elements are changed in themselves, as in an instrument the sound of the quality is changed, yet all keep their sound: which may clearly be perceived by the very sight. elements are changed, etc... the meaning is, that whatever changes god wrought in the elements by miracles in favour of his people, they still kept their harmony by obeying his will. : . for the things of the land were turned into things of the water: and the things that before swam in the water passed upon the land. : . the fire had power in water above its own virtue, and the water forgot its quenching nature. : . on the other side, the flames wasted not the flesh of corruptible animals walking therein, neither did they melt that good food, which was apt to melt as ice. for in all things thou didst magnify thy people, o lord, and didst honour them, and didst not despise them, but didst assist them at all times, and in every place. that good food... the manna. the getting of wisdom by henry handel richardson to my unnamed little collaborator wisdom is the principal thing; therefore get wisdom: and with all thy getting get understanding. proverbs, iv, i. the four children were lying on the grass. "... and the prince went further and further into the forest," said the elder girl, "till he came to a beautiful glade--a glade, you know, is a place in the forest that is open and green and lovely. and there he saw a lady, a beautiful lady, in a long white dress that hung down to her ankles, with a golden belt and a golden crown. she was lying on the sward--a sward, you know, is grass as smooth as velvet, just like green velvet--and the prince saw the marks of travel on her garments. the bottom of the lovely silk dress was all dirty----" "wondrous fair, if you don't mind you'll make that sheet dirty, too," said pin. "shut up, will you!" answered her sister who, carried away by her narrative, had approached her boots to some linen that was bleaching. "yes, but you know sarah'll be awfly cross if she has to wash it again," said pin, who was practical. "you'll put me out altogether," cried laura angrily.--"well, as i said, the edge of her robe was all muddy--no, i don't think i will say that; it sounds prettier if it's clean. so it hung in long, straight beautiful folds to her ankles, and the prince saw two little feet in golden sandals peeping out from under the hem of the silken gown, and----" "but what about the marks of travel?" asked leppie. "donkey! haven't i said they weren't there? if i say they weren't, then they weren't. she hadn't travelled at all." "oh, parrakeets!" cried little frank. four pairs of eyes went up to the bright green flock that was passing over the garden. "now you've all interrupted, and i shan't tell any more," said laura in a proud voice. "oh, yes, please do, wondrous fair! tell what happened next," begged pin and leppie. "no, not another word. you can only think of sheets and parrakeets." "please, wondrous fair," begged little frank. "no, i can't now.--another thing: i don't mind if you call me laura to-day, as it's the last day." she lay back on the grass, her hands clasped under her head. a voice was heard, loud, imperative. "laura, i want you. come here." "that's mother calling," said pin. laura kicked her heels. the two little boys laughed approval. "go on, laura," coaxed pin. "mother'll be angry. i'll come, too." laura raised herself with a grumble. "it's to try on that horrid dress." in very fact mother was standing, already somewhat impatient, with the dress in her hand. laura wriggled out of the one she had on, and stood stiffly and ungraciously, with her arms held like pokers from her sides, while mother on her knees arranged the length. "don't put on a face like that, miss!" she said sharply on seeing laura's air. "do you think i'm making it for my own pleasure?" she had sewn at it all day, and was hot and tired. "it's too short," said laura, looking down. "it's nothing of the kind," said mother, with her mouth full of pins. "it is, it's much too short." mother gave her a slight shake. "don't you contradict me! do you want to tell me i don't know what length you're to wear your dresses?" "i won't wear it at all if you don't make it longer," said laura defiantly. pin's chubby, featureless little face lengthened with apprehension. "do let her have it just a tiny bit longer, mother dear, dear!" she pleaded. "now, pin, what have you got to do with it i'd like to know!" said mother, on the verge of losing her temper over the back folds, which would not hang. "i'm going to school to-morrow, and it's a shame," said laura in the low, passionate tone that never failed to exasperate mother, so different was it from her own hearty fashion of venting displeasure. pin began to sniff, in sheer nervous anxiety. "very well then, i won't do another stitch to it!" and mother, now angry in earnest, got up and bounced out of the room. "laura, how can you?" said pin, dissolving. "it's only you who make her so cross." "i don't care," said laura rebelliously, though she was not far off tears herself. "it is a shame. all the other girls will have dresses down to the tops of their boots, and they'll laugh at me, and call me a [p. ] baby;" and touched by the thought of what lay before her, she, too, began to sniffle. she did not fail, however, to roll the dress up and to throw it unto a corner of the room. she also kicked the ewer, which fell over and flooded the floor. pin cried more loudly, and ran to fetch sarah. laura returned to the garden. the two little boys came up to her; but she waved them back. "let me alone, children. i want to think." she stood in a becoming attitude by the garden-gate, her brothers hovering in the background.--then mother called once more. "laura, where are you?" "here, mother. what is it?" "did you knock this jug over or did pin?" "i did, mother." "did you do it on purpose?" "yes." "come here to me." she went, with lagging steps. but mother's anger had passed: she was at work on the dress again, and by squinting her eyes laura could see that a piece was being added to the skirt. she was penitent at once; and when mother in a sorry voice said: "i'm ashamed of you, laura. and on your last day, too," her throat grew narrow. "i didn't mean it, mother." "if only you would ask properly for things, you would get them." laura knew this; knew indeed that, did she coax, mother could refuse her nothing. but coaxing came hard to her; something within her forbade it. sarah called her "high-stomached", to the delight of the other children and her own indignation; she had explained to them again and again what sarah really meant. on leaving the house she went straight to the flower-beds: she would give mother, who liked flowers very well but had no time to gather them, a bouquet the size of a cabbage. pin and the boys were summoned to help her, and when their hands were full, laura led the way to a secluded part of the garden on the farther side of the detached brick kitchen. in this strip, which was filled with greenery, little sun fell: two thick fir trees and a monstrous blue-gum stood there; high bushes screened the fence; jessamine climbed the wall of the house and encircled the bedroom windows; and on the damp and shady ground only violets grew. yet, with the love children bear to the limited and compact, the four had chosen their own little plots here rather than in the big garden at the back of the house; and many were the times they had all begun anew to dig and to rake. but if laura's energy did not fizzle out as quickly as usual--she was the model for the rest--mother was sure to discover that it was too cramped and dark for them in there, and send sarah to drive them off. here, safely screened from sight, laura sat on a bench and made up her bouquet. when it was finished--red and white in the centre with a darker border, the whole surrounded by a ring of violet leaves--she looked about for something to tie it up with. sarah, applied to, was busy ironing, and had no string in the kitchen, so pin ran to get a reel of cotton. but while she was away laura had an idea. bidding leppie hold the flowers tight in both his sticky little hands, she climbed in at her bedroom window, or rather, by lying on the sill with her legs waving in the air, she managed to grab, without losing her balance, a pair of scissors from the chest of drawers. with these between her teeth she emerged, to the excited interest of the boys who watched her open-mouthed. laura had dark curls, pin fair, and both wore them flapping at their backs, the only difference being that laura, who was now twelve years old, had for the past year been allowed to bind hers together with a ribbon, while pin's bobbed as they chose. every morning early, mother brushed and twisted, with a kind of grim pride, these silky ringlets round her finger. although the five odd minutes the curling occupied were durance vile to laura, the child was proud of her hair in her own way; and when in the street she heard some one say: "look--what pretty curls!" she would give her head a toss and send them all a-rippling. in addition to this, there was a crowning glory connected with them: one hot december morning, when they had been tangled and mother had kept her standing too long, she had fainted, pulling the whole dressing-table down about her ears; and ever since, she had been marked off in some mysterious fashion from the other children. mother would not let her go out at midday in summer: sarah would say: "let that be, can't you!" did she try to lift something that was too heavy for her; and the younger children were to be quelled by a threat to faint on the spot, if they did not do as she wished. "laura's faint" had become a byword in the family; and laura herself held it for so important a fact in her life that she had more than once begun a friendship with the words: "have you ever fainted? i have." from among these long, glossy curls, she now cut one of the longest and most spiral, cut it off close to the root, and with it bound the flowers together. mother should see that she did know how to give up something she cared for, and was not as selfish as she was usually supposed to be. "oh .. h .. h!" said both little boys in a breath, then doubled up in noisy mirth. laura was constantly doing something to set their young blood in amazement: they looked upon her as the personification of all that was startling and unexpected. but pin, returning with the reel of thread, opened her eyes in a different way. "oh, laura ...!" she began, tearful at once. "now, res'vor!" retorted laura scornfully--"res'vor" was sarah's name for pin, on account of her perpetual wateriness. "be a cry-baby, do." but she was not damped, she was lost in the pleasure of self-sacrifice. pin looked after her as she danced off, then moved submissively in her wake to be near at hand should intercession be needed. laura was so unsuspecting, and mother would be so cross. in her dim, childish way pin longed to see these, her two nearest, at peace; she understood them both so well, and they had little or no understanding for each other.--so she crept to the house at her sister's heels. laura did not go indoors; hiding against the wall of the flagged verandah, she threw her bouquet in at the window, meaning it to fall on mother's lap. but mother had dropped her needle, and was just lifting her face, flushed with stooping, when the flowers hit her a thwack on the head. she groped again, impatiently, to find what had struck her, recognised the peace-offering, and thought of the surprise cake that was to go into laura's box on the morrow. then she saw the curl, and her face darkened. was there ever such a tiresome child? what in all the world would she do next? "laura, come here, directly!" laura had moved away; she was not expecting recognition. if mother were pleased she would call pin to put the flowers in water for her, and that would be the end of it. the idea of a word of thanks would have made laura feel uncomfortable. now, however, at the tone of mother's voice, her mouth set stubbornly. she went indoors as bidden, but was already up in arms again. "you're a very naughty girl indeed!" began mother as soon she appeared. "how dare you cut off your hair? upon my word, if it weren't your last night i'd send you to bed without any supper!"--an unheard-of threat on the part of mother, who punished her children in any way but that of denying them their food. "it's a very good thing you're leaving home to-morrow, for you'd soon be setting the others at defiance, too, and i should have four naughty children on my hands instead of one.-- but i'd be ashamed to go to school such a fright if i were you. turn round at once and let me see you!" laura turned, with a sinking heart. pin cried softly in a corner. "she thought it would please you, mother," she sobbed. "i will not have you interfering, pin, when i'm speaking to laura. she's old enough by now to know what i like and what i don't," said mother, who was vexed at the thought of the child going among strangers thus disfigured.--"and now get away, and don't let me see you again. you're a perfect sight." "oh, laura, you do look funny!" said leppie and frank in weak chorus, as she passed them in the passage. "well, you 'ave made a guy of yourself this time, miss laura, and no mistake!" said sarah, who had heard the above. laura went into her own room and locked the door, a thing mother did not allow. then she threw herself on the bed and cried. mother had not understood in the least; and she had made herself a sight into the bargain. she refused to open the door, though one after another rattled the handle, and sarah threatened to turn the hose in at the window. so they left her alone, and she spent the evening in watery dudgeon on her pillow. but before she undressed for the night she stealthily made a chink and took in the slice of cake pin had left on the door-mat. her natural buoyancy of spirit was beginning to reassert itself. by brushing her hair well to one side she could cover up the gap, she found; and after all, there was something rather pleasant in knowing that you were misunderstood. it made you feel different from everyone else. mother--sewing hard after even the busy sarah had retired--mother smiled a stern little smile of amusement to herself; and before locking up for the night put the dark curl safely away. ii. laura, sleeping flat on her stomach, was roused next morning by pin who said: "wake up, wondrous fair, mother wants to speak to you. she says you can get into bed in my place, before you dress." pin slept warm and cosy at mother's side. laura rose on her elbow and looked at her sister: pin was standing in the doorway holding her nightgown to her, in such a way as to expose all of her thin little legs. "come on," urged pin. "sarah's going to give me my bath while you're with mother." "go away, pin," said laura snappily. "i told you yesterday you could say laura, and ... and you're more like a spider than ever." "spider" was another nickname for pin, owed to her rotund little body and mere sticks of legs--she was "all belly" as sarah put it--and the mere mention of it made pin fly; for she was very touchy about her legs. as soon as the door closed behind her, laura sprang out of bed and, waiting neither to wash herself nor to say her prayers, began to pull on her clothes, confusing strings and buttons in her haste, and quite forgetting that on this eventful morning she had meant to dress herself with more than ordinary care. she was just lacing her shoes when sarah looked in. "why, miss laura, don't you know your ma wants you?" "it's too late. i'm dressed now," said laura darkly. sarah shook her head. "missis'll be fine an' angry. an' you needn't 'ave 'ad a row on your last day." laura stole out of the door and ran down the garden to the summer-house. this, the size of a goodly room, was formed of a single dense, hairy-leafed tree, round the trunk of which a seat was built. here she cowered, her elbows on her knees, her chin in her hands. her face wore the stiff expression that went by the name of "laura's sulks," but her eyes were big, and as watchful as those of a scared animal. if sarah came to fetch her she would hold on to the seat with both hands. but even if she had to yield to sarah's greater strength--well, at least she was up and dressed. not like the last time--about a week ago mother had tried this kind of thing. then, she had been caught unawares. she had gone into pin's warm place, curious and unsuspecting, and thereupon mother had begun to talk seriously to her, and not with her usual directness. she had reminded laura that she was growing up apace and would soon be a woman; had told her that she must now begin to give up childish habits, and learn to behave in a modest and womanly way--all disagreeable, disturbing things, which laura did not in the least want to hear. when it became clear to her what it was about, she had thrown back the bedclothes and escaped from the room. and since then she had been careful never to be long alone with mother. but now half an hour went by and no one came to fetch her: her grim little face relaxed. she felt very hungry, too, and when at length she heard pin calling, she jumped up and betrayed her hiding-place. "laura! laura, where are you? mother says to come to breakfast and not be silly. the coach'll be here in an hour." taking hands the sisters ran to the house. in the passage, sarah was busy roping a battered tin box. with their own hands the little boys had been allowed to paste on this a big sheet of notepaper, which bore, in mother's writing, the words: miss laura tweedle rambotham the ladies' college melbourne. mother herself was standing at the breakfast-table cutting sandwiches. "come and eat your breakfast, child," was all she said at the moment. "the tea's quite cold." laura sat down and fell to with appetite, but also with a side-glance at the generous pile of bread and meat growing under mother's hands. "i shall never eat all that," she said ungraciously; it galled her still to be considered a greedy child with an insatiable stomach. "i know better than you do what you'll eat," said mother. "you'll be hungry enough by this evening i can tell you, not getting any dinner." pin's face fell at this prospect. "oh, mother, won't she really get any dinner?" she asked: and to her soft little heart going to school began to seem one of the blackest experiences life held. "why, she'll be in the train, stupid, 'ow can she?" said sarah. "do you think trains give you dinners?" "oh, mother, please cut ever such a lot!" begged pin sniffing valiantly. laura began to feel somewhat moved herself at this solicitude, and choked down a lump in her throat with a gulp of tea. but when pin had gone with sarah to pick some nectarines, mother's face grew stern, and laura's emotion passed. "i feel more troubled about you than i can say, laura. i don't know how you'll ever get on in life--you're so disobedient and self-willed. it would serve you very well right, i'm sure, for not coming this morning, if i didn't give you a penny of pocket-money to take to school." laura had heard this threat before, and thought it wiser not to reply. gobbling up the rest of her breakfast she slipped away. with the other children at her heels she made a round of the garden, bidding good-bye to things and places. there were the two summer-houses in which she had played house; in which she had cooked and eaten and slept. there was the tall fir-tree with the rung-like branches by which she had been accustomed to climb to the very tree-top; there was the wilderness of bamboo and cane where she had been crusoe; the ancient, broadleaved cactus on which she had scratched their names and drawn their portraits; here, the high aloe that had such a mysterious charm for you, because you never knew when the hundred years might expire and the aloe burst into flower. here again was the old fig tree with the rounded, polished boughs, from which, seated as in a cradle, she had played juliet to pin's romeo, and vice versa--but oftenest juliet: for though laura greatly preferred to be the ardent lover at the foot, pin was but a poor climber, and, as she clung trembling to her branch, needed so much prompting in her lines--even then to repeat them with such feeble emphasis--that laura invariably lost patience with her and the love-scene ended in a squabble. passing behind a wooden fence which was a tangle of passion-flower, she opened the door of the fowl-house, and out strutted the mother-hen followed by her pretty brood. laura had given each of the chicks a name, and she now took napoleon and garibaldi up in her hand and laid her cheek against their downy breasts, the younger children following her movements in respectful silence. between the bars of the rabbit hutch she thrust enough greenstuff to last the two little occupants for days; and everywhere she went she was accompanied by a legless magpie, which, in spite of its infirmity, hopped cheerily and quickly on its stumps. laura had rescued it and reared it; it followed her like a dog; and she was only less devoted to it than she had been to a native bear which died under her hands. "now listen, children," she said as she rose from her knees before the hutch. "if you don't look well after maggy and the bunnies, i don't know what i'll do. the chicks'll be all right. sarah'll take care of them, 'cause of the eggs. but maggy and the bunnies don't have eggs, and if they're not fed, or if frank treads on maggy again, then they'll die. now if you let them die, i don't know what i'll do to you! yes, i do: i'll send the devil to you at night when the room's dark, before you go to sleep.--so there!" "how can you if you're not here?" asked leppie. pin, however, who believed in ghosts and apparitions with all her fearful little heart, promised tremulously never, never to forget; but laura was not satisfied until each of them in turn had repeated, in a low voice, with the appropriate gestures, the sacred secret, and forbidden formula: is my finger wet? is my finger dry? god'll strike me dead, if i tell a lie. then sarah's voice was heard calling, and the boys went out into the road to watch for the coach. laura's dressing proved a lengthy business, and was accomplished amid bustle, and scolding, and little peace-making words from pin; for in her hurry that morning laura had forgotten to put on the clean linen mother had laid beside the bed, and consequently had now to strip to the skin. the boys announced the coming of the coach with shrill cries, and simultaneously the rumble of wheels was heard. sarah came from the kitchen drying her hands, and pin began to cry. "now, shut up, res'vor!" said sarah roughly: her own eyes were moist. "you don't see miss laura be such a silly-billy. anyone 'ud think you was goin', not 'er." the ramshackle old vehicle, one of cobb's royal mail coaches, big-bodied, lumbering, scarlet, pulled by two stout horses, drew up before the door, and the driver climbed down from his seat. "now good day to you, ma'am, good day, miss"--this to sarah who, picking up the box, handed it to him to be strapped on under the apron. "well, well, and so the little girl's goin' to school, is she? my, but time flies! well do i remember the day ma'am, when i drove you all across for the first time. these children wasn't big enough then to git up and down be thimselves. now i warrant you they can--just look at 'em, will you?--but my! ain't you ashamed of yourself"--he spoke to pin--"pipin' your eye like that? why, you'll flood the road if you don't hould on.--yes, yes, ma'am, bless you, i'll look after her, and put her inter the train wid me own han's. don't you be oneasy. the lord he cares for the widder and the orphun, and if he don't, why patrick o'donnell does." this was o'donnell's standing joke; he uttered it with a loud chuckle. while speaking he had let down the steps and helped the three children up--they were to ride with laura to the outskirts of the township. the little boys giggled excitedly at his assertion that the horses would not be equal to the weight. only pin wept on, in undiminished grief. "now, miss laura." "now, laura. good-bye, darling. and do try and be good. and be sure you write once a week. and tell me everything. whether you are happy--and if you get enough to eat--and if you have enough blankets on your bed. and remember always to change your boots if you get your feet wet. and don't lean out of the window in the train." for some time past laura had had need of all her self-control, not to cry before the children. as the hour drew near it had grown harder and harder; while dressing, she had resorted to counting the number of times the profile of a roman emperor appeared in the flowers on the wallpaper. now the worst moment of all was come--the moment of good-bye. she did not look at pin, but she heard her tireless, snuffly weeping, and set her own lips tight. "yes, mother ... no, mother," she answered shortly, "i'll be all right. good-bye." she could not, however, restrain a kind of dry sob, which jumped up her throat. when she was in the coach sarah, whom she had forgotten climbed up to kiss her; and there was some joking between o'donnell and the servant while the steps were being folded and put away. laura did not smile; her thin little face was very pale. mother's heart went out to her in a pity which she did not know how to express. "don't forget your sandwiches. and when you're alone, feel in the pocket of your ulster and you'll find something nice. good-bye, darling." "good-bye ... good-bye." the driver had mounted to his seat, he unwound the reins cried "get up!" to the two burly horses, the vehicle was set in motion and trundled down the main street. until it turned the corner by the shire gardens, laura let her handkerchief fly from the window. sarah waved hers; then wiped her eyes and lustily blew her nose. mother only sighed. "it was all she could do to keep up," she said as much to herself as to sarah. "i do hope she'll be all right. she seems such a child to be sending off like this. yet what else could i do? to a state school, i've always said it, my children shall never go--not if i have to beg the money to send them elsewhere." but she sighed again, in spite of the energy of her words, and stood gazing at the place where the coach had disappeared. she was still a comparatively young woman, and straight of body; but trouble, poverty and night-watches had scored many lines on her forehead. "don't you worry," said sarah. "miss laura'll be all right. she's just a bit too clever--brains for two, that's what it is. an' children will grow up an' get big ... an' change their feathers." she spoke absently, drawing her metaphor from a brood of chickens which had strayed across the road, and was now trying to mount the wooden verandah--"shooh! get away with you!" "i know that. but laura--the other children have never given me a moment's worry. but laura's different. i seem to get less and less able to manage her. if only her father had been alive to help!" "i'm sure no father livin' could do more than you for those blessed children," said sarah with impatience. "you think of nothin' else. it 'ud be a great deal better if you took more care o' yourself. you sit up nights an' don't get no proper sleep slavin' away at that blessed embroid'ry an' stuff, so as miss laura can get off to school an' to 'er books. an' then you want to worry over 'er as well.--she'll be all right. miss laura's like peas. you've got to get 'em outer the pod--they're in there sure enough. an' b'sides i guess school'll knock all the nonsense out of 'er." "oh, i hope they won't be too hard on her," said mother in quick alarm.--"shut the side gate, will you. those children have left it open again.--and, sarah, i think we'll turn out the drawing-room." sarah grunted to herself as she went to close the gate. this had not entered into her scheme of work for the day, and her cooking was still undone. but she did not gainsay her mistress, as she otherwise would have made no scruple of doing; for she knew that nothing was more helpful to the latter in a crisis than hard, manual work. besides, sarah herself had a sneaking weakness for what she called "dra'in'-room days". for the drawing-room was the storehouse of what treasures had remained over from a past prosperity. it was crowded with bric-a-brac and ornament; and as her mistress took these objects up one by one, to dust and polish them, she would, if she were in a good humour, tell sarah where and how they had been bought, or describe the places they had originally come from: so that sarah, pausing broom in hand to listen, had with time gathered some vague ideas of a country like "inja", for example, whence came the little silver "pagody", and the expressionless brass god who squatted vacantly and at ease. iii. as long as the coach rolled down the main street laura sat bolt upright at the window. in fancy she heard people telling one another that this was little miss rambotham going to school. she was particularly glad that just as they went past the commercial hotel, miss perrotet, the landlord's red-haired daughter, should put her fuzzy head out of the window--for miss perrotet had also been to boarding-school, and thought very highly of herself in consequence, though it had only been for a year, to finish. at the national bank the manager's wife waved a friendly hand to the children, and at the royal mail hotel where they drew up for passengers or commissions, mrs. paget, the stout landlady, came out, smoothing down her black satin apron. "well, i'm sure i wonder your ma likes sendin' you off so alone." the ride had comforted pin a little; but when they had passed the chief stores and the flour-mill, and were come to a part of the road where the houses were fewer, her tears broke out afresh. the very last house was left behind, the high machinery of the claims came into view, the watery flats where chinamen were for ever rocking washdirt in cradles; and o'donnell dismounted and opened the door. he lifted the three out one by one, shaking his head in humorous dismay at pin, and as little frank showed sighs of beginning, too, by puckering up his face and [p. ] doubling up his body, the kindly man tried to make them laugh by asking if he had the stomach-ache. laura had one more glimpse of the children standing hand in hand--even in her trouble pin did not forget her charges--then a sharp bend in the road hid them from her sight. she was alone in the capacious body of the coach, alone, and the proud excitement of parting was over. the staunchly repressed tears welled up with a gush, and flinging herself down across the seat she cried bitterly. it was not a childishly irresponsible grief like pin's: it was more passionate, and went deeper; and her overloaded feelings were soon relieved. but as she was not used to crying, she missed the moment at which she might have checked herself, and went on shedding tears after they had become a luxury. "why, goodness gracious, what's this?" cried a loud, cheerful and astonished voice, and a fat, rosy face beamed in on laura. "why, here's a little girl in here, cryin' fit to break 'er heart. come, come, my dear, what's the matter? don't cry like that, now don't." the coach had stopped, the door opened and a stout woman climbed in, bearing a big basket, and followed by a young man with straw-coloured whiskers. laura sat up like a dart and pulled her hat straight, crimson with mortification at being discovered in such a plight. she had instantly curbed her tears, but she could not disguise the fact that she had red eyes and a swollen nose--that she was in short what sarah called "all bunged up". she made no reply to the newcomer's exclamations, but sat clutching her handkerchief and staring out of the window. the woman's good-natured curiosity, however, was not to be done. "you poor little thing, you!" she persisted. "wherever are you goin', my dear, so alone?" "i'm going to boarding-school," said laura, and shot a glance at the couple opposite. "to boardin'-school? peter! d'you hear?--why, whatever's your ma thinkin' of to send such a little chick as you to boardin'-school? ... and so alone, too." laura's face took on a curious air of dignity. "i'm not so very little," she answered; and went on to explain, in phrases which she had heard so often that she knew them by heart: "only small for my age. i was twelve in spring. and i have to go to school, because i've learnt all i can at home." this failed to impress the woman. "snakes alive!--that's young enough in all conscience. and such a delicate little creature, too. just like that one o' sam macfarlane's that popped off last christmas--isn't she, peter?" peter, who avoided looking at laura, sheepishly mumbled something about like enough she was. "and who is your ma, my dear? what's your name?" continued her interrogator. laura replied politely; but there was a reserve in her manner which, together with the name she gave, told enough: the widow, laura's mother, had the reputation of being very "stuck-up", and of bringing up her children in the same way. the woman did not press laura further; she whispered something behind her hand to peter, then searching in her basket found a large, red apple, which she held out with an encouraging nod and smile. "here, my dear. here's something for you. don't cry any more, don't now. it'll be all right." laura, who was well aware that she had not shed a tear since the couple entered the coach, coloured deeply, and made a movement, half shy, half unwilling, to put her hands behind her. "oh no, thank you," she said in extreme embarrassment, not wishing to hurt the giver's feelings. "mother doesn't care for us to take things from strangers." "bless her soul!" cried the stout woman in amaze. "it's only an apple! now, my dear, just you take it, and make your mind easy. your ma wouldn't have nothin' against it to-day, i'm sure o' that--goin' away so far and all so alone like this.--it's sweet and juicy." "it's melb'm you'll be boun' for i dessay?" said the yellow-haired peter so suddenly that laura started. she confirmed this, and let her solemn eyes rest on him wondering why he was so red and fidgety and uncomfortable. the woman said: "tch, tch, tch!" at the length of the journey laura was undertaking, and peter, growing still redder, volunteered another remark. "i was nigh to bein' in melb'm once meself," he said. "aye, and he can't never forget it, the silly loon," threw in the woman, but so good-naturedly that it was impossible, laura felt, for peter to take offence. she gazed at the pair, speculating upon the relation they stood in to each other. she had obediently put out her hand for the apple, and now sat holding it, without attempting to eat it. it had not been mother's precepts alone that had weighed with her in declining it; she was mortified at the idea of being bribed, as it were, to be good, just as though she were pin or one of the little boys. it was a punishment on her for having been so babyish as to cry; had she not been caught in the act, the woman would never have ventured to be so familiar.--the very largeness and rosiness of the fruit made it hateful to her, and she turned over in her mind how she could get rid of it. as the coach bumped along, her fellow-passengers sat back and shut their eyes. the road was shadeless; beneath the horses' feet a thick red dust rose like smoke. the grass by the wayside, under the scattered gum trees or round the big black boulders that dotted the hillocks, was burnt to straw. in time, laura also grew drowsy, and she was just falling into a doze when, with a jerk, the coach pulled up at the "halfway house." here her companions alighted, and there were more nods and smiles from the woman. "you eat it, my dear. i'm sure your ma won't say nothin'," was her last remark as she pushed the swing-door and vanished into the house, followed by peter. then the driver's pleasant face appeared at the window of the coach. in one hand he held a glass, in the other a bottle of lemonade. "here, little woman, have a drink. it's warm work ridin'." now this was quite different from the matter of the apple. laura's throat was parched with dust and tears. she accepted the offer gratefully, thinking as she drank how envious pin would be, could she see her drinking bottle-lemonade. then the jolting and rumbling began anew. no one else got in, and when they had passed the only two landmarks she knew--the leprous chinaman's hut and the market garden of ah chow, who twice a week jaunted at a half-trot to the township with his hanging baskets, to supply people with vegetables--when they had passed these, laura fell asleep. she wakened with a start to find that the coach had halted to apply the brakes, at the top of the precipitous hill that led down to the railway township. in a two-wheeled buggy this was an exciting descent; but the coach jammed on both its brakes, moved like a snail, and seemed hardly able to crawl. at the foot of the hill the little town lay sluggish in the sun. although it was close on midday, but few people were astir in the streets; for the place had long since ceased to be an important mining centre: the chief claims were worked out; and the coming of the railway had been powerless to give it the impetus to a new life. it was always like this in these streets of low, verandahed, red-brick houses, always dull and sleepy, and such animation as there was, was invariably to be found before the doors of the many public-houses. at one of these the coach stopped and unloaded its goods, for an interminable time. people came and looked in at the window at laura, and she was beginning to feel alarmed lest o'donnell, who had gone inside, had forgotten all about her having to catch the train, when out he came, wiping his lips. "now for the livin' luggage!" he said with a wink, and laura drew back in confusion from the laughter of a group of larrikins round the door. it was indeed high time at the station; no sooner was her box dislodged and her ticket taken than the train steamed in. o'donnell recommended her to the guard's care; she shook hands with him and thanked him, and had just been locked into a carriage by herself when he came running down the platform again, holding in his hand, for everyone to see, the apple, which laura believed she had safely hidden under the cushions of the coach. red to the roots of her hair she had to receive it before a number of heads put out to see what the matter was, and she was even forced to thank o'donnell into the bargain. then the guard came along once more, and told her he would let no one get in beside her: she need not be afraid. "yes. and will you please tell me when we come to melbourne." directly the train was clear of the station, she lowered a window and, taking aim at a telegraph post, threw the apple from her with all her might. then she hung out of the window, as far out as she could, till her hat was nearly carried off. this was the first railway journey she had made by herself, and there was an intoxicating sense of freedom in being locked in, alone, within the narrow compass of the compartment. she was at liberty to do everything that had previously been forbidden her: she walked up and down the carriage, jumped from one seat to another, then lay flat on her back singing to herself, and watching the telegraph poles fly past the windows, and the wires mount and descend.--but now came a station and, though the train did not stop, she sat up, in order that people might see she was travelling alone. she grew hungry and attacked her lunch, and it turned out that mother had not provided too much after all. when she had finished, had brushed herself clean of crumbs and handled, till her finger-tips were sore, the pompous half-crown she had found in her pocket, she fell to thinking of them at home, and of what they would now be doing. it was between two and three o'clock: the sun would be full on the flagstones of the back verandah; inch by inch pin and leppie would be driven away to find a cooler spot for their afternoon game, while little frank slept, and sarah splashed the dinner-dishes in the brick-floored kitchen. mother sat sewing, and she would still be sitting there, still sewing, when the shadow of the fir tree, which at noon was shrunken like a dwarf, had stretched to giant size, and the children had opened the front gate to play in the shade of the public footpath.--at the thought of these shadows, of all the familiar things she would not see again for months to come, laura's eyelids began to smart. they had flashed through several stations; now they stopped; and her mind was diverted by the noise and bustle. as the train swung into motion again, she fell into a pleasanter line of thought. she painted to herself, for the hundredth time, the new life towards which she was journeying, and, as always, in the brightest colours. she had arrived at school, and in a spacious apartment, which was a kind of glorified mother's drawing-room, was being introduced to a bevy of girls. they clustered round, urgent to make the acquaintance of the newcomer, who gave her hand to each with an easy grace and an appropriate word. they were too well-bred to cast a glance at her clothes, which, however she might embellish them in fancy, laura knew were not what they ought to be: her ulster was some years old, and so short that it did not cover the flounce of her dress, and this dress, and her hat with it, were mother's taste, and consequently, laura felt sure, nobody else's. but her new companions saw that she wore these clothes with an elegance that made up for their shortcomings; and she heard them whisper: "isn't she pretty? what black eyes! what lovely curls!" but she was not proud, and by her ladylike manners soon made them feel at home with her, even though they stood agape at her cleverness: none of them could claim to have absorbed the knowledge of a whole house. with one of her admirers she had soon formed a friendship that was the wonder of all who saw it: in deep respect the others drew back, forming a kind of allee, down which, with linked arms, the two friends sauntered, blind to everything but themselves.--and having embarked thus upon her sea of dreams, laura set sail and was speedily borne away. "next station you'll be there, little girl." she sprang up and looked about her, with vacant eyes. this had been the last stoppage, and the train was passing through the flats. in less than two minutes she had collected her belongings, tidied her hair and put on her gloves. some time afterwards they steamed in alongside a gravelled platform, among the stones of which a few grass-blades grew. this was melbourne. at the nearer end of the platform stood two ladies, one stout and elderly in bonnet and mantle, with glasses mounted on a black stick, and shortsighted, peering eyes; the other stout and comely, too, but young, with a fat, laughing face and rosy cheeks. laura descried them a long way off; and, as the carriage swept past them, they also saw her, eager and prominent at her window. both stared at her, and the younger lady said something, and laughed. laura instantly connected the remark, and the amusement it caused the speaker, with the showy red lining of her hat, at which she believed their eyes had been directed. she also realised, when it was too late, that her greeting had been childish, unnecessarily effusive; for the ladies had responded only by nods. here were two thrusts to parry at once, and laura's cheeks tingled. but she did not cease to smile, and she was still wearing this weak little smile, which did its best to seem easy and unconcerned, when she alighted from the train. iv. the elderly lady was laura's godmother; she lived at prahran, and it was at her house that laura would sometimes spend a monthly holiday. godmother was good to them all in a brusque, sharp-tongued fashion; but pin was her especial favourite and she made no secret of it. her companion on the platform was a cousin of laura's, of at least twice laura's age, who invariably struck awe into the children by her loud and ironic manner of speech. she was an independent, manly person, in spite of her plump roundnesses; she lived by herself in lodgings, and earned her own living as a clerk in an office. the first greetings over, godmother's attention was entirely taken up by laura's box: after this had been picked out from among the other luggage, grave doubts were expressed whether it could be got on to the back seat of the pony-carriage, to which it was conveyed by a porter and the boy. laura stood shyly by and waited, while cousin grace kept up the conversation by putting abrupt and embarrassing questions. "how's your ma?" she demanded rather than asked, in the slangy and jocular tone she employed. "i guess she'll be thanking her stars she's got rid of you;" at which laura smiled uncertainly, not being sure whether cousin grace spoke in jest or earnest. "i suppose you think no end of yourself going to boarding-school?" continued the latter. "oh no, not at all," protested laura with due modesty; and as both at question and answer cousin grace laughed boisterously, laura was glad to hear godmother calling: "come, jump in. the ponies won't stand." godmother was driving herself--a low basket-carriage, harnessed to two buff-coloured ponies. laura sat with her back to them. godmother flapped the reins and said: "get up!" but she was still fretted about the box, which was being held on behind by the boy. an inch larger, she asserted, and it would have had to be left behind. laura eyed its battered sides uneasily. godmother might remember, she thought, that it contained her whole wardrobe; and she wondered how many of godmother's own ample gowns could be compressed into so small a space. "all my clothes are inside," she explained; "that i shall need for months." "ah, i expect your poor mother has sat up sewing herself to death, that you may be as well dressed as the rest of them," said godmother, and heaved a doleful sigh. but cousin grace laughed the wide laugh that displayed a mouthful of great healthy teeth. "what? all your clothes in there?" she cried. "i say! you couldn't be a queen if you hadn't more togs than that." "oh, i know," laura hastened to reply, and grew very red. "queens need a lot more clothes than i've got." "tut, tut!" said godmother: she did not understand the allusion, which referred to a former ambition of laura's. "don't talk such nonsense to the child." she drove very badly, and they went by quiet by-streets to escape the main traffic: the pony-chaise wobbled at random from one side of the road to the other, obstacles looming up only just in time for godmother to see them. the ponies shook and tossed their heads at the constant sawing of the bits, and laura had to be continually ducking, to keep out of the way of the reins. she let the unfamiliar streets go past her in a kind of dream; and there was silence for a time, broken only by godmother's expostulations with the ponies, till cousin grace, growing tired of playing her bright eyes first on this, then on that, brought them back to laura and studied her up and down. "i say, who on earth trimmed your hat?" she asked almost at once. "mother," answered laura bravely, while the colour mounted to her cheeks again. "well, i guess she made up her mind you shouldn't get lost as long as you wore it," went on her cousin with disconcerting candour. "it makes you look just like a great big red double dahlia." "let the child be. she looks well enough," threw in godmother in her snappish way. but laura was sure that she, too disapproved; and felt more than she heard the muttered remark about "jane always having had a taste for something gay." "oh, i like the colour very much. i chose it myself," said laura, and looked straight at the two faces before her. but her lips twitched. she would have liked to snatch the hat from her head, to throw it in front of the ponies and hear them trample it under their hoofs. she had never wanted the scarlet lining of the big, upturned brim; in a dislike to being conspicuous which was incomprehensible to mother, she had implored the latter to "leave it plain". but mother had said: "nonsense!" and "hold your tongue!" and "i know better,"--with this result. oh yes, she saw well enough how godmother signed with her eyes to cousin grace to say no more; but she pretended not to notice, and for the remainder of the drive nobody spoke. they went past long lines of grey houses, joined one to another and built exactly alike; past large, fenced-in public parks where all kinds of odd, unfamiliar trees grew, with branches that ran right down their trunks, and bushy leaves. the broad streets were hilly; the wind, coming in puffs, met them with clouds of gritty white dust. they had just, with bent heads, their hands at their hats, passed through one of these miniature whirlwinds, when turning a corner they suddenly drew up, and the boy sprang to the ponies' heads. laura, who had not been expecting the end so soon, saw only a tall wooden fence; but cousin grace looked higher, gave a stagey shudder and cried: "oh my eye betty martin! aren't i glad it isn't me that's going to school! it looks just like a prison." it certainly was an imposing building viewed from within, when the paling-gate had closed behind them. to laura, who came from a township of one-storied brick or weatherboard houses, it seemed vast in its breadth and height, appalling in its sombre greyness. between godmother and cousin grace she walked up an asphalted path, and mounted the steps that led to a massive stone portico. the bell godmother rang made no answering sound, but after a very few seconds the door swung back, and a slender maidservant in cap and apron stood before them. she smiled at them pleasantly, as, in chinaman-fashion, they crossed the threshold; then, inclining her head at a murmured word from godmother, she vanished as lightly as she had come, and they sat and looked about them. they were in a plainly furnished but very lofty waiting-room. there were two large windows. the venetian blinds had not been lowered, and the afternoon sun, beating in, displayed a shabby patch on the carpet. it showed up, too, a coating of dust that had gathered on the desk-like, central table. there was the faint, distinctive smell of strange furniture. but what impressed laura most was the stillness. no street noises pierced the massy walls, but neither did the faintest echo of all that might be taking place in the great building itself reach their ears: they sat aloof, shut off, as it were, from the living world. and this feeling soon grew downright oppressive: it must be like this to be dead, thought laura to herself; and inconsequently remembered a quarter of an hour she had once spent in a dentist's ante-room: there as here the same soundless vacancy, the same anguished expectancy. now, as then, her heart began to thump so furiously that she was afraid the others would hear it. but they, too, were subdued; though cousin grace tittered continually you heard only a gentle wheezing, and even godmother expressed the hope that they would not be kept waiting long, under her breath. but minute after minute went by; there they sat and nothing happened. it began to seem as if they might sit on for ever. all of a sudden, from out the spacious halls of which they had caught a glimpse on arriving, brisk steps began to come towards them over the oilcloth--at first as a mere tapping in the distance, then rapidly gaining in weight and decision. laura's palpitations reached their extreme limit--another second and they might have burst her chest. cousin grace ceased to giggle; the door opened with a peculiar flourish; and all three rose to their feet. the person who entered was a very stately lady; she wore a cap with black ribbons. with the door-handle still in her hand she made a slight obeisance, in which her whole body joined, afterwards to become more erect than before. having introduced herself to godmother as mrs. gurley, the lady superintendent of the institution, she drew up a chair, let herself down upon it, and began to converse with an air of ineffable condescension. while she talked laura examined her, with a child's thirst for detail. mrs. gurley was large and generous of form, and she carried her head in such a haughty fashion that it made her look taller than she really was. she had a high colour, her black hair was touched with grey, her upper teeth were prominent. she wore gold eyeglasses, many rings, a long gold chain, which hung from an immense cameo brooch at her throat, and a black apron with white flowers on it, one point of which was pinned to her ample bosom. the fact that laura had just such an apron in her box went only a very little way towards reviving her spirits; for altogether mrs. gurley was the most impressive person she had ever set eyes on. beside her, god mother was nothing but a plump, shortsighted fidgety lady. particularly awe-inspiring was mrs. gurley when she listened to another speaking. she held her head a little to one side, her teeth met her underlip and her be-ringed hands toyed incessantly with the long gold chain, in a manner which seemed to denote that she set little value on what was being said. awful, too, was the habit she had of suddenly lowering her head and looking at you over the tops of her glasses: when she did this, and when her teeth came down on her lip, you would have liked to shrink to the size of a mouse. godmother, it was true, was not afraid of her; but cousin grace was hushed at last and as for laura herself, she consciously wore a fixed little simper, which was meant to put it beyond doubt that butter would not melt in her mouth. godmother now asked if she might say a few words in private, and the two ladies left the room. as the door closed behind them cousin grace began to be audible again. "oh, snakes!" she giggled, and her double chin spread itself "there's a tartar for you! don't i thank my stars it's not me that's being shunted off here! she'll give you what-for." "i don't think so. i think she's very nice," said laura staunchly, out of an instinct that made her chary of showing fear, or pain, or grief. but her heart began to bound again, for the moment in which she would be left alone. "you see!" said cousin grace. "it'll be bread and water for a week, if you can't do amare first go-off--not to mention the deponents." "what's amare?" asked laura anxiously, and her eyes grew so big that they seemed to fill her face. but cousin grace only laughed till it seemed probable that she would burst her bodice; and laura blushed, aware that she had compromised herself anew. there followed a long and nervous pause. "i bet godmother's asking her not to wallop you too often," the tease had just begun afresh, when the opening of the door forced her to swallow her sentence in the middle. godmother would not sit down; so the dreaded moment had come. "now, laura. be a good girl and learn well, and be a comfort to your mother.--not that there's much need to urge her to her books," godmother interrupted herself, turning to mrs. gurley. "the trouble her dear mother has always had has been to keep her from them." laura glowed with pleasure. now at least the awful personage would know that she was clever, and loved to learn. but mrs. gurley smiled the chilliest thinkable smile of acknowledgment, and did not reply a word. she escorted the other to the front door, and held it open for them to pass out. then, however, her pretence of affability faded clean away: turning her head just so far that she could look down her nose at her own shoulder, she said: "follow me!"--in a tone mother would not have used even to sarah. feeling inexpressibly small laura was about to obey, when a painful thought struck her. "oh please, i had a box--with my clothes in it!" she cried. "oh, i hope they haven't forgotten and taken it away again." but she might as well have spoken to the hatstand: mrs. gurley had sailed off, and was actually approaching a turn in the hall before laura made haste to follow her and to keep further anxiety about her box to herself. they went past one staircase, round a bend into shadows as black as if, outside, no sun were shining, and began to ascend another flight of stairs, which was the widest laura had ever seen. the banisters were as thick as your arm, and on each side of the stair-carpeting the space was broad enough for two to walk abreast: what a splendid game of trains you could have played there! on the other hand the landing windows were so high up that only a giant could have seen out of them. these things occurred to laura mechanically. what really occupied her, as she trudged behind, was how she could please this hard-faced woman and make her like her, for the desire to please, to be liked by all the world, was the strongest her young soul knew. and there must be a way, for godmother had found it without difficulty. she took two steps at once, to get nearer to the portly back in front of her. "what a very large place this is!" she said in an insinuating voice. she hoped the admiration, thus subtly expressed in the form of surprise, would flatter mrs. gurley, as a kind of co-proprietor; but it was evident that it did nothing of the sort: the latter seemed to have gone deaf and dumb, and marched on up the stairs, her hands clasped at her waist, her eyes fixed ahead, like a walking stone-statue. on the top floor she led the way to a room at the end of a long passage. there were four beds in this room, a washhand-stand, a chest of drawers, and a wall cupboard. but at first sight laura had eyes only for the familiar object that stood at the foot of one of the beds. "oh, there's my box!" she cried, "someone must have brought it up." it was unroped; she had simply to hand over the key. mrs. gurley went down on her knees before it, opened the lid, and began to pass the contents to laura, directing her where to lay and hang them. overawed by such complaisance, laura moved nimbly about the room shaking and unfolding, taking care to be back at the box to the minute so as not to keep mrs. gurley waiting. and her promptness was rewarded; the stern face seemed to relax. at the mere hint of this, laura grew warm through and through; and as she could neither control her feelings nor keep them to herself, she rushed to an extreme and overshot the mark. "i've got an apron like that. i think they're so pretty," she said cordially, pointing to the one mrs. gurley wore. the latter abruptly stopped her work, and, resting her hands on the sides of the box, gave laura one of the dreaded looks over her glasses, looked at her from top to toe, and as though she were only now beginning to see her. there was a pause, a momentary suspension of the breath, which laura soon learned to expect before a rebuke. "little gels," said mrs. gurley--and even in the midst of her confusion laura could not but be struck by the pronunciation of this word. "little gels--are required--to wear white aprons when they come here!"--a break after each few words, as well as an emphatic head-shake, accentuated their severity. "and i should like to know, if your mother, has never taught you, that it is very rude, to point, and also to remark, on what people wear." laura went scarlet: if there was one thing she, mother all of them prided themselves on, it was the good manners that had been instilled into them since their infancy.--the rough reproof seemed to scorch her. she went to and fro more timidly than before. then, however, something happened which held a ray of hope. "why, what is this?" asked mrs. gurley freezingly, and held up to view--with the tips of her fingers, laura thought--a small, black prayer book. "pray, are you not a dissenter?"--for the college was nonconformist. "well ... no, i'm not," said laura, in a tone of intense apology. here, at last, was her chance. "but it really doesn't matter a bit. i can go to another church quite well. i even think i'd rather. for a change. and the service isn't so long, at least so i've heard--except the sermon," she added truthfully. had she denied religion altogether, the look mrs. gurley bent on her could not have been more annihilating. "there is--unfortunately!--no occasion, for you to do anything of the kind," she retorted. "i myself, am an episcopalian, and i expect those gels, who belong to the church of england, to attend it, with me." the unpacking at an end, mrs. gurley rose, smoothed down her apron, and was just on the point of turning away, when on the bed opposite laura's she espied an under-garment, lying wantonly across the counterpane. at this blot on the orderliness of the room she seemed to swell like a turkey-cock, seemed literally to grow before laura's eyes as, striding to the door, she commanded an invisible some one to send lilith gordon to her "di-rectly!"! there was an awful pause; laura did not dare to raise her head; she even said a little prayer. mrs. gurley stood working at her chain, and tapping her foot--like a beast waiting for its prey, thought the child. and at last a hurried step was heard in the corridor, the door opened and a girl came in, high-coloured and scant of breath. laura darted one glance at mrs. gurley's face, then looked away and studied the pattern of a quilt, trying not to hear what was said. her throat swelled, grew hard and dry with pity for the culprit. but lilith gordon--a girl with sandy eyebrows, a turned-up nose, a thick plait of red-gold hair, and a figure so fully developed that laura mentally dubbed it a "lady's figure", and put its owner down for years older than herself--lilith gordon neither fell on her knees nor sank through the floor. her lashes were lowered, in a kind of dog-like submission, and her face had gone very red when laura ventured to look at her again; but that was all. and mrs. gurley having swept jove-like from the room, this bold girl actually set her finger to her nose and muttered: "old brimstone beast!" as she passed laura, too, she put out her tongue and said: "now then, goggle-eyes, what have you got to stare at?" laura was deeply hurt: she had gazed at lilith out of the purest sympathy. and now, as she stood waiting for mrs. gurley, who seemed to have forgotten her, the strangeness of things, and the general unfriendliness of the people struck home with full force. the late afternoon sun was shining in, in an unfamiliar way; outside were strange streets, strange noises, a strange white dust, the expanse of a big, strange city. she felt unspeakably far away now, from the small, snug domain of home. here, nobody wanted her ... she was alone among strangers, who did not even like her ... she had already, without meaning it, offended two of them. another second, and the shameful tears might have found their way out. but at this moment there was a kind of preparatory boom in the distance, and the next, a great bell clanged through the house, pealing on and on, long after one's ears were rasped by the din. it was followed by an exodus from the rooms round about; there was a sound of voices and of feet. mrs. gurley ceased to give orders in the passage, and returning, bade laura put on a pinafore and follow her. they descended the broad staircase. at a door just at the foot, mrs. gurley paused and smoothed her already faultless bands of hair; then turned the handle and opened the door, with the majestic swing laura had that day once before observed. v. fifty-five heads turned as if by clockwork, and fifty-five pairs of eyes were levelled at the small girl in the white apron who meekly followed mrs. gurley down the length of the dining-room. laura crimsoned under the unexpected ordeal, and tried to fix her attention on the flouncing of mrs. gurley's dress. the room seemed hundreds of feet long, and not a single person at the tea-tables but took stock of her. the girls made no scruple of leaning backwards and forwards, behind and before their neighbours, in order to see her better, and even the governesses were not above having a look. all were standing. on mrs. gurley assigning laura a place at her own right hand, laura covered herself with confusion by taking her seat at once, before grace had been said, and before the fifty-five had drawn in their chairs with the noise of a cavalry brigade on charge. she stood up again immediately, but it was too late; an audible titter whizzed round the table: the new girl had sat down. for minutes after, laura was lost in the pattern on her plate; and not till tongues were loosened and dishes being passed, did she venture to steal a glance round. there were four tables, with a governess at the head and foot of each to pour out tea. it was more of a hall than a room and had high, church-like windows down one side. at both ends were scores of pigeon-holes. there was a piano in it and a fireplace; it had [p. ] pale blue walls, and only strips of carpet on the floor. at present it was darkish, for the windows did not catch the sun. laura was roused by a voice at her side; turning, she found her neighbour offering her a plate of bread. "no, thank you," she said impulsively; for the bread was cut in chunks, and did not look inviting. but the girl nudged her on the sly. "you'd better take some," she whispered. laura then saw that there was nothing else. but she saw, too, the smiles and signs that again flew round: the new girl had said no. humbly she accepted the butter and the cup of tea which were passed to her in turn, and as humbly ate the piece of rather stale bread. she felt forlornly miserable under the fire of all these unkind eyes, which took a delight in marking her slips: at the smallest further mischance she might disgrace herself by bursting out crying. just at this moment, however, something impelled her to look up. her vis-a-vis, whom she had as yet scarcely noticed, was staring hard. and now, to her great surprise, this girl winked at her, winked slowly and deliberately with the right eye. laura was so discomposed that she looked away again at once, and some seconds elapsed before she was brave enough to take another peep. the wink was repeated. it was a black-haired girl this time, a girl with small blue eyes, a pale, freckled skin, and large white teeth. what most impressed laura, though, was her extraordinary gravity: she chewed away with a face as solemn as a parson's; and then just when you were least expecting it, came the wink. laura was fascinated: she lay in wait for it beforehand and was doubtful whether to feel offended by it or to laugh at it. but at least it made her forget her mishaps, and did away with the temptation to cry. when, however, mrs. gurley had given the signal, and the fifty-five had pushed back their chairs and set them to the table again with the same racket as before, laura's position was a painful one. everybody pushed, and talked, and laughed, in a hurry to leave the hall, and no one took any notice of her except to stare. after some indecision, she followed the rest through a door. here she found herself on a verandah facing the grounds of the school. there was a long bench, on which several people were sitting: she took a modest seat at one end. two of the younger governesses looked at her and laughed, and made a remark. she saw her room-mate, lilith gordon, arm in arm with a couple of companions. the winker of the tea-table turned out to be a girl of her own age, but of a broader make; she had fat legs, which were encased in thickly-ribbed black stockings. as she passed the bench she left the friend she was with, to come up to laura and dig her in the ribs. "didn't she like her bread and butter, poor little thing?" she said. laura shrank from the dig, which was rough; but she could not help smiling shyly at the girl, who looked good-natured. if only she had stayed and talked to her! but she was off and away, her arm round a comrade's neck. besides herself, there was now only an elderly governess left, who was reading. she, laura, in her solitude, was conspicuous to every eye. but at this juncture up came two rather rollicking older girls, one of whom was fair, with a red complexion. as soon as their loud voices had driven the governess away, the smaller of the two, who had a pronounced squint, turned to laura. "hullo, you kid," she said, "what's your name?" laura artlessly replied. she was dumbfounded by the storm of merriment that followed. maria morell, the fat girl, went purple, and had to be thumped on the back by her friend. "oh, my!" she gasped, when she had got her breath. "oh, my ... hold me, some one, or i shall split! oh, golly! laura ... tweedle ... rambotham--laura ... tweedle ... rambotham! ..." her voice tailed off again. "gosh! was there ever such a name?" she laughed till she could laugh no more, rocking backwards and forwards and from side to side; while her companion proceeded to make further inquiries. "where do you come from?" the squint demanded of laura, in a business-like way. laura named the township, quaveringly. "what's your father?" "he's dead," answered the child. "well, but i suppose he was alive once wasn't he, duffer? what was he before he was dead?" "a barrister." "what did he die of?" "consumption." "how many servants do you keep?" "one." "how much have you got a year?" "i don't know." "how old are you?" "twelve and a quarter." "who made your dress?" "mother." "oh, i say, hang it, that's enough. stop teasing the kid," said maria morell, when the laughter caused by the last admission had died away. but the squint spied a friend, ran to her, and there was a great deal of whispering and sniggering. presently the pair came sauntering up and sat down; and after some artificial humming and hawing the newcomer began to talk, in a loud and fussy manner, about certain acquaintances of hers called tweedledum and tweedledee. both the fat girl and the squint "split" with laughter. laura sat with her hands locked one inside the other; there was no escape for her, for she did not know where to go. but when the third girl put the regulation question: "what's your name and what's your father?" she turned on her, with the courage of despair. "what's yours?" she retorted hotly, at the same time not at all sure how the big girl might revenge herself. to her relief, the others burst out laughing at their friend's bafflement. "that's one for you, kate horner," said maria with a chuckle. "not bad for the kid.--come on, kid, will you have a walk round the garden?" "oh yes, please," said laura, reddening with pleasure; and there she was, arm in arm with her fat saviour, promenading the grounds like any other of the fifty-five. she assumed, as well as she could, an air of feeling at her ease even in the presence of the cold and curious looks that met her. the fat girl was protective, and laura felt too grateful to her to take it amiss that every now and then she threw back her head and laughed anew, at the remembrance of laura's patronymics; or that she still exchanged jokes about them with the other couple, when they met. but by this time half an hour had slipped away, and the girls were fast disappearing. maria morell loitered till the last minute, then said, she, too, must be off to 'stew'. every one was hastening across the verandah laden with books, and disappearing down a corridor. left alone, laura made her way back to the dining-hall. here some of the very young boarders were preparing their lessons, watched over by a junior governess. laura lingered for a little, to see if no order were forthcoming, then diffidently approached the table and asked the governess if she would please tell her what to do. "i'm sure i don't know," answered that lady, disinclined for responsibility. "you'd better ask miss chapman. here, maggie, show her where the study is." laura followed the little girl over the verandah and down the corridor. at the end, the child pointed to a door, and on opening this laura found herself in a very large brightly lighted room, where the boarders sat at two long tables with their books before them. every head was raised at her entrance. in great embarrassment, she threaded her way to the more authoritative-looking of the governesses in charge, and proffered her request. it was not understood, and she had to repeat it. "i'm sure i don't know," said miss day in her turn: she had stiff, black, wavy hair, a vivid colour, and a big, thick nose which made her profile resemble that of a horse. "can't you twiddle your thumbs for a bit?--oh well, if you're so desperately anxious for an occupation, you'd better ask miss chapman." the girls in the immediate neighbourhood laughed noiselessly, in a bounden-duty kind of way, at their superior's pleasantry, and laura, feeling as though she had been hit, crossed to the other table. miss chapman, the head governess, was neither so hard-looking nor so brilliant as miss day. she even eyed laura somewhat uneasily, meanwhile toying with a long gold chain, after the manner of the lady superintendent. "didn't mrs. gurley tell you what to do?" she queried. "i should think it likely she would. oh well, if she didn't, i suppose you'd better bring your things downstairs. yes ... and ask miss zielinski to give you a shelf." miss zielinski--she was the governess in the dining-hall--said: "oh, very well," in the rather whiny voice that seemed natural to her, and went on reading. "please, i don't think i know my way," ventured laura. "follow your nose and you'll find it!" said miss zielinski without looking up, and was forthwith wrapt in her novel again. once more laura climbed the wide staircase: it was but dimly lighted, and the passages were in darkness. after a few false moves she found her room, saw that her box had been taken away, her books left lying [p. ] on a chair. but instead of picking them up, she threw herself on her bed and buried her face in the pillow. she did not dare to cry, for fear of making her eyes red, but she hugged the cool linen to her cheeks. "i hate them all," she said passionately, speaking aloud to herself. "oh, how i hate them!"--and wild schemes of vengeance flashed through her young mind. she did not even halt at poison or the knife: a big cake, sent by mother, of which she invited all alike to partake, and into which she inserted a fatal poison, so that the whole school died like rabbits; or a nightly stabbing, a creeping from bed to bed in the dark, her penknife open in her hand... but she had not lain thus for more than a very few minutes when steps came along the passage; and she had only just time to spring to her feet before one of the little girls appeared at the door. "you're to come down at once." "don't you know you're not allowed to stay upstairs?" asked miss zielinski crossly. "what were you doing?" and as laura did not reply: "what was she doing, jessie?" "i don't know," said the child. "she was just standing there." and all the little girls laughed, after the manner of their elders. before laura had finished arranging her belongings on the shelves that were assigned to her, some of the older girls began to drop in from the study. one unceremoniously turned over her books, which were lying on the table. "let's see what the kid's got." now laura was proud of her collection: it really made a great show; for a daughter of godmother's had once attended the college, and her equipment had been handed down to laura. "why, you don't mean to say a kid like you's in the second principia already?" said a big girl, and held up, incredulously, smith's black and red boards. "wherever did you learn latin?" in the reediest of voices laura was forced to confess that she had never learnt latin at all. the girl eyed her in dubious amaze, then burst out laughing. "oh, i say!" she called to a friend. "here's a rum go. here's this kid brings the second principia with her and doesn't know the first." several others crowded round; and all found this divergence from the norm, from the traditional method of purchasing each book new and as it was needed, highly ridiculous. laura, on her knees before her shelf, pretended to be busy; but she could not see what she was doing, for the mist that gathered in her eyes. just at this moment, however, in marched maria morell. "here, i say, stop that!" she cried. "you're teasing that kid again. i won't have it. here, come on, kid--laura tweedledum come and sit by me for supper." for the second time, laura was thankful to the fat girl. but as ill-luck would have it, miss chapman chanced to let her eyes stray in their direction; and having fingered her chain indecisively for a little, said: "it seems a pity, doesn't it, miss day, that that nice little girl should get in with that vulgar set?" miss chapman liked to have her opinions confirmed. but this was a weakness miss day did not pamper; herself strong-minded, she could afford to disregard miss chapman's foibles. so she went on with her book, and ignored the question. but miss zielinski, who lost no opportunity of making herself agreeable to those over her, said with foreign emphasis: "yes, indeed it does." so laura was summoned and made to sit down at the end of the room, close to the governesses and beside the very big girls--girls of eighteen and nineteen, who seemed older still to her, with their figures, and waists, and skirts that touched the ground. instinctively she felt that they resented her proximity. the biggest of all, a pleasant-faced girl with a kind smile, said on seeing her downcast air: "poor little thing! never mind." but when they talked among themselves they lowered their voices and cast stealthy glances at her, to see if she were listening. supper over, three chairs were set out in an exposed position; the big bell in the passage was lightly touched; everyone fetched a hymn-book, one with music in it being handed to miss chapman at the piano. the door opened to admit first mrs. gurley, then the principal and his wife--a tall, fair gentleman in a long coat, and a sweet-faced lady, who wore a rose in her velvet dress. "let us sing in the hundred and fifty-seventh hymn," said the gentleman, who had a grecian profile and a drooping, sandy moustache; and when miss chapman had played through the tune, the fifty-five, the governesses, the lady and gentleman rose to their feet and sang, with halting emphasis, of the redeemer and his mercy, to miss chapman's accompaniment, which was as indecisive as her manner, the left hand dragging lamely along after the right. "let us read in the third chapter of the second epistle of paul to the thessalonians." everyone laid her hymn-book on the table and sat down to listen to paul's words, which the sandy gentleman read to a continual nervous movement of the left leg. "let us pray." obeying the word, the fifty-five rose, faced about, and knelt to their chairs. it was an extempore prayer, and a long one, and laura did not hear much of it; for the two big girls on her right kept up throughout a running conversation. also, when it was about half over she was startled to hear miss zielinski say, in a shrill whisper: "heavens! there's that mouse again," and audibly draw her skirts round her. even miss chapman, praying to her piano-chair some distance off, had heard, and turned her head to frown rebuke. the prayer at an end, mr. and mrs. strachey bowed vaguely in several directions, shook hands with the governesses, and left the room. this was the signal for two of the teachers to advance with open bibles. "here, little one, have you learned your verse?" whispered laura's pleasant neighbour. laura knew nothing of it; but the big girl lent her a bible, and, since it was not a hard verse and every girl repeated it, it was quickly learned. i wisdom dwell with prudence and find out knowledge of witty inventions. told off in batches, they filed up the stairs. on the first landing stood miss day, watching with lynx-eyes to see that no books or eatables were smuggled to the bedrooms. in a strident voice she exhorted the noisy to silence, and the loiterers to haste. laura sped to her room. she was fortunate enough to find it still empty. tossing off her clothes, she gabbled ardently through her own prayers, drew the blankets up over her head, and pretended to be asleep. soon the lights were out and all was quiet. then, with her face burrowed deep, so that not a sound could escape, she gave free play to her tears. vi. my dear mother i sent you a postcard did you get it. i told you i got here all right and liked it very much. i could not write a long letter before i had no time and we are only alowed to write letters two evenings a week tuesday and friday. when we have done our lessons for next day we say please may i write now and miss chapman says have you done everything and if we say we have she says yes and if you sit at miss days table miss day says it. and sometimes we haven't but we say so. i sit up by miss chapman and she can see everything i do and at tea and dinner and breakfast i sit beside mrs. gurley. another girl in my class sits opposite and one sits beside me and we would rather sit somewhere else. i don't care for mrs. gurley much she is very fat and never smiles and never listens to what you say unless she scolds you and i think miss chapman is afraid of her to. miss day is not afraid of anybody. i am in the first class. i am in the college and under that is the school. only very little girls are in the school they go to bed at half past eight and do their lessons in the dining hall. i do mine in the study and go to bed with the big girls. they wear dresses down to the ground. lilith gordon is a girl in my class she is in my room to she is only as old as me and she wears stays and has a beautiful figgure. all the girls wear stays. please send me some i have no waste. a governess sleeps in our room and she has no teeth. she takes them out every night and puts them in water when the light is out. lilith gordon and the other girl say goodnight to her after she has taken them off then she cant talk propperly and we want to hear her. i think she knows for she is very cross. i don't learn latin yet till i go into the second class my sums are very hard. for supper there is only bread and butter and water if we don't have cake and jam of our own. please send me some strawberry jam and another cake. tell sarah there are three servants to wait at dinner they have white aprons and a cap on their heads. they say will you take beef miss i remain your loving daughter laura. dear pin i am very busy i will write you a letter. you would not like being here i think you should always stop at home you will never get as far as long division. mrs. gurley is an awful old beast all the girls call her that. you would be frightened of her. in the afternoon after school we walk two and two and you ask a girl to walk with you and if you don't you have to walk with miss chapman. miss chapman and miss day walks behind and they watch to see you don't laugh at boys. some girls write letters to them and say they will meet them up behind a tree in the corner of the garden a paling is lose and the boys put letters in. i think boys are silly but maria morell says they are tip top that means awfully jolly. she writes a letter to boys every week she takes it to church and drops it coming out and he picks it up and puts an answer through the fence. we put our letters on the mantlepiece in the dining-hall and mrs. gurley or miss chapman read the adress to see we don't write to boys. they are shut up she cant read the inside. i hope you don't cry so much at school no one cries. now miss chapman says it is time to stop i remain your afectionate sister laura. p.s. i took the red lineing out of my hat. warrenega sunday. my dear laura we were very glad to get your letters which came this morning. your postcard written the day after you arrived at the college told us little or nothing. however godmother was good enough to write us an account of your arrival so that we were not quite without news of you. i hope you remembered to thank her for driving in all that way to meet you and take you to school which was very good of her. i am glad to hear you are settling down and feeling happy and i hope you will work hard and distinguish yourself so that i may be proud of you. but there are several things in your letters i do not like. did you really think i shouldn't read what you wrote to pin. you are a very foolish girl if you did. pin the silly child tried to hide it away because she knew it would make me cross but i insisted on her showing it to me and i am ashamed of you for writing such nonsense to her. maria morell must be a very vulgar minded girl to use the expressions she does. i hope my little girl will try to only associate with nice minded girls. i didn't send you to school to get nasty ideas put into your head but to learn your lessons well and get on. if you write such vulgar silly things again i shall complain to mrs. gurley or mr. strachey about the tone of the college and what goes on behind their backs. i think it is very rude of you too to call mrs. gurley names. also about the poor governess who has to wear false teeth. wait till all your own teeth are gone and then see how you will like it. i do want you to have nice feelings and not grow rough and rude. there is evidently a very bad tone among some of the girls and you must be careful in choosing your friends. i am sorry to hear you are only in the lowest class. it would have pleased me better if you had got into the second but i always told you you were lazy about your sums--you can do them well enough if you like. you don't need stays. i have never worn them myself and i don't intend you to either. your own muscles are quite strong enough to bear the weight of your back. bread and water is not much of a supper for you to go to bed on. i will send you another cake soon and some jam and i hope you will share it with the other girls. now try and be sensible and industrious and make nice friends and then i shant have to scold you your loving mother j.t.r. p.s. another thing in your letter i don't like. you say you tell your governess you have finished your lessons when you have not done so. that is telling an untruth and i hope you are not going to be led away by the examples of bad girls. i have always brought you children up to be straightforward and i am astonished at you beginning fibbing as soon as you get away from home. fibbing soon leads to something worse. p.p.s. you must have written your letter in a great hurry for your spelling is anything but perfect. you are a very naughty girl to meddle with your hat. pin has written a letter which i enclose though her spelling is worse than ever. dear laura mother says you are a very sily girl to rite such sily letters i think you are sily to i shood be fritened of mrs. girly i don't want to go to skool i wood rather stop with mother and be a cumfert to her i think it is nauty to drop letters in cherch and verry sily to rite to boys boys are so sily sarah sends her luv she says she wood not ware a cap on her hed not for annything she says she wood just as soon ware a ring thrugh her nose. i remain your luving sister pin. dear mother please please don't write to mrs. gurley about the tone in the college or not to mr. strachey either. i will never be so silly again. i am sorry my letters were so silly i wont do it again. please don't write to them about it. i don't go much with maria morell now i think she she is vulger to. i know two nice girls now in my own class their names are inez and bertha they are very nice and not at all vulger. maria morell is fat and has a red face she is much older than me and i don't care for her now. please don't write to mrs. gurley i will never call her names again. i had to write my letter quickly because when i have done my lessons it is nearly time for supper. i am sorry my spelling was wrong i will take more pains next time i will learn hard and get on and soon i will be in the second class. i did not mean i said i had done my lessons when i had not done them the other girls say it and i think it is very wrong of them. please don't write to mrs. gurley i will try and be good and sensible and not do it again if you only wont write. i remain your afectionate daughter laura. p.s. i can do my sums better now. warrenega my dear laura my letter evidently gave you a good fright and i am not sorry to hear it for i think you deserved it for being such a foolish girl. i hope you will keep your promise and not do it again. of course i don't mean that you are not to tell me everything that happens at school but i want you to only have nice thoughts and feelings and grow into a wise and sensible girl. i am not going to write a long letter today. this [p. ] is only a line to comfort you and let you know that i shall not write to mrs. gurley or mr. strachey as long as i see that you are being a good girl and getting on well with your lessons. i do want you to remember that you are a lady though you are poor and must behave in a ladylike way. you don't tell me what the food at the college is like and whether you have blankets enough on your bed at night. do try and remember to answer the questions i ask you. sarah is busy washing today and the children are helping her by sitting with their arms in the tubs. i am to tell you from pin that maggy is moulting badly and has not eaten much since you left which is just three weeks today your loving mother. friday my dear mother i was so glad to get your letter i am so glad you will not write to mrs. gurley this time and i will promise to be very good and try to remember everything you tell me. i am sorry i forgot to answer the questions i have two blankets on my bed and it is enough. the food is very nice for dinner for tea we have to eat a lot of bread and butter i don't care for bread much. sometimes we have jam but we are not alowed to eat butter and jam together. a lot of girls get up at six and go down to practice they don't dress and have their bath they just put on their dressing gowns on top of their night gowns. i don't go down now till seven i make my own bed. we have prayers in the morning and the evening and prayers again when the day scholers come. i do my sums better now i think i shall soon be in the second class. pins spelling was dreadfull and she is nearly nine now and is such a baby the girls would laugh at her. i remain your afectionate daughter laura. p.s. i parssed a long sentence without any mistakes. vii. the mornings were beginning to grow dark and chilly: fires were laid overnight in the outer classrooms--and the junior governess who was on early duty, having pealed the six-o'clock bell, flitted like a grey wraith from room to room and from one gas-jet to another, among stretched, sleeping forms. and the few minutes' grace at an end, it was a cold, unwilling pack that threw off coverlets and jumped out of bed, to tie on petticoats and snuggle into dressing-gowns and shawls; for the first approach of cooler weather was keenly felt, after the summer heat. the governess blew on speedily chilblained fingers, in making her rounds of the verandahs to see that each of the twenty pianos was rightly occupied; and, as winter crept on, its chief outward sign an occasional thin white spread of frost which vanished before the mighty sun of ten o'clock, she sometimes took the occupancy for granted, and skipped an exposed room. at eight, the boarders assembled in the dining-hall for prayers and breakfast. after this meal it was mrs. gurley's custom to drink a glass of hot water. while she sipped, she gave audience, meting out rebukes and crushing complaints--were any bold enough to offer them--standing erect behind her chair at the head of the table, supported by one or more of the staff. to suit the season she was draped in a shawl of crimson wool, which reached to the flounce of her skirt, and was borne by her portly shoulders with the grace of a past day. beneath the shawl, her dresses were built, year in, year out, on the same plan: cut in one piece, buttoning right down the front, they fitted her like an eelskin, rigidly outlining her majestic proportions, and always short enough to show a pair of surprisingly small, well-shod feet. thus she stood, sipping her water, and boring with her hard, unflagging eye every girl that presented herself to it. most shrank noiselessly away as soon as breakfast was over; for, unless one was very firm indeed in the conviction of one's own innocence, to be beneath this eye was apt to induce a disagreeable sense of guilt. in the case of mrs. gurley, familiarity had never been known to breed contempt. she was possessed of what was little short of genius, for ruling through fear; and no more fitting overseer could have been set at the head of these half-hundred girls, of all ages and degrees: gentle and common; ruly and unruly, children hardly out of the nursery, and girls well over the brink of womanhood, whose ripe, bursting forms told their own tale; the daughters of poor ministers at reduced fees; and the spoilt heiresses of wealthy wool-brokers and squatters, whose dowries would mount to many thousands of pounds.--mrs. gurley was equal to them all. in a very short time, there was no more persistent shrinker from the ice of this gaze than little laura. in the presence of mrs. gurley the child had a difficulty in getting her breath. her first week of school life had been one unbroken succession of snubs and reprimands. for this, the undue familiarity of her manner was to blame: she was all too slow to grasp--being of an impulsive disposition and not naturally shy--that it was indecorous to accost mrs. gurley off-hand, to treat her, indeed, in any way as if she were an ordinary mortal. the climax had come one morning--it still made laura's cheeks burn to remember it. she had not been able to master her french lesson for that day, and seeing mrs. gurley chatting to a governess had gone thoughtlessly up to her and tapped her on the arm. "mrs. gurley, please, do you think it would matter very much if i only took half this verb today? it's coudre, and means to sew, you know, and it's so hard. i don't seem to be able to get it into my head." before the words were out of her mouth, she saw that she had made a terrible mistake. mrs. gurley's face, which had been smiling, froze to stone. she looked at her arm as though the hand had bitten her, and laura's sudden shrinking did not move her, to whom seldom anyone addressed a word unbidden. "how dare you interrupt me--when i am speaking!"--she hissed, punctuating her words with the ominous head-shakes and pauses. "the first thing, miss, for you to do, will be, to take a course of lessons, in manners. your present ones, may have done well enough, in the outhouse, to which you have evidently belonged. they will not do, here, in the company of your betters." above the child's head the two ladies smiled significantly at each other, assured that, after this, there would be no further want of respect; but laura did not see them. the iron of the thrust went deep down into her soul: no one had ever yet cast a slur upon her home. retreating to a lavatory she cried herself nearly sick, making her eyes so red that she was late for prayers in trying to wash them white. since that day, she had never of her own free will approached mrs. gurley again, and even avoided those places where she was likely to be found. this was why one morning, some three weeks later, on discovering that she had forgotten one of her lesson-books, she hesitated long before re-entering the dining-hall. the governesses still clustered round their chief, and the pupils were not expected to return. but it was past nine o'clock; in a minute the public prayer-bell would ring, which united boarders, several hundred day-scholars, resident and visiting teachers in the largest class-room; and laura did not know her english lesson. so she stole in, cautiously dodging behind the group, in a twitter lest the dreaded eyes should turn her way. it was miss day who spied her and demanded an explanation. "such carelessness! you girls would forget your heads if they weren't screwed on," retorted the governess, in the dry, violent manner that made her universally disliked. thankful to escape with this, laura picked out her book and hurried from the room. but the thoughts of the group had been drawn to her. "the greatest little oddity we've had here for some time," pronounced miss day, pouting her full bust in decisive fashion. "she is, indeed," agreed miss zielinski. "i don't know what sort of a place she comes from, i'm sure," continued the former: "but it must be the end of creation. she's utterly no idea of what's what, and as for her clothes they're fit for a punch and judy show." "she's had no training either--stupid, i call her," chimed in one of the younger governesses, whose name was miss snodgrass. "she doesn't know the simplest things, and her spelling is awful. and yet, do you know, at history the other day, she wanted to hold forth about how london looked in elizabeth's reign--when she didn't know a single one of the dates!" "she can say some poetry," said miss zielinski. "and she's read scott." one and all shook their heads at this, and mrs. gurley went on shaking hers and smiling grimly. "ah! the way gels are brought up nowadays," she said. "there was no such thing in my time. we were made to learn what would be of some use and help to us afterwards." elderly miss chapman twiddled her chain. "i hope i did right mrs. gurley. she had one week's early practice, but she looked so white all day after it that i haven't put her down for it again. i hope i did right?" "oh, well, we don't want to have them ill, you know," replied mrs. gurley, in the rather irresponsive tone she adopted towards miss chapman. "as long as it isn't mere laziness." "i don't think she's lazy," said miss chapman. "at least she takes great pains with her lessons at night." this was true. laura tried her utmost, with an industry born of despair. for the comforting assurance of speedy promotion, which she had given mother, had no root in fact. these early weeks only served to reduce, bit by bit, her belief in her own knowledge. how slender this was, and of how little use to her in her new state, she did not dare to confess even to herself. her disillusionment had begun the day after her arrival, when dr pughson, the headmaster, to whom she had gone to be examined in arithmetic, flung up hands of comical dismay at her befogged attempts to solve the mysteries of long division. an upper class was taking a lesson in euclid, and in the intervals between her mazy reckonings she had stolen glances at the master. a tiny little nose was as if squashed flat on his face, above a grotesquely expressive mouth, which displayed every one of a splendid set of teeth. he had small, short-sighted, red-rimmed eyes, and curly hair which did not stop growing at his ears, but went on curling, closely cropped, down the sides of his face. he taught at the top of his voice, thumped the blackboard with a pointer, was biting at the expense of a pupil who confused the angle bfc with the angle bfg, a moment later to volley forth a broad irish joke which convulsed the class. he bewitched laura; she forgot her sums in the delight of watching him; and this made her learning seem a little scantier than it actually was; for she had to wind up in a great hurry. he pounced down upon her; the class laughed anew at his playful horror; and yet again at the remark that it was evident she had never had many pennies to spend, or she would know better what to do with the figures that represented them.--in these words laura scented a reference to mother's small income, and grew as red as fire. in the lowest class in the college she sat bottom, for a week or more: what she did know, she knew in such an awkward form that she might as well have known nothing. and after a few efforts to better her condition she grew cautious, and hesitated discreetly before returning one of those ingenuous answers which, in the beginning, had made her the merry-andrew of the class. she could for instance, read a french story-book without skipping very many words; but she had never heard a syllable of the language spoken, and her first attempts at pronunciation caused even miss zielinski to sit back in her chair and laugh till the tears ran down her face. history laura knew in a vague, pictorial way: she and pin had enacted many a striking scene in the garden--such as "not angles but angels," or, did the pump-drain overflow, canute and his silly courtiers--and she also had out-of-the-way scraps of information about the characters of some of the monarchs, or, as the governess had complained, about the state of london at a certain period; but she had never troubled her head with dates. now they rose before her, a hard, dry, black line from on, accompanied, not only by the kings who were the cause of them, but by dull laws, and their duller repeals. her lessons in english alone gave her a mild pleasure; she enjoyed taking a sentence to pieces to see how it was made. she was fond of words, too, for their own sake, and once, when miss snodgrass had occasion to use the term "eleemosynary", laura was so enchanted by it that she sought to share her enthusiasm with her neighbour. this girl, a fat little jewess, went crimson, from trying to stifle her laughter. "what is the matter with you girls down there?" cried miss snodgrass. "carrie isaacs, what are you laughing like that for?" "it's laura rambotham, miss snodgrass. she's so funny," spluttered the girl. "what are you doing, laura?" laura did not answer. the girl spoke for her. "she said--hee, hee!--she said it was blue." "blue? what's blue?" snapped miss snodgrass. "that word. she said it was so beautiful ... and that it was blue." "i didn't. grey-blue, i said," murmured laura her cheeks aflame. the class rocked; even miss snodgrass herself had to join in the laugh while she hushed and reproved. and sometimes after this, when a particularly long or odd word occurred in the lesson, she would turn to laura and say jocosely: "now, laura, come on, tell us what colour that is. red and yellow, don't you think?" but these were "tom fool's colours"; and laura kept a wise silence. one day at geography, the pupils were required to copy the outline of the map of england. laura, about to begin, found to her dismay that she had lost her pencil. to confess the loss meant one of the hard, public rebukes from which she shrank. and so, while the others drew, heads and backs bent low over their desks, she fidgeted and sought--on her [p. ] lap, the bench, the floor. "what on earth's the matter?" asked her neighbour crossly; it was the black-haired boarder who had winked at laura the first evening at tea; her name was bertha ramsey. "i can't draw a stroke if you shake like that." "i've lost my pencil." the girl considered laura for a moment, then pushed the lid from a box of long, beautifully sharpened drawing-pencils. "here, you can have one of these." laura eyed the well-filled box admiringly, and modestly selected the shortest pencil. bertha ramsay, having finished her map, leaned back in her seat. "and next time you feel inclined to boo-hoo at the tea-table, hold on to your eyebrows and sing rule britannia.--did it want its mummy, poor ickle sing?" here bertha's chum, a girl called inez, chimed in from the other side. "it's all very well for you," she said to bertha, in a deep, slow voice. "you're a weekly boarder." laura had the wish to be very pleasant, in return for the pencil. so she drew a sigh, and said, with over-emphasis: "how nice for your mother to have you home every week!" bertha only laughed at this, in a teasing way: "yes, isn't it?" but inez leaned across behind her and gave laura a poke. "shut up!" she telegraphed. "who's talking down there?" came the governess's cry. "here you, the new girl, laura what's--your-name, come up to the map." a huge map of england had been slung over an easel; laura was required to take the pointer and show where stafford lay. with the long stick in her hand, she stood stupid and confused. in this exigency, it did not help her that she knew, from hear-say, just how england looked; that she could see, in fancy, its ever-green grass, thick hedges, and spreading trees; its never-dry rivers; its hoary old cathedrals; its fogs, and sea-mists, and over-populous cities. she stood face to face with the most puzzling map in the world--a map seared and scored with boundary-lines, black and bristling with names. she could not have laid her finger on london at this moment, and as for stafford, it might have been in the moon. while the class straggled along the verandah at the end of the hour, inez came up to laura's side. "i say, you shouldn't have said that about her mother." she nodded mysteriously. "why not?" asked laura, and coloured at the thought that she had again, without knowing it, been guilty of a faux pas. inez looked round to see that bertha was not within hearing, then put her lips to laura's ear. "she drinks." laura gaped incredulous at the girl, her young eyes full of horror. from actual experience, she hardly knew what drunkenness meant; she had hitherto associated it only with the lowest class of irish agricultural labourer, or with those dreadful white women who lived, by choice, in chinese camps. that there could exist a mother who drank was unthinkable ... outside the bounds of nature. "oh, how awful!" she gasped, and turned pale with excitement. inez could not help giggling at the effect produced by her words--the new girl was a 'rum stick' and no mistake--but as laura's consternation persisted, she veered about. "oh, well, i don't know for certain if that's it. but there's something awfully queer about her." "oh, how do you know?" asked her breathless listener, mastered by a morbid curiosity. "i've been there--at vaucluse--from a saturday till monday. she came in to lunch, and she only talked to herself, not to us. she tried to eat mustard with her pudding too, and her meat was cut up in little pieces for her. i guess if she'd had a knife she'd have cut our throats." "oh!" was all laura could get out. "i was so frightened my mother said i shouldn't go again." "oh, i hope she won't ask me. what shall i do if she does?" "look out, here she comes! don't say a word. bertha's awfully ashamed of it," said inez, and laura had just time to give a hasty promise. "hullo, you two, what are you gassing about?" cried bertha, and dealt out a couple of her rough and friendly punches.--"i say, who's on for a race up the garden?" they raced, all three, with flying plaits and curls, much kicking-up of long black legs, and a frank display of frills and tuckers. laura won; for inez's wind gave out half way, and bertha was heavy of foot. leaning against the palings laura watched the latter come puffing up to join her--bertha with the shameful secret in the background, of a mother who was not like other mothers. viii. laura had been, for some six weeks or more, a listless and unsuccessful pupil, when one morning she received an invitation from godmother to spend the coming monthly holiday--from saturday till monday--at prahran. the month before, she had been one of the few girls who had nowhere to go; she had been forced to pretend that she liked staying in, did it in fact by preference.--now her spirits rose. marina, godmother's younger daughter, from whom laura inherited her school-books, was to call for her. by a little after nine o'clock on saturday morning, laura had finished her weekly mending, tidied her bedroom, and was ready dressed even to her gloves. it was a cool, crisp day; and her heart beat high with expectation. from the dining-hall, it was not possible to hear the ringing of the front-door bell; but each time either of the maids entered with a summons, laura half rose from her chair, sure that her turn had come at last. but it was half-past nine, then ten, then half-past; it struck eleven, the best of the day was passing, and still marina did not come. only two girls besides herself remained. then respectively an aunt and a mother were announced, and these two departed. laura alone was left: she had to bear the disgrace of miss day observing: "well, it looks as if your friends had forgotten all about you, laura." humiliated beyond measure, laura had thoughts of tearing off her hat and jacket and declaring that she felt too ill to go out. but at last, when she was almost sick with suspense, mary put her tidy head in once more. "miss rambotham has been called for." laura was on her feet before the words were spoken. she sped to the reception-room. marina, a short, sleek-haired, soberly dressed girl of about twenty, had godmother's brisk, matter-of-fact manner. she offered laura her cheek to kiss. "well, i suppose you're ready now?" laura forgave her the past two hours. "yes, quite, thank you," she answered. they went down the asphalted path and through the garden-gate, and turned to walk townwards. for the first time since her arrival laura was free again--a prisoner at large. round them stretched the broad white streets of east melbourne; at their side was the thick, exotic greenery of the fitzroy gardens; on the brow of the hill rose the massive proportions of the roman catholic cathedral.--laura could have danced, as she walked at marina's side. after a few queries, however, as to how she liked school and how she was getting on with her lessons, marina fell to contemplating a strip of paper that she held in her hand. laura gathered that her companion had combined the task of calling for her with a morning's shopping, and that she had only worked half through her list of commissions before arriving at the college. at the next corner they got on to the outside car of a cable-tramway, and were carried into town. here marina entered a co-operative grocery store, where she was going to give an order for a quarter's supplies. she was her mother's housekeeper, and had an incredible knowledge of groceries, as well as a severely practical mind: she stuck her finger-nail into butter, tasted cheeses off the blade of a knife, ran her hands through currants, nibbled biscuits, discussed brands of burgundy and desiccated soups--laura meanwhile looking on, from a high, uncomfortable chair, with a somewhat hungry envy. when everything, down to pepper and salt, had been remembered, marina filled in a cheque, and was just about to turn away when she recollected an affair of some empty cases, which she wished to send back. another ten minutes' parley ensued; she had to see the manager, and was closeted with him in his office, so that by the time they emerged into the street again a full hour had gone by. "getting hungry?" she inquired of laura. "a little. but i can wait," answered laura politely. "that's right," said marina, off whose own appetite the edge had no doubt been taken by her various nibblings. "now there's only the chemist." they rode to another street, entered a druggist's, and the same thing on a smaller scale was repeated, except that here marina did no tasting, but for a stray gelatine or jujube. by the time the shop door closed behind them, laura could almost have eaten liquorice powder. it was two o'clock, and she was faint with hunger. "we'll be home in plenty of time," said marina, consulting a neat watch. "dinner's not till three today, because of father." again a tramway jerked them forward. some half mile from their destination, marina rose. "we'll get out here. i have to call at the butcher's." at a quarter to three, it was a very white-faced, exhausted little girl that followed her companion into the house. "well, i guess you'll have a fine healthy appetite for dinner," said marina, as she showed her where to hang up her hat and wash her hands. godmother was equally optimistic. from the sofa of the morning-room, where she sat knitting, she said: "well, you've had a fine morning's gadding about i must say! how are you? and how's your dear mother?" "quite well, thank you." godmother scratched her head with a spare needle, and the attention she had had for laura evaporated. "i hope, marina, you told graves about those empty jam-jars he didn't take back last time?" marina, without lifting her eyes from a letter she was reading, returned: "indeed i didn't. he made such a rumpus about the sugar-boxes that i thought i'd try to sell them to petersen instead." godmother grunted, but did not question marina's decision. "and what news have you from your dear mother?" she asked again, without looking at laura--just as she never looked at the stocking she held, but always over the top of it. here, however, the dinner-bell rang, and laura, spared the task of giving more superfluous information, followed the two ladies to the dining-room. the other members of the family were waiting at the table. godmother's husband--he was a lawyer--was a morose, black-bearded man who, for the most part, kept his eyes fixed on his plate. laura had heard it said that he and godmother did not get on well together; she supposed this meant that they did not care to talk to each other, for they never exchanged a direct word: if they had to communicate, it was done by means of a third person. there was the elder daughter, georgina, dumpier and still brusquer than marina, the eldest son, a bank-clerk who was something of a dandy and did not waste civility on little girls; and lastly there were two boys, slightly younger than laura, black-haired, pug-nosed, pugnacious little creatures, who stood in awe of their father, and were all the wilder when not under his eye. godmother mumbled a blessing; and the soup was eaten in silence. during the meat course, the bank-clerk complained in extreme displeasure of the way the laundress had of late dressed his collars--these were so high that, as laura was not slow to notice, he had to look straight down the two sides of his nose to see his plate--and announced that he would not be home for tea, as he had an appointment to meet some 'chappies' at five, and in the evening was going to take a lady friend to brock's fireworks. these particulars were received without comment. as the family plied its pudding-spoons, georgina in her turn made a statement. "joey's coming to take me driving at four." it looked as if this remark, too, would founder on the general indifference. then marina said warningly, as if recalling her parent's thoughts: "mother!" awakened, godmother jerked out: "indeed and i hope if you go you'll take the boys with you!" "indeed and i don't see why we should!" "very well, then, you'll stop at home. if joey doesn't choose to come to the point-----" "now hold your tongue, mother!" "i'll do nothing of the sort." "crikey!" said the younger boy, erwin, in a low voice. "joey's got to take us riding." "if you and joey can't get yourselves properly engaged," snapped godmother, "then you shan't go driving without the boys, and that's the end of it." like dogs barking at one another, thought laura, listening to the loveless bandying of words--she was unused to the snappishness of the irish manner, which sounds so much worse than it is meant to be: and she was chilled anew by it when, over the telephone, she heard georgy holding a heated conversation with joey. he was a fat young man, with hanging cheeks, small eyes, and a lazy, lopsided walk. "hello--here's a little girl! what's her name?--say, this kiddy can come along too." as it had leaked out that marina's afternoon would be spent between the shelves of her storeroom, preparing for the incoming goods, laura gratefully accepted the offer. they drove to marlborough tower. with their backs to the horse sat the two boys, mercilessly alert for any display of fondness on the part of the lovers; sat laura, with her straight, inquisitive black eyes. hence joey and georgy were silent, since, except to declare their feelings, they had nothing to say to each other. the tower reached, the mare was hitched up and the ascent of the light wooden erection began. it was a blowy day. "boys first!" commanded joey. "cos o' the petticuts."--his speech was as lazy as his walk. he himself led the way, followed by erwin and marmaduke, and laura, at georgy's bidding, went next. she clasped her bits of skirts anxiously to her knees, for she was just as averse to the frills and flounces that lay beneath being seen by georgy, as by any of the male members of the party. georgy came last, and, though no one was below her, so tightly wound about was she that she could hardly advance her legs from one step to another. joey looked approval; but the boys sniggered, and kept it up till georgy, having gained the platform, threatened them with a "clout on the head". on the return journey a dispute arose between the lovers: it related to the shortest road home, waxed hot, and was rapidly taking on the dimensions of a quarrel, when the piebald mare shied at a traction-engine and tried to bolt. joey gripped the reins, and passed his free arm round georgy's waist. "don't be frightened, darling." though the low chaise rocked from side to side and there seemed a likelihood of it capsizing, the two boys squirmed with laughter, and dealt out sundry nudges, kicks and pokes, all of which were received by laura, sitting between them. she herself turned red--with embarrassment. at the same time she wondered why joey should believe george was afraid; there was no sign of it in georgy's manner; she sat stolid and unmoved. besides she, laura, was only a little girl, and felt no fear.--she also asked herself why joey should suddenly grow concerned about georgy, when, a moment before, they had been so rude to each other.--these were interesting speculations, and, the chaise having ceased to sway, laura grew meditative. in the evening godmother had a visitor, and laura sat in a low chair, listening to the ladies' talk. it was dull work: for, much as she liked to consider herself "almost grown up", she yet detested the conversation of "real grown-ups" with a child's heartiness. she was glad when nine o'clock struck and marina, lighting a candle, told her to go to bed. the next day was sunday. between breakfast and church-time yawned two long hours. georgy went to a bible-class; marina was busy with orders for the dinner. it was a bookless house--like most australian houses of its kind: in marina's bedroom alone stood a small bookcase containing school and sunday school prizes. laura was very fond of reading, and as she dressed that morning had cast longing looks at these volumes, had evenly shyly fingered the glass doors. but they were locked. breakfast over, she approached marina on the subject. the latter produced the key, but only after some haggling, for her idea of books was to keep the gilt on their covers untarnished. "well, at any rate it must be a sunday book," she said ungraciously. she drew out the giant cities of bashan and syria's holy places, and with this laura retired to the drawing-room, where godmother was already settled for the day, with a suitable magazine. when the bells began to clang the young people, primly hatted, their prayer-books in their hands, walked to the neighbouring church. there laura sat once more between the boys, marina and georgy stationed like sentinels at the ends of the pew, ready to pounce down on their brothers if necessary, to confiscate animals and eatables, or to rap impish knuckles with a bible. it was a spacious church; the pew was in a side aisle; one could see neither reading-desk nor pulpit; and the words of the sermon seemed to come from a great way off. after dinner, laura and the boys were dispatched to the garden, to stroll about in sunday fashion. here no elder person being present, the natural feelings of the trio came out: the distaste of a quiet little girl for rough boys and their pranks; the resentful indignation of the boys at having their steps dogged by a sneak and a tell-tale. as soon as they had rounded the tennis-court and were out of sight of the house, erwin and marmaduke clambered over the palings and dropped into the street, vowing a mysterious vengeance on laura if she went indoors without them. the child sat down on the edge of the lawn under a mulberry tree and propped her chin on her hands. she was too timid to return to the house and brave things out; she was also afraid of some one coming into the garden and finding her alone, and of her then being forced to "tell"; for most of all she feared the boys, and their vague, rude threats. so she sat and waited ... and waited. the shadows on the grass changed their shapes before her eyes; distant chapel-bells tinkled their quarter of an hour and were still again; the blighting torpor of a sunday afternoon lay over the world. would to-morrow ever come? she counted on her fingers the hours that had still to crawl by before she could get back to school--counted twice over to be sure of them--and all but yawned her head off, with ennui. but time passed, and passed, and nothing happened. she was on the verge of tears, when two black heads bobbed up above the fence, the boys scrambled over, red and breathless, and hurried her into tea. she wakened next morning at daybreak, so eager was she to set out. but marina had a hundred and one odd jobs to do before she was ready to start, and it struck half-past nine as the two of them neared the college. child-like, laura felt no special gratitude for the heavy pot of mulberry jam marina bore on her arm; but at sight of the stern, grey, stone building she could have danced with joy; and on the front door swinging to behind her, she drew a deep sigh of relief. ix. from this moment on--the moment when mary the maid's pleasant smile saluted her--laura's opinion of life at school suffered a change. she was glad to be back--that was the first point: just as an adventurous sheep is glad to regain the cover of the flock. learning might be hard; the governesses mercilessly secure in their own wisdom; but here she was at least a person of some consequence, instead of as at godmother's a mere negligible null. of her unlucky essay at holiday-making she wrote home guardedly: the most tell-tale sentence in her letter was that in which she said she would rather not go to godmother's again in the meantime. but there was such a lack of warmth in her account of the visit that mother made this, together with the above remark, the text for a scolding. "you're a very ungrateful girl," she wrote, "to forget all godmother has done for you. if it hadn't been for her supplying you with books and things i couldn't have sent you to school at all. and i hope when you grow up you'll be as much of a help to me as marina is to her mother. i'd much rather have you good and useful than clever and i think for a child of your age you see things with very sharp unkind eyes. try and only think nice things about people and not be always spying out their faults. then you'll have plenty of friends and be liked wherever you go." laura took the statement about the goodness and cleverness with a grain of salt: she knew better. mother thought it the proper thing to say, and she would certainly have preferred the two qualities combined; but, had she been forced to choose between them, there was small doubt how her choice would have fallen out. and if, for instance, laura confessed that her teachers did not regard her as even passably intelligent, there would be a nice to-do. mother's ambitions knew no bounds; and, wounded in these, she was quite capable of writing post-haste to mrs. gurley or mr. strachey, complaining of their want of insight, and bringing forward a string of embarrassing proofs. so, leaving mother to her pleasing illusions, laura settled down again to her role of dunce, now, though, with more equanimity than before. school was really not a bad place after all--this had for some time been her growing conviction, and the visit to godmother seemed to bring it to a head. about this time, too, a couple of pieces of good fortune came her way. the first: she was privileged to be third in the friendship between inez and bertha--a favour of which she availed herself eagerly, though the three were as different from one another as three little girls could be. bertha was a good-natured romp, hard-fisted, thick of leg, and of a plodding but ineffectual industry. inez, on the other hand, was so pretty that laura never tired of looking at her: she had a pale skin, hazel eyes, brown hair with a yellow light in it, and a greek nose. her mouth was very small; her nostrils were mere tiny slits; and so lazy was she that she seldom more than half opened her eyes. both girls were well over fourteen, and very fully developed: compared with them, laura was like nothing so much as a skinny young colt. she was so grateful to them for tolerating her that she never took up a stand of real equality with them: proud and sensitive, she was always ready to draw back and admit their prior rights to each other; hence the friendship did not advance to intimacy. but such as it was, it was very comforting; she no longer needed to sit alone in recess; she could link arms and walk the garden with complacency; and many were the supercilious glances she now threw at maria morell and that clique; for her new friends belonged socially to the best set in the school. in another way, too, their company made things easier for her: neither of them aimed high; and both were well content with the lowly places they occupied in the class. and so laura, who was still, in her young confusion, unequal to discovering what was wanted of her, grew comforted by the presence and support of her friends, and unmindful of higher opinion; and miss chapman, in supervising evening lessons, remarked with genuine regret that little laura was growing perky and lazy. her second piece of good luck was of quite a different nature. miss hicks, the visiting governess for geography, had a gift for saying biting things that really bit. she bore inez a peculiar grudge; for she believed that certain faculties slumbered behind the grecian profile, and that only the girl's ingrained sloth prevented them. one day she lost patience with this sluggish pupil. "i'll tell you what it is, inez," she said; "you're blessed with a real woman's brain: vague, slippery, inexact, interested only in the personal aspect of a thing. you can't concentrate your thoughts, and, worst of all, you've no curiosity--about anything that really matters. you take all the great facts of existence on trust--just as a hen does--and i've no doubt you'll go on contentedly till the end of your days, without ever knowing why the ocean has tides, and what causes the seasons.--it makes me ashamed to belong to the same sex." inez's classmates tittered furiously, let the sarcasm glide over them, unhit by its truth. inez herself, indeed, was inclined to consider the governess's taunt a compliment, as proving that she was incapable of a vulgar inquisitiveness. but laura, though she laughed docilely with the rest, could not forget the incident--words in any case had a way of sticking to her memory--and what miss hicks had said often came back to her, in the days that followed. and then, all of a sudden, just as if an invisible hand had opened the door to an inner chamber, a light broke on her. vague, slippery, inexact, interested only in the personal--every word struck home. had miss hicks set out to describe her, in particular, she could not have done it more accurately. it was but too true: until now, she, laura, had been satisfied to know things in a slipslop, razzle-dazzle way, to know them anyhow, as it best suited herself. she had never set to work to master a subject, to make it her own in every detail. bits of it, picturesque scraps, striking features--what miss hicks no doubt meant by the personal--were all that had attracted her.--oh, and she, too, had no intelligent curiosity. she could not say that she had ever teased her brains with wondering why the earth went round the sun and not the sun round the earth. honestly speaking, it made no difference to her that the globe was indented like an orange, and not the perfect round you began by believing it to be.--but if this were so, if she were forced to make these galling admissions, then it was clear that her vaunted cleverness had never existed, except in mother's imagination. or, at any rate, it had crumbled to pieces like a lump of earth, under the hard, heavy hand of miss hicks. laura felt humiliated, and could not understand her companions treating the matter so airily. she did not want to have a woman's brain, thank you; not one of that sort; and she smarted for the whole class. straightway she set to work to sharpen her wits, to follow the strait road. at first with some stumbling, of course, and frequent backslidings. intellectual curiosity could not, she discovered, be awakened to order; and she often caught herself napping. thus though she speedily became one of the most troublesome askers-why, her desire for information was apt to exhaust itself in putting the question, and she would forget to listen to the answer. besides, for the life of her she could not drum up more interest in, say, the course of the gulf stream, or the formation of a plateau, than in the fact that, when nelly bristow spoke, little bubbles came out of her mouth, and that she needed to swallow twice as often as other people; or that when miss hicks grew angry her voice had a way of failing, at the crucial moment, and flattening out to nothing--just as if one struck tin after brass. no, it was indeed difficult for laura to invert the value of these things.--in another direction she did better. by dint of close attention, of pondering both the questions asked by miss hicks, and the replies made by the cleverest pupils, she began to see more clearly where true knowledge lay. it was facts that were wanted of her; facts that were the real test of learning; facts she was expected to know. stories, pictures of things, would not help her an inch along the road. thus, it was not the least use in the world to her to have seen the snowy top of mount kosciusko stand out against a dark blue evening sky, and to know its shape to a tittlekin. on the other hand, it mattered tremendously that this mountain was and not feet high: that piece of information was valuable, was of genuine use to you; for it was worth your place in the class. thus did laura apply herself to reach the school ideal, thus force herself to drive hard nails of fact into her vagrant thoughts. and with success. for she had, it turned out, a retentive memory, and to her joy learning by heart came easy to her--as easy as to the most brilliant scholars in the form. from now on she gave this talent full play, memorising even pages of the history book in her zeal; and before many weeks had passed, in all lessons except those in arithmetic--you could not, alas! get sums by rote--she was separated from inez and bertha by the width of the class. but neither her taste of friendship and its comforts, nor the abrupt change for the better in her class-fortunes, could counterbalance laura's luckless knack of putting her foot in it. this she continued to do, in season and out of season. and not with the authorities alone. there was, for instance, that unfortunate evening when she was one of the batch of girls invited to mrs. strachey's drawingroom. laura, ignorant of what it meant to be blasee, had received her note of invitation with a thrill, had even enjoyed writing, in her best hand, the prescribed formula of acceptance. but she was alone in this; by the majority of her companions these weekly parties were frankly hated, the chief reason being that every guest was expected to take a piece of music with her. even the totally unfit had to show what they could do. and the fact that cream-tarts were served for supper was not held to square accounts. "it's all very well for you," grumbled laura's room-mate, lilith gordon, as she lathered her thick white arms and neck before dressing. "you're a new girl; you probably won't be asked." laura did not give the matter a second thought: hastily selecting a volume of music, she followed the rest of the white dresses into the passage. the senior girl tapped at the drawingroom door. it was opened by no other than the principal himself. in the girls' eyes, mr. strachey stood over six feet in his stocking-soles. he had also a most arrogant way of looking down his nose, and of tugging, intolerantly, at his long, drooping moustache. there was little need for him to assume the frigid contemptuousness of mrs. gurley's manner: his mere presence, the very unseeingness of his gaze, inspired awe. tales ran of his wrath, were it roused; but few had experienced it. he quelled the high spirits of these young [p. ] colonials by his dignified air of detachment. now, however, he stood there affable and smiling, endeavouring to put a handful of awkward girls at their ease. but neither his nor mrs. strachey's efforts availed. it was impossible for the pupils to throw off, at will, the crippling fear that governed their relations with the principal. to them, his amiability resembled the antics of an uncertain-tempered elephant, with which you could never feel safe.-- besides on this occasion it was a young batch, and of particularly mixed stations. and so a dozen girls, from twelve to fifteen years old, sat on the extreme edges of their chairs, and replied to what was said to them, with dry throats. though the youngest of the party, laura was the least embarrassed: she had never known a nursery, but had mixed with her elders since her babyhood. and she was not of a shy disposition; indeed, she still had to be reminded daily that shyness was expected of her. so she sat and looked about her. it was an interesting room in which she found herself. low bookshelves, three shelves high, ran round the walls, and on the top shelf were many outlandish objects. what an evening it would have been had mr. strachey invited them to examine these ornaments, or to handle the books, instead of having to pick up a title here and there by chance.--from the shelves, her eyes strayed to the pictures on the walls; one, in particular struck her fancy. it hung over the mantelpiece, and was a man's head seen in profile, with a long hooked nose, and wearing a kind of peaked cap. but that was not all: behind this head were other profiles of the same face, and seeming to come out of clouds. laura stared hard, but could make nothing of it.--and meanwhile her companions were rising with sickly smiles, to seat themselves, red as turkey-cocks' combs, on the piano stool, where with cold, stiff fingers they stumbled through the movement of a sonata or sonatina. it was lilith gordon who broke the chain by offering to sing. the diversion was welcomed by mrs. strachey, and lilith went to the piano. but her nervousness was such that she broke down half-way in the little prelude to the ballad. mrs. strachey came to the rescue. "it's so difficult, is it not, to accompany oneself?" she said kindly. "perhaps one of the others would play for you?" no one moved. "do any of you know the song?" two or three ungraciously admitted the knowledge, but none volunteered. it was here laura chimed in. "i could play it," she said; and coloured at the sound of her own voice. mrs. strachey looked doubtfully at the thin little girl. "do you know it, dear? you're too young for singing, i think." "no, i don't know it. but i could play it from sight. it's quite easy." everyone looked disbelieving, especially the unhappy singer. "i've played much harder things than that," continued laura. "well, perhaps you might try," said mrs. strachey, with the ingrained distrust of the unmusical. laura rose and went to the piano, where she conducted the song to a successful ending. mrs. strachey looked relieved. "very nice indeed." and to laura: "did you say you didn't know it, dear?" "no, i never saw it before." again the lady looked doubtful. "well, perhaps you would play us something yourself now?" laura had no objection; she had played to people before her fingers were long enough to cover the octave. she took the volume of thalberg she had brought with her, selected "home, sweet home", and pranced in. her audience kept utter silence; but, had she been a little sharper, she would have grasped that it was the silence of amazement. after the prim sonatinas that had gone before, thalberg's florid ornaments had a shameless sound. her performance, moreover, was a startling one; the forte pedal was held down throughout; the big chords were crashed and banged with all the strength a pair of twelve-year-old arms could put into them; and wrong notes were freely scattered. still, rhythm and melody were well marked, and there was no mistaking the agility of the small fingers. dead silence, too, greeted the conclusion of the piece several girls were very red, from trying not to laugh. the principal tugged at his moustache, in abstracted fashion. laura had reached her seat again before mrs. strachey said undecidedly: "thank you, dear. did you ... hm ... learn that piece here?" laura saw nothing wrong. "oh, no, at home," she answered. "i wouldn't care to play the things i learn here, to people. they're so dull." a girl emitted a faint squeak. but a half turn of mrs. strachey's head subdued her. "oh, i hope you will soon get to like classical music also," said the lady gravely, and in all good faith. "we prefer it, you know, to any other." "do you mean things like the air in g with variations? i'm afraid i never shall. there's no tune in them." music was as fatal to laura's equilibrium as wine would have been. finding herself next mr. strachey, she now turned to him and said, with what she believed to be ease of manner: "mr. strachey, will you please tell me what that picture is hanging over the mantelpiece? i've been looking at it ever since i came in, but i can't make it out. are those ghosts, those things behind the man, or what?" it took mr. strachey a minute to recover from his astonishment. he stroked hard, and the look he bent on laura was not encouraging. "it seems to be all the same face," continued the child, her eyes on the picture. "that," said mr. strachey, with extreme deliberation: "that is the portrait, by a great painter, of a great poet--dante alighieri." "oh, dante, is it?" said laura showily--she had once heard the name. "oh, yes, of course, i know now. he wrote a book, didn't he, called faust? i saw it over there by the door.--what lovely books!" but here mr. strachey abruptly changed his seat, and laura's thirst for information was left unquenched. the evening passed, and she was in blessed ignorance of anything being amiss, till the next morning after breakfast she was bidden to mrs. gurley. a quarter of an hour later, on her emerging from that lady's private sitting-room, her eyes were mere swollen slits in her face. instead, however, of sponging them in cold water and bravely joining her friends, laura was still foolish enough to hide and have her cry out. so that when the bell rang, she was obliged to go in to public prayers looking a prodigious fright, and thereby advertising to the curious what had taken place. mrs. gurley had crushed and humiliated her. laura learnt that she had been guilty of a gross impertinence, in profaning the ears of the principal and mrs. strachey with thalberg's music, and that all the pieces she had brought with her from home would now be taken from her. secondly, mr. strachey had been so unpleasantly impressed by the boldness of her behaviour, that she would not be invited to the drawing-room again for some time to come. the matter of the music touched laura little: if they preferred their dull old exercises to what she had offered them, so much the worse for them. but the reproach cast on her manners stung her even more deeply than it had done when she was still the raw little newcomer: for she had been pluming herself of late that she was now "quite the thing". and yet, painful as was this fresh overthrow of her pride, it was neither the worst nor the most lasting result of the incident. that concerned her schoolfellows. by the following morning the tale of her doings was known to everyone. it was circulated in the first place, no doubt, by lilith gordon, who bore her a grudge for her offer to accompany the song: had laura not put herself forward in this objectionable way, lilith might have escaped singing altogether. lilith also resented her having shown that she could do it--and this feeling was generally shared. it evidenced a want of good-fellowship, and made you very glad the little prig had afterwards come to grief: if you had abilities that others had not you concealed them, instead of parading them under people's noses. in short, laura had committed a twofold breach of school etiquette. no one of course vouchsafed to explain this to her; these things one did not put into words, things you were expected to know without telling. hence, she never more than half understood what she had done. she only saw disapproval painted on faces that had hitherto been neutral, and from one or two quarters got what was unmistakably the cold shoulder.-- her little beginnings at popularity had somehow received a setback, and through her own foolish behaviour. x. the lesson went home; laura began to model herself more and more on those around her; to grasp that the unpardonable sin is to vary from the common mould. in august, after the midwinter holidays, she was promoted to the second class; she began latin; and as a reward was allowed by mother to wear her dresses an inch below her knees. she became a quick, adaptable pupil, with a parrot-like memory, and at the end of the school year delighted mother's heart with a couple of highly gilt volumes, of negligible contents. at home, during those first holidays, she gave her sister and brothers cold creeps down their spines, with her stories of the great doings that took place at school; and none of her class-mates would have recognised in this arrant drawer-of-the-long-bow, the unlucky little blunderbuss of the early days. on her return, laura's circle of friends was enlarged. the morning after her arrival, on entering the dining-hall, she found a new girl standing shy and awkward before the fireplace. this was the daughter of a millionaire squatter named macnamara; and the report of her father's wealth had preceded her. yet here she now had to hang about, alone, unhappy, the target of all eyes. it might be supposed that laura would feel some sympathy for her, having so recently undergone the same experience herself. but that was not her way. she rejoiced, in barbarian fashion, that this girl, older than she by about a year, and of a higher social standing, should have to endure a like ordeal. staring heartlessly, she accentuated her part of old girl knowing all the ropes, and was so inclined to show off that she let herself in for a snub from miss snodgrass. tilly macnamara joined laura's class, and the two were soon good friends. tilly was a short, plump girl, with white teeth, rather boyish hands, and the blue-grey eyes predominant in australia. she was usually dressed in silk, and she never wore an apron to protect the front of her frock. naturally, too, she had a bottomless supply of pocket-money: if a subscription were raised, she gave ten shillings where others gave one; and on the saturday holidays she flung about with half-crowns as laura would have been afraid to do with pennies. for the latter with her tiny dole, which had to last so and so long, since no more was forthcoming, it was a difficult task to move gracefully among companions none of whom knew what it meant to be really poor. many trivial mortifications were the result; and countless small subterfuges had to be resorted to, to prevent it leaking out just how paltry her allowance was. but the question of money was, after all, trifling, compared with the infinitely more important one of dress. with regard to dress, laura's troubles were manifold. it was not only that here, too, by reason of mother's straitened means, she was forced to remain an outsider: that, in itself, she would have borne [p. ] lightly; for, as little girls go, she was indifferent to finery. had she had a couple of new frocks a year, in which she could have been neat and unremarkable, she would have been more than content. but, from her babyhood on, laura--and pin with her--had lamented the fact that children could not go about clad in sacks, mercifully indistinguishable one from another. for they were the daughters of an imaginative mother, and, balked in other outlets, this imagination had wreaked itself on their clothing. all her short life long, laura had suffered under a home-made, picturesque style of dress; and she had resented, with a violence even mother did not gauge, this use of her young body as a peg on which to hang fantastic garments. after her tenth birthday she was, she thanked goodness, considered too old for the quaint shapes beneath which pin still groaned; but there remained the matter of colour for mother to sin against, and in this she seemed to grow more intemperate year by year. herself dressed always in the soberest browns and blacks, she liked to see her young flock gay as paradise birds, lighting up a drab world; and when mother liked a thing, she was not given to consulting the wishes of little people. those were awful times when she went, say, to melbourne, and bought as a bargain a whole roll of cloth of an impossible colour, which had to be utilised to the last inch; or when she unearthed, from an old trunk, some antiquated garment to be cut up and reshaped--a paisley shawl, a puce ball-dress, even an old pair of green rep curtains. it was thus a heavy blow to laura to find, on going home, that mother had already bought her new spring dress. in one respect all was well: it had been made by the local dressmaker, and consequently had not the home-made cut that laura abhorred. but the colour! her heart fell to the pit of her stomach the moment she set eyes on it, and only with difficulty did she restrain her tears.--mother had chosen a vivid purple, of a crude, old-fashioned shade. now, quite apart from her personal feelings, laura had come to know very exactly, during the few months she had been at school, the views held by her companions on the subject of colour. no matter how sumptuous or how simple the material of which the dress was made, it must be dark, or of a delicate tint. brilliancy was a sign of vulgarity, and put the wearer outside the better circles. hence, at this critical juncture, when laura was striving to ape her fellows in all vital matters, the unpropitious advent of the purple threatened to undo her. after her first dismayed inspection, she retreated to the bottom of the garden to give vent to her feelings. "i shall never be able to wear it," she moaned. "oh, how could she buy such a thing? and i needed a new dress so awfully, awfully much." "it isn't really so bad, laura," pleaded pin. "it'll look darker, i'm sure, if you've got it on--and if you don't go out in the sun." "you haven't got to wear it. it was piggish of you, pin, perfectly piggish! you might have watched what she was buying." "i did, laura!" asseverated pin, on the brink of tears. "there was a nice dark brown and i said take that, you would like it better, and she said hold your tongue, and did i think she was going to dress you as if you were your own grandmother." this dress hung for weeks in the most private corner of laura's school wardrobe. her companions had all returned with new outfits, and on the first assemblage for church there was a great mustering of one another, both by girls and teachers. laura was the only one to descend in the dress she had worn throughout the winter. her heart was sore with bitterness, and when the handful of episcopalians were marching to st stephen's-on-the-hill, she strove to soothe her own wound. "i can't think why my dress hasn't come," she said gratuitously, out of this hurt, with an oblique glance to see how her partner took the remark: it was the good-natured maria morell, who was resplendent in velvet and feathers. "i expect that stupid dressmaker couldn't get it done in time. i've waited for it all the week." "what a sell!" said maria, but with mediocre interest; for she had cocked her eye at a harmless-looking youth, who was doing his best not to blush on passing the line of girls.--"i say, do look at that toff making eyes. isn't he a nanny-goat." on several subsequent sundays, laura fingered, in an agony of indecision, the pleasing stuff of the dress, and ruefully considered its modish cut. once, no one being present, she even took it out of the wardrobe. but the merciless spring sunshine seemed to make the purple shoot fire, to let loose a host of other colours it in as well, and, with a shudder, she re-hung it on its peg. but the evil day came. after a holiday at godmother's, she received a hot letter from mother. godmother had complained of her looking "dowdy", and mother was exceedingly cross. laura was ordered to spend the coming saturday as well at prahran, and in her new dress, under penalty of a correspondence with mrs. gurley. there was no going against an order of this kind, and with death at her heart laura prepared to obey. on the fatal morning she dawdled as long as possible over her mending, thus postponing dressing to go out till the others had vacated the bedroom; where, in order not to be forced to see herself, she kept her eyes half shut, and turned the looking-glass hind-before. although it was a warm day, she hung a cloak over her shoulders. but her arms peeped out of the loose sleeves, and at least a foot of skirt was visible. as she walked along the corridor and down the stairs, she seemed to smudge the place with colour, and, directly she entered the dining-hall, comet-like she drew all eyes upon her. astonished titterings followed in her wake; even the teachers goggled her, afterwards to put their heads together. in the reception-room marina remarked at once: "hullo!--is this the new dress your mother wrote us about?" outside, things were no better; the very tram-conductors were fascinated by it; and every passer-by was a fresh object of dread: laura waited, her heart a-thump, for the moment when he should raise his eyes and, with a start of attention, become aware of the screaming colour. at godmother's all the faces disapproved: georgina said, "what a guy!" when she thought laura was out of earshot; but the boys stated their opinion openly as soon as they had her to themselves. "oh, golly! like a parrot--ain't she?" "this way to the purple parrot--this way! step up, ladies and gentlemen! a penny the whole show!" that evening, she tore the dress from her back and, hanging it up inside the cloak, vowed that, come what might, she would never put it on again. a day or two later, on unexpectedly entering her bedroom, she found lilith gordon and another girl at her wardrobe. they grew very red, and hurried giggling from the room, but laura had seen what they were looking at. after this, she tied the dress up with string and brown paper and hid it in a drawer, under her nightgowns. when she went home at christmas it went with her, still in the parcel, and then there was a stormy scene. but laura was stubborn: rather than wear the dress, she would not go back to the college at all. mother's heart had been softened by the prizes; laura seized the occasion, and extracted a promise that she should be allowed in future to choose her own frocks.-- and so the purple dress was passed on to pin, who detested it with equal heartiness, but, living under mother's eye, had not the spirit to fight against it. "got anything new in the way of clothes?" asked lilith gordon as she and laura undressed for bed a night or two after their return. "yes, one," said laura shortly.--for she thought lilith winked at the third girl, a publican's daughter from clunes. "another like the last? or have you gone in for yellow ochre this time?" laura flamed in silence. "great scott, what a colour that was! fit for an easter fair--miss day said so." "it wasn't mine," retorted laura passionately. "it ... it belonged to a girl i knew who died--and her mother gave it to me as a remembrance of her--but i didn't care for it." "i shouldn't think you did.--but i say, does your mother let you wear other people's clothes? what a rummy thing to do!" she went out of the room--no doubt to spread this piece of gossip further. laura looked daggers after her. she was angry enough with lilith for having goaded her to the lie, but much angrier with herself for its blundering ineffectualness. it was not likely she had been believed, and if she were, well, it made matters worse instead of better: people would conclude that she lived on charity. always when unexpectedly required to stand on the defensive, she said or did something foolish. that morning, for instance, a similar thing had happened--it had rankled all day in her mind. on looking through the washing, miss day had exclaimed in horror at the way in which her stockings were mended. "whoever did it? they've been done since you left here. i would never have passed such dams." laura crimsoned. "those? oh, an old nurse we've got at home. we've had her for years and years--but her eyesight's going now." miss day sniffed audibly. "so i should think. to cobble like that!" they were mother's dams, hastily made, late at night, and with all mother's genial impatience at useful sewing as opposed to beautiful. laura's intention had been to shield mother from criticism, as well as to spare miss day's feelings. but to have done it so clumsily as this! to have had to wince under miss day's scepticism! it was only a wonder the governess had not there and then taxed her with the fib. for who believed in old nurses nowadays? they were a stock property, borrowed on the spur of the moment from readings in the family herald, from tennyson's lady clare. why on earth had such a far-fetched excuse leapt to her tongue? why could she not have said sarah, the servant, the maid-of-all-work? then miss day would have had no chance to sniff, and she, laura, could have believed herself believed, instead of having to fret over her own stupidity.--but what she would like more than anything to know was, why the mending of the stockings at home should not be sarah's work? why must it just be mother--her mother alone--who made herself so disagreeably conspicuous, and not merely by darning the stockings, but, what was a still greater grievance, by not even darning them well? xi. it was an odd thing, all the same, how easy it was to be friends with lilith gordon: though she did not belong to laura's set though laura did not even like her, and though she had had ample proof that lilith was double-faced, not to be trusted. yet, in the months that followed the affair of the purple dress, laura grew more intimate with the plump, sandy-haired girl than with either bertha, or inez, or tilly. or, to put it more exactly, she was continually having lapses into intimacy, and repenting them when it was too late. in one way lilith was responsible for this: she could make herself very pleasant when she chose, seem to be your friend through thick and thin, thus luring you on to unbosom yourself; and afterwards she would go away and laugh over what you had told her, with other girls. and laura was peculiarly helpless under such circumstances: if it was done with tact, and with a certain assumed warmth of manner, anyone could make a cat's-paw of her. that lilith and she undressed for bed together had also something to do with their intimacy: this half-hour when one's hair was unbound and replaited, and fat and thin arms wielded the brush, was the time of all others for confidences. the governess who occupied the fourth bed did not come upstairs till ten o'clock; the publican's daughter, a lazy girl, was usually half asleep before the other two had their clothes off. it was in the course of one of these confidential chats that laura did a very foolish thing. in a moment of weakness, she gratuitously gave away the secret that mother supported her family by the work of her hands. the two girls were sitting on the side of lilith's bed. laura had a day of mishaps behind her--that partly, no doubt, accounted for her self-indulgence. but, in addition, her companion had just told her, unasked, that she thought her "very pretty". it was not in laura's nature to let this pass: she was never at ease under an obligation; she had to pay the coin back in kind. "embroidery? what sort? however does she do it?"--lilith's interest was on tiptoe at once--a false and slimy interest, the victim afterwards told herself. "oh, my mother's awfully clever. it's just lovely, too, what she does--all in silk--and ever so many different colours. she made a piano-cover once, and got fifty pounds for it." "how perfectly splendid!" "but that was only a lucky chance ... that she got that to do. she mostly does children's dresses and cloaks and things like that." "but she's not a dressmaker, is she?" "a dressmaker? i should think not indeed! they're sent up, all ready to work, from the biggest shops in town." "i say!--she must be clever." "she is; she can do anything. she makes the patterns up all out of her own head. "--and filled with pride in mother's accomplishments and lilith's appreciation of them, laura fell asleep that night without a qualm. it was the next evening. several of the boarders who had finished preparing their lessons were loitering in the dining-hall, laura and lilith among them. in the group was a girl called lucy, young but very saucy; for she lived at toorak, and came of one of the best families in melbourne. she was not as old as laura by two years, but was already feared and respected for the fine scorn of her opinions. lilith gordon had bragged: "my uncle's promised me a gold watch and chain when i pass matric." lucy of toorak laughed: her nose came down, and her mouth went up at the corners. "do you think you ever will?" "g. o. k. and he won't tell. but i'll probably get the watch all the same." "where does your uncle hang out?" "brisbane." "sure he can afford to buy it?" "of course he can." "what is he?" lilith was unlucky enough to hesitate, ever so slightly. "oh, he's got plenty of money," she asserted. "she doesn't like to say what he is!" "i don't care whether i say it or not." "a butcher, p'raps, or an undertaker?" "a butcher! he's got the biggest newspaper in brisbane!" "a newspaper! great scott! her uncle keeps a newspaper!" there was a burst of laughter from those standing round. lilith was scarlet now. "it's nothing to be ashamed of," she said angrily. but lucy of toorak could not recover from her amusement. "an uncle who keeps a newspaper! a newspaper! well, i'm glad none of my uncles are so rummy.--i say, does he leave it at front doors himself in the morning?" laura had at first looked passively on, well pleased to see another than herself the butt of young lucy's wit. but at this stage of her existence she was too intent on currying favour, to side with any but the stronger party. and so she joined in the boisterous mirth lilith's admission and lucy's reception of it excited, and flung her gibes with the rest. she was pulled up short by a hissing in her ear. "if you say one word more, i'll tell about the embroidery!" laura went pale with fright: she had been in good spirits that day, and had quite forgotten her silly confidence of the night before. now, the jeer that was on the tip of her tongue hung fire. she could not all at once obliterate her smile--that would have been noticeable; but it grew weaker, stiffer and more unnatural, then gradually faded away, leaving her with a very solemn little face. from this night on, lilith gordon represented a powder-mine, which might explode at any minute.--and she herself had laid the train! from the outset, laura had been accepted, socially, by even the most exclusive, as one of themselves; and this, in spite of her niggardly allowance, her ridiculous clothes. for the child had race in her: in a well-set head, in good hands and feet and ears. her nose, too, had a very pronounced droop, which could stand only for blue blood, or a hebraic ancestor--and jews were not received as boarders in the school. now, loud as money made itself in this young community, effectual as it was in cloaking shortcomings, it did not go all the way: inherited instincts and traditions were not so easily subdued. just some of the wealthiest, too, were aware that their antecedents would not stand a close scrutiny; and thus a mighty respect was engendered in them for those who had nothing to fear. moreover, directly you got away from the vastly rich, class distinctions were observed with an exactitude such as can only obtain in an exceedingly mixed society. the three professions alone were sacrosanct. the calling of architect, for example, or of civil engineer, was, if a fortune had not been accumulated, utterly without prestige; trade, any connection with trade--the merest bowing acquaintance with buying and selling--was a taint that nothing could remove; and those girls who were related to shopkeepers, or, more awful still, to publicans, would rather have bitten their tongues off than have owned to the disgrace. yet laura knew very well that good birth and an aristocratic appearance would not avail her, did the damaging fact leak out that mother worked for her living. work in itself was bad enough--how greatly to be envied were those whose fathers did nothing more active than live on their money! but the additional circumstance of mother being a woman made things ten times worse: ladies did not work; some one always left them enough to live on, and if he didn't, well, then he, too, shared the ignominy. so laura went in fear and trembling lest the truth should come to light--in that case, she would be a pariah indeed--went in hourly dread of lilith betraying her. nothing, however, happened--at least as far as she could discover--and she sought to propitiate lilith in every possible way. for the time being, though, anxiety turned her into a porcupine, ready to erect her quills at a touch. she was ever on the look-out for an allusion to her mother's position, and for the slight that was bound to accompany it. even the governesses noticed the change in her. three of them sat one evening round the fire in mrs. gurley's sitting-room, with their feet on the fender. the girls had gone to bed; it was mrs. gurley's night off, and as miss day was also on leave, the three who were left could draw in more closely than usual. miss snodgrass had made the bread into toast--in spite of miss chapman's quakings lest mrs. gurley should notice the smell when she came in--and, as they munched, miss snodgrass related how she had just confiscated a book laura rambotham was trying to smuggle upstairs, and how it had turned out that it belonged, not to laura herself, but to lilith gordon. "she was like a little spitfire about it all the same. a most objectionable child, i call her. it was only yesterday i wanted to look at some embroidery on her apron--a rather pretty new stitch--and do you think she'd let me see it? she jerked it away and glared at me as if she would have liked to eat me. i could have boxed her ears." "i never have any trouble with laura. i don't think you know how to manage her," said miss chapman, and executed a little manoeuvre. she had poor teeth; and, having awaited a moment when miss snodgrass's sharp eyes were elsewhere engaged, she surreptitiously dropped the crusts of the toast into her handkerchief. "i'd be sorry to treat her as you do," said miss snodgrass, and yawned. "girls need to be made to sit up nowadays." she yawned again, and gazing round the room for fresh food for talk, caught miss zielinski with her eye. "hullo, ziely, what are you deep in?" she put her arm round the other's neck, and unceremoniously laid hold of her book. "you naughty girl, you're at ouida again! always got your nose stuck in some trashy novel." "do let me alone," said miss zielinski pettishly, holding fast to the book; but she did not raise her eyes, for they were wet. "you know you'll count the washing all wrong again to-morrow, your head'll be so full of that stuff." "yes, it's time to go, girls; to-morrow's saturday." and miss chapman sighed; for, on a saturday morning between six and eight o'clock, fifty-five lots of washing had to be sorted out and arranged in piles. "holy moses, what a life!" ejaculated miss snodgrass, and yawned again, in a kind of furious desperation. "i swear i'll marry the first man that asks me, to get away from it.--as long as he has money enough to keep me decently." "you would soon wish yourself back, if you had no more feeling for him that that," reproved miss chapman. "catch me! not even if he had a hump, or kept a mistress, or was over eighty. oh dear, oh dear!"--she stretched herself so violently that her bones cracked; to resume, in a tone of ordinary conversation: "i do wish i knew whether to put a brown wing or a green one in that blessed hat of mine." miss chapman's face straightened out from its shocked expression. "your hat? why do you want to change it? it's very nice as it is." "my dear miss chapman, it's at least six months out of date.--ziely, you're crying!" "i'm not," said miss zielinski weakly, caught in the act of blowing her nose. "how on earth can you cry over a book? as if it were true!" "i thank god i haven't such a cold heart as you." "and i thank god i'm not a romantic idiot. but your name's not thekla for nothing i suppose." "my name's as good as yours. and i won't be looked down on because my father was once a german." "'mr. kayser, do you vant to buy a dawg?'" hummed miss snodgrass. "girls, girls!" admonished miss chapman. "how you two do bicker.-- there, that's mrs. gurley now! and it's long past ten." at the creaking of the front door both juniors rose, gathered their belongings together, and hurried from the room. but it was a false alarm; and having picked up some crumbs and set the chairs in order, miss chapman resumed her seat. as she waited, she looked about her and wondered, with a sigh, whether it would ever be her good fortune to call this cheery little room her own. it was only at moments like the present that she could indulge such a dream. did mrs. gurley stand before her, majestic in bonnet and mantle, as in a minute or two she would, or draped in her great shawl, thoughts of this kind sank to their proper level, and miss chapman knew them for what they were worth. but sitting alone by night, her chin in her hand, her eyes on the dying fire, around her the eerie stillness of the great house, her ambition did not seem wholly out of reach; and, giving rein to her fancy, she could picture herself sweeping through halls and rooms, issuing orders that it was the business of others to fulfil, could even think out a few changes that should be made, were she head of the staff. but the insertion of mrs. gurley's key in the lock, the sound of her foot on the oilcloth, was enough to waken a sense of guilt in miss chapman, and make her start to her feet--the drab, elderly, apologetic governess once more. xii. da regiert der nachbar, da wird man nachbar. nietzsche you might regulate your outward habit to the last button of what you were expected to wear; you might conceal the tiny flaws and shuffle over the big improprieties in your home life, which were likely to damage your value in the eyes of your companions; you might, in brief, march in the strictest order along the narrow road laid down for you by these young lawgivers, keeping perfect step and time with them: yet of what use were all your pains, if you could not marshal your thoughts and feelings--the very realest part of you--in rank and file as well? ... if these persisted in escaping control?--such was the question which, about this time, began to present itself to laura's mind. it first took form on the day miss blount, the secretary, popped her head in at the door and announced: "at half-past three, class two to number one." class two was taking a lesson in elocution: that is to say mr. repton, the visiting-master for this branch of study, was reading aloud, in a sonorous voice, a chapter of handy andy. he underlined his points heavily, and his hearers, like the self-conscious, emotionally shy young colonials they were, felt half amused by, half-superior to the histrionic display. they lounged in easy, ungraceful postures while he read, reclining one against another, or sprawling forward over the desks, their heads on their arms. it was the first hour after dinner, when one's thoughts were sleepy and stupid, and mr. repton was not a pattern disciplinarian; but the general abandonment of attitude had another ground as well. it had to do with the shape of the master's legs. these were the object of an enthusiastic admiration. they were generally admitted to be the handsomest in the school, and those girls were thought lucky who could get the best view of them beneath the desk. moreover, the rumour ran that mr. repton had once been an actor--his very curly hair no doubt lent weight to the report--and class two was fond of picturing the comely limbs in the tights of a hamlet or othello. it also, of course, invented for him a lurid life outside the college walls--notwithstanding the fact that he and his sonsy wife sat opposite the boarders in church every sunday morning, the embodiment of the virtuous commonplace; and whenever he looked at a pupil, every time he singled one of them out for special notice, he was believed to have an ulterior motive, his words were construed into meaning something they should not mean: so that the poor man was often genuinely puzzled by the reception of his friendly overtures.--such was class two's youthful contribution to the romance of school life. on this particular day, however, the sudden, short snap of the secretary's announcement that, instead of dispersing at half-past three, the entire school was to reassemble, galvanised the class. glances of mingled apprehension and excitement flew round; eyes telegraphed [p. ] vigorous messages; and there was little attention left for well-shaped members, or for the antics of handy andy under his mother's bed. but when the hour came, and all classes were moving in the same direction, verandahs and corridors one seething mass of girls, it was the excitement that prevailed. for any break was welcome in the uniformity of the days; and the nervous tension now felt was no more disagreeable, at bottom, than was the pleasant trepidation experienced of old by those who went to be present at a hanging. in the course of the past weeks a number of petty thefts had been committed. day-scholars who left small sums of money in their jacket pockets would find, on returning to the cloakrooms, that these had been pilfered. for a time, the losses were borne in silence, because of the reluctance inherent in young girls to making a fuss. but when shillings began to vanish in the same fashion, and once even half-a-crown was missing, it was recognised that the thing must be put a stop to; and one bolder than the rest, and with a stronger sense of public morality, lodged a complaint. investigations were made, a trap was set, and the thief discovered.--the school was now assembled to see justice done. the great room was fuller even than at morning prayers; for then there was always an unpunctual minority. a crowd of girls who had not been able to find seats was massed together at the further end. as at prayers, visiting and resident teachers stood in a line, with their backs to the high windows; they were ranged in order of precedence, topped by dr pughson, who stood next mr. strachey's desk. all [p. ] alike wore blank, stern faces. in one of the rows of desks for two--blackened, ink-scored, dusty desks, with eternally dry ink-wells--sat laura and tilly, behind them inez and bertha. the cheeks of the four were flushed. but, while the others only whispered and wondered, laura was on the tiptoe of expectation. she could not get her breath properly, and her hands and feet were cold. twisting her fingers, in and out, she moistened her lips with her tongue.--when, oh, when would it begin? these few foregoing minutes were the most trying of any. for when, in an ominous hush, mr. strachey entered and strode to his desk, laura suddenly grew calm, and could take note of everything that passed. the principal raised his hand, to enjoin a silence that was already absolute. "will miss johns stand up!" at these words, spoken in a low, impressive tone, bertha burst into tears and hid her face in her handkerchief. hundreds of eyes sought the unhappy culprit as she rose, then to be cast down and remain glued to the floor. the girl stood, pale and silly-looking, and stared at mr. strachey much as a rabbit stares at the snake that is about to eat it. she was a very ugly girl of fourteen, with a pasty face, and lank hair that dangled to her shoulders. her mouth had fallen half open through fear, and she did not shut it all the time she was on view. laura could not take her eyes off the scene: they travelled, burning with curiosity, from annie johns to mr. strachey, and back again to the miserable thief. when, after a few introductory remarks on crime in general, the principal passed on to the present case, and described it in detail, laura was fascinated by his oratory, and gazed full at him. he made it all live vividly before her; she hung on his lips, appreciating his points, the skilful way in which he worked up his climaxes. but then, she herself knew what it was to be poor--as annie johns had been. she understood what it would mean to lack your tram-fare on a rainy morning--according to mr. strachey this was the motor impulse of the thefts--because a lolly shop had stretched out its octopus arms after you. she could imagine, too, with a shiver, how easy it would be, the loss of the first pennies having remained undiscovered, to go on to threepenny-bits, and from these to sixpences. more particularly since the money had been taken, without exception, from pockets in which there was plenty. not, laura felt sure, in order to avoid detection, as mr. strachey supposed, but because to those who had so much a few odd coins could not matter. she wondered if everyone else agreed with him on this point. how did the teachers feel about it?--and she ran her eyes over the row, to learn their opinions from their faces. but these were as stolid as ever. only good old chapman, she thought, looked a little sorry, and miss zielinski--yes, miss zielinski was crying! this discovery thrilled laura--just as, at the play, the fact of one spectator being moved to tears intensifies his neighbour's enjoyment.--but when mr. strachey left the field of personal narration and went on to the moral aspects of the affair, laura ceased to be gripped by him, and turned anew to study the pale, dogged face [p. ] of the accused, though she had to crane her neck to do it. before such a stony mask as this, she was driven to imagine what must be going on behind it; and, while thus engrossed, she felt her arm angrily tweaked. it was tilly. "you are a beast to stare like that!" "i'm not staring." she turned her eyes away at once, more than half believing her own words; and then, for some seconds, she tried to do what was expected of her: to feel a decent unconcern. at her back, bertha's purry crying went steadily on. what on earth did she cry for? she had certainly not heard a word mr. strachey said. laura fidgeted in her seat, and stole a sideglance at tilly's profile. she could not, really could not miss the last scene of all, when, in masterly fashion, the principal was gathering the threads together. and so, feeling rather like "peeping tom", she cautiously raised her eyes again, and this time managed to use them without turning her head. all other eyes were still charitably lowered. several girls were crying now, but without a sound. and, as the last, awful moments drew near, even bertha was hushed, and of all the odd hundreds of throats not one dared to cough. laura's heart began to palpitate, for she felt the approach of the final climax, mr. strachey's periods growing ever slower and more massive. when, after a burst of eloquence which, the child felt, would not have shamed a bishop, the principal drew himself up to his full height, and, with uplifted arm, thundered forth: "herewith, miss annie johns, i publicly expel you from the school! leave it, now, this moment, and never darken its doors again!"--when this happened, laura was shot through by an ecstatic quiver, such as she had felt once only in her life before; and that was when a beautiful, golden-haired hamlet, who had held a ballarat theatre entranced for a whole evening, fell dead by laertes' sword, to the rousing plaudits of the house. breathing unevenly, she watched, lynx-eyed, every inch of annie johns' progress: watched her pick up her books, edge out of her seat and sidle through the rows of desks; watched her walk to the door with short jerky movements, mount the two steps that led to it, fumble with the handle, turn it, and vanish from sight; and when it was all over, and there was nothing more to see, she fell back in her seat with an audible sigh. it was too late after this for the winding of the snaky line about the streets and parks of east melbourne, which constituted the boarders' daily exercise. they were despatched to stretch their legs in the garden. here, as they walked round lawns and tennis-courts, they discussed the main event of the afternoon, and were a little more vociferous than usual, in an attempt to shake off the remembrance of a very unpleasant half-hour. "i bet you sandy rather enjoyed kicking up that shindy." "did you see puggy's boots again? girls, he must take twelves!" "and that old blubber of a ziely's handkerchief! it was filthy. i told you yesterday i was sure she never washed her neck." bertha, whose tears had dried as rapidly as sea-spray, gave laura a dig in the ribs. "what's up with you, old tweedledum? you're as glum as a lubra." "no, i'm not." "it's my belief that laura was sorry for that pig," threw in tilly. "indeed i wasn't!" said laura indignantly. "sorry for a thief?" "i tell you i wasn't!"--and this was true. among the divers feelings laura had experienced that afternoon, pity had not been included. "if you want to be chums with such a mangy beast, you'd better go to school in a lock-up." "i don't know what my father'd say, if he knew i'd been in the same class as a pickpocket," said the daughter of a minister from brisbane. "i guess he wouldn't have let me stop here a week." laura went one better. "my mother wouldn't have let me stop a day." those standing by laughed, and a girl from the riverina said: "oh, no, of course not!" in a tone that made laura wince and regret her readiness. before tea, she had to practise. the piano stood in an outside classroom, where no one could hear whether she was diligent or idle, and she soon gave up playing and went to the window. here, having dusted the gritty sill with her petticoat, she leaned her chin on her two palms and stared out into the sunbaked garden. it was empty now, and very still. the streets that lay behind the high palings were deserted in the drowsy heat; the only sound to be heard was a gentle tinkling to vespers in the neighbouring catholic seminary. leaning thus on her elbows, and balancing herself first on her heels, then on her toes, laura went on, in desultory fashion, with the thoughts that had been set in motion during the afternoon. she wondered where annie johns was now, and what she was doing; wondered how she had faced her mother, and what her father had said to her. all the rest of them had gone back at once to their everyday life; annie johns alone was cut adrift. what would happen to her? would she perhaps be turned out of the house? ... into the streets?--and laura had a lively vision of the guilty creature, in rags and tatters, slinking along walls and sleeping under bridges, eternally moved on by a ruthless london policeman (her only knowledge of extreme destitution being derived from the woeful tale of "little jo").--and to think that the beginning of it all had been the want of a trumpery tram-fare. how safe the other girls were! no wonder they could allow themselves to feel shocked and outraged; none of them knew what it was not to have threepence in your pocket. while she, laura ... yes, and it must be this same incriminating acquaintance with poverty that made her feel differently about annie johns and what she had done. for her feelings had been different--there was no denying that. did she now think back over the half-hour spent in number one, and act honest injun with herself, she had to admit that her companions' indignant and horrified aversion to the crime had not been hers, let alone their decent indifference towards the criminal. no, to be candid, she had been deeply interested in the whole affair, had even managed to extract an unseemly amount of entertainment from it. and that, of course, should not have been. it was partly mr. strachey's fault, for making it so dramatic; but none the less she genuinely despised herself, for having such a queer inside. "pig--pig--pig!" she muttered under her breath, and wrinkled her nose in a grimace. the real reason of her pleasurable absorption was, she supposed, that she had understood annie johns' motive better than anyone else. well, she had had no business to understand--that was the long and the short of it: nice-minded girls found such a thing impossible, and turned incuriously away. and her companions had been quick to recognise her difference of attitude, or they would never have dared to accuse her of sympathy with the thief, or to doubt her chorusing assertion with a sneer. for them, the gap was not very wide between understanding and doing likewise. and they were certainly right.--oh! the last wish in the world she had was to range herself on the side of the sinner; she longed to see eye to eye with her comrades--if she had only known how to do it. for there was no saying where it might lead you, if you persisted in having odd and peculiar notions; you might even end by being wicked yourself. let her take a lesson in time from annie's fate. for, beginning perhaps with ideas that were no more unlike those of her schoolfellows than were laura's own, annie was now a branded thief and an outcast.--and the child's feelings, as she stood at the window, were not very far removed from prayer. had they found words, they would have taken the form of an entreaty that she might be preserved from having thoughts that were different from other people's; that she might be made to feel as she ought to feel, in a proper, ladylike way--and especially did she see a companion convicted of crime. below all this, in subconscious depths, a chord of fear seemed to have been struck in her as well--the fear of stony faces, drooped lids, and stretched, pointing fingers. for that night she started up, with a cry, from dreaming that not annie johns but she was being expelled; that an army of spear-like first fingers was marching towards her, and that, try as she would, she could not get her limp, heavy legs to bear her to the schoolroom door. and this dream often returned. xiii. on her honourable promotion the following christmas--she mounted two forms this time--laura was a thin, middle-sized girl of thirteen, who still did not look her age. the curls had vanished. in their place hung a long, dark plait, which she bound by choice with a red ribbon. tilly was the only one of her intimates who skipped a class with her; hence she was thrown more exclusively than before on tilly's companionship; for it was a melancholy fact: if you were not in the same class as the girl who was your friend, your interests and hers were soon fatally sundered. on their former companions, tilly and laura, from their new perch, could not but look down: the two had masters now for all subjects; euclid loomed large; latin was no longer bounded by the first principia; and they fussed considerably, in the others' hearing, over the difficulties of the little blue books that began: gallia est omnis divisa in partes tres. in the beginning, they held very close together; for their new fellows were inclined to stand on their dignity with the pair of interlopers from class two. they were all older than tilly and laura, and thought themselves wiser: here were girls of sixteen and seventeen years of age, some of whom would progress no farther along the high-road of education. as for the boarders who sat in this form, they made up a jealous little clique, and it was some time before the younger couple could discover the secret bond. then, one morning, the two were sitting with a few others on the verandah bench, looking over their lessons for the day. mrs. gurley had snatched a moment's rest there, on her way to the secretary's office, and as long as she allowed her withering eye to play upon things and people, the girls conned their pages with a great show of industry. but no sooner had she sailed away than kate horner leant forward and called to maria morell, who was at the other end of the seat: "i say, maria, genesis li, ."--she held an open bible in her hand. maria morell frowned caution. "dash it, kate, mind those kids!" "oh, they won't savvy." but laura's eyes were saucers of curiosity, for tilly, who kept her long lashes lowered, had given her a furious nudge. with a wink and a beck to each other, the bigger girls got up and went away. "i say, what did you poke me so hard for?" inquired laura as she and tilly followed in their wake, at the clanging of the public prayer-bell. "you soft, didn't you hear what she said?" "of course i did"--and laura repeated the reference. "let's look it up then." under cover of the prayer tilly sought it out, and together they bent their heads over it. on this occasion, tilly was more knowing than laura; but on this alone; for when laura once grasped what they were driving at, she was as nimble-witted as any. only a day or two later it was she who, in face of kate and maria, invited tilly to turn up chapter and verse. both the elder girls burst out laughing. "by dad!" cried kate horner, and smacked her thigh. "this kid knows a thing or two." "you bet! i told you she wasn't born yesterday."--and maria laid her arm round laura's shoulders. thus was laura encouraged, put on her mettle; and soon there was no more audacious bible-reader in the class than she. the girls were thrown thus upon the book of books for their contraband knowledge, since it was the only frankly outspoken piece of literature allowed within the college walls: the classics studied were rigidly expurgated; the school library was kept so dull that no one over the age of ten much cared to borrow a volume from it. and, by fair means or unfair, it was necessary to obtain information on matters of sex; for girls most of whom were well across the threshold of womanhood the subject had an invincible fascination. such knowledge as they possessed was a strange jumble, picked up at random: in one direction they were well primed; in another, supremely ignorant. thus, though they received lectures on what was called "physiology", and for these were required to commit to memory the name of every bone and artery in the body, yet all that related to a woman's special organs and chief natural function was studiously ignored. the subject being thus chastely shrouded in mystery, they were thrown back on guesswork and speculation--with the quaintest results. the fancies woven by quite big girls, for instance, round the physical feat of bringing a child into the world, would have supplied material for a volume of fairytales. on many a summer evening at this time, in a nook of the garden, heads of all shades might have been seen pressed as close together as a cluster of settled bees; and like the humming of bees, too, were the busy whisperings and subdued buzzes of laughter that accompanied this hot discussion of the "how"--as a living answer to which, each of them would probably some day walk the world. innumerable theories were afloat, one more fantastic than another; and the wilder the conjecture, the greater was the respect and applause it gained. on the other hand, of less profitable information they had amassed a goodly store. girls who came from up-country could tell a lively tale of the artless habits of the blacks; others, who were at home in mining towns, described the doings in chinese camps--those unavoidable concomitants of gold-grubbing settlements; rhymes circulated that would have staggered a back-blocker; while the governesses were without exception, young and old, kindly and unkindly, laid under such flamboyant suspicions as the poor ladies had, for certain, never heard breathed--since their own impudent schooldays. this dabbling in the illicit--it had little in common with the opener grime of the ordinary schoolboy--did not even widen the outlook of these girls. for it was something to hush up and keep hidden away, to have qualms, even among themselves, about knowing; and, like all knowledge that fungus-like shrinks from the sun, it was stunted and unlovely. their minds were warped by it, their vision was distorted: viewed through its lens, the most natural human relations appeared unnatural. thus, not the primmest patterns of family life could hope for mercy in their eyes; over the family, too, man, as read by these young rigorists, was held to leave his serpent's trail of desire. for out of it all rose the vague, crude picture of woman as the prey of man. man was animal, a composite of lust and cruelty, with no aim but that of brutally taking his pleasure: something monstrous, yet to be adored; annihilating, yet to be sought after; something to flee and, at the same time, to entice, with every art at one's disposal. as long as it was solely a question of clandestine knowledge and ingenious surmisings, laura went merrily with the rest: here no barrier shut her off from her companions. always a very inquisitive little girl, she was now agog to learn new lore. her mind, in this direction, was like a clean but highly sensitised plate. and partly because of her previous entire ignorance, partly because of her extreme receptiveness, she soon outstripped her comrades, and before long, was one of the most skilful improvisers of the group: a dexterous theorist: a wicked little adept at innuendo. but that was all; a step farther, and she ran her head against a stone wall. for the invisible yeast that brought this ferment of natural curiosity to pass, was the girls' intense interest in the opposite sex: a penned-up interest that clamoured for an outlet; an interest which, in the life of these prospective mothers, had already usurped the main place. laura, on the other hand, had so far had scant experience of boys of a desirable age, nor any liking for such as she had known; indeed she still held to her childish opinion that they were "silly"--feckless creatures, in spite of their greater strength and size--or downright disagreeable and antagonistic, like godmother's erwin and marmaduke. no breath of their possible dangerous fascination had hitherto reached her. hence, an experience that came her way, at the beginning of the autumn was of the nature of an awakening. xiv. "my cousin bob's awfully gone on you." laura gaped at tilly, in crimson disbelief. "but i've never spoken to him!" "doesn't count. he's seen you in church." "go on!--you're stuffing." "word of honour!--and i've promised him to ask aunt if i can bring you with me to lunch next saturday." laura looked forward to this day with mixed feelings. she was flattered at being invited to the big house in town where tilly's relatives lived; but she felt embarrassed at the prospect, and she had not the least idea what a boy who was "gone" on you would expect you to be or to do. bob was a beautiful youth of seventeen, tall, and dark, and slender, with milk-white teeth and spanish eyes; and laura's mouth dried up when she thought of perhaps having to be sprightly or coquettish with him. on the eventful morning tilly came to her room while she was dressing, and eyed her critically. "oh, i say, don't put on that brown hat ... for mercy's sake! bob can't stand brown." but the brown was laura's best, and she demurred. "oh well, if you don't care to look nice, you know ..." of course she did; she was burning to. she even accepted the loan of a sash from her friend, because "bob loves blue"; and went out feeling odd and unlike herself, in her everyday hat and borrowed plumes. the aunt, a pleasant, youthful-looking lady, called for them in a white-hooded wagonette, and set them down at the house with a playful warning. "now don't get up to any mischief, you two!" "no fear!" was tilly's genial response, as aunt and cab drove off. they were going to "do the block", tilly explained, and would meet bob there; but they must first make sure that the drive had not disarranged their hair or the position of their hats; and she led the way to her aunt's bedroom. laura, though she had her share of natural vanity, was too impatient to do more than cast a perfunctory glance at her reflected self. at this period of her life when a drive in a hired cab was enough of a novelty to give her pleasure, a day such as the one that lay before her filled her with unbounded anticipation. she fidgeted from one leg to another while she waited. for tilly was in no hurry to be gone: she prinked and finicked, making lavish use, after the little swing-glass at school, of the big mirror with its movable wings; she examined her teeth, pulled down her under-lids, combed her eyebrows, twisted her neck this way and that, in an endeavour to view her person from every angle; she took liberties with perfumes and brushes: was, in short, blind and deaf to all but the perfecting of herself--this rather mannish little self, which, despite a most womanly plumpness, affected a boyish bonhomie, and emphasised the role by wearing a stiff white collar and cuffs. laura was glad when she at last decided that she would "do", and when they stepped out into the radiant autumn morning. "what a perfectly scrumptious day!" "yes, bully.--i say, is my waist all right?" "quite right. and ever so small." "i know. i gave it an extra pull-in.--now if only we're lucky enough to get hold of a man or two we know!" the air, australian air, met them like a prickling champagne: it was incredibly crisp, pure, buoyant. from the top of the eastern hill the spacious white street sloped speedily down, to run awhile in a hollow, then mount again at the other end. where the two girls turned into it, it was quiet; but the farther they descended, the fuller it grew--fuller of idlers like themselves, out to see and to be seen. laura cocked her chin; she had not had a like sense of freedom since being at school. and besides, was not a boy, a handsome boy, waiting for her, and expecting her? this was the clou of the day, the end for which everything was making; yet of such stuff was laura that she would have felt relieved, could the present moment have been spun out indefinitely. the state of suspense was very pleasant to her. as for tilly, that young lady was swinging the shoulders atop of the little waist in a somewhat provocative fashion, only too conscious of the grey-blueness of her fine eyes, and the modish cut of her clothes. she had a knack which seemed to laura both desirable and unattainable: that of appearing to be engrossed in glib chat with her companion, while in reality she did not hear a word laura said, and ogled everyone who passed, out of the tail of her eye. they reached the "block", that strip of collins street which forms the fashionable promenade. here the road was full of cabs and carriages, and there was a great crowd on the pavement. the girls progressed but slowly. people were meeting their friends, shopping, changing books at the library, eating ices at the confectioner's, fruit at the big fruit-shop round the corner. there were a large number of high-collared young dudes, some trinity and ormond men with coloured hatbands, ladies with little parcels dangling from their wrists, and countless schoolgirls like themselves. tilly grew momentarily livelier; her big eyes pounced, hawk-like, on every face she met, and her words to laura became more disjointed than before. finally, her efforts were crowned with success: she managed, by dint of glance and smile combined, to unhook a youth of her acquaintance from a group at a doorway, and to attach him to herself. in high good humour now that her aim was accomplished, she set about the real business of the morning--that of promenading up and down. she had no longer even a feigned interest left for laura, and the latter walked beside the couple a lame and unnecessary third. though she kept a keen watch for bob, she could not discover him, and her time was spent for the most part in dodging people, and in catching up with her companions for it was difficult to walk three abreast in the crowd. then she saw him--and with what an unpleasant shock. if only tilly did not see him, too! but no such luck was hers. "look out, there's bob," nudged tilly almost at once. alas! there was no question of his waiting longingly for her to appear. he was walking with two ladies, and laughing and talking. he raised his hat to his cousin and her friend, but did not disengage himself, and passing them by disappeared in the throng. behind her hand tilly buzzed: "one of those woodwards is awfully sweet on him. i bet he can't get loose." this was a drop of comfort. but as, at the next encounter, he still did not offer to join them--could it, indeed, be expected that he would prefer her company to that of the pretty, grown-up girls he was with?--as he again sidled past, tilly, who had given him one of her most vivacious sparkles, turned and shot a glance at laura's face. "for pity's sake, look a little more amiable, or he won't come at all." laura felt more like crying; her sunshine was intercepted, her good spirits were quenched; had she had her will, she would have turned tail and gone straight back to school. she had not wanted bob, had never asked him to be 'gone' on her, and if she had now to fish for him, into the bargain...however there was no help for it; the thing had to be gone through with; and, since tilly seemed disposed to lay the blame of his lukewarmness at her door, laura glued her mouth, the next time bob hove in sight, into a feeble smile. soon afterwards he came up to them. his cousin had an arch greeting in readiness. "well, you've been doing a pretty mash, you have!" she cried, and jogged him with her elbow. "no wonder you'd no eyes for poor us. what price miss woodward's gloves this morning!"--at which bob laughed, looked sly, and tapped his breast pocket. it was time to be moving homewards. tilly and her beau led the way. "for we know you two would rather be alone. now, bob, not too many sheep's-eyes, please!" bob smiled, and let fly a wicked glance at laura from under his dark lashes. dropping behind, they began to mount the hill. now was the moment, felt laura, to say something very witty, or pert, or clever; and a little pulse in her throat beat hard, as she furiously racked her brains. oh, for just a morsel of tilly's loose-tonguedness! one after the other she considered and dismissed: the pleasant coolness of the morning, the crowded condition of the street, even the fact of the next day being sunday--ears and cheeks on fire, meanwhile, at her own slow-wittedness. and bob smiled. she almost hated him for that smile. it was so assured, and withal so disturbing. seen close at hand his teeth were whiter, his eyes browner than she had believed. his upper lip, too, was quite dark; and he fingered it incessantly, as he waited for her to make the onslaught. but he waited in vain; and when they had walked a whole street-block in this mute fashion, it was he who broke the silence. "ripping girls, those woodwards," he said, and seemed to be remembering their charms. "yes, they looked very nice," said laura in a small voice, and was extremely conscious of her own thirteen years. "simply stunning! though may's so slender--may's the pretty one--and has such a jolly figure ... i believe i could span her waist with my two hands ... her service is just a --at tennis i mean." "is it really?" said laura wanly, and felt unutterably depressed at the turn the conversation was taking.--her own waist was coarse, her knowledge of tennis of the slightest. "ra-ther! overhand, with a cut on it--she plays with a -oz. racquet. and she has a back drive, too, by jove, that--you play, of course?" "oh, yes." laura spoke up manfully; but prayed that he would not press his inquiries further. at this juncture his attention was diverted by the passing of a fine tandem; and as soon as he brought it back to her again, she said: 'you're at trinity, aren't you?'--which was finesse; for she knew he wasn't. "well, yes ... all but," answered bob well pleased. "i start in this winter." "how nice!" there was another pause; then she blurted out: "we church girls always wear trinity colours at the boat-race." she hoped from her heart, this might lead him to say that he would look out for her there; but he did nothing of the kind. his answer was to the effect that this year they jolly well expected to knock ormond into a cocked hat. lunch threatened to be formidable. to begin with, laura, whose natural, easy frankness had by this time all but been successfully educated out of her, laura was never shyer with strangers than at a meal, where every word you said could be listened to by a tableful of people. then, too, her vis-a-vis was a small sharp child of five or six, called thumbby, or thumbkin, who only removed her bead-like eyes from laura's face to be saucy to her father. and, what was worse, the uncle turned out to be a type that struck instant terror into laura: a full-fledged male tease.--he was, besides, very hairy of face, and preternaturally solemn. no sooner had he drawn in his chair to the table than he began. lifting his head and thrusting out his chin, he sniffed the air in all directions with a moving nose--just as a cat does. everyone looked at him in surprise. tilly, who sat next him, went pink. "what is it, dear?" his wife at last inquired in a gentle voice; for it was evident that he was not going to stop till asked why he did it. "mos' extraor'nary smell!" he replied. "mother, d'you know, i could take my appledavy some one has been using my scent." "nonsense, tom." "silly pa!" said the little girl. ramming his knuckles into his eyes, he pretended to cry at his daughter's rebuke; then bore down on laura. "d'you know, miss ra ... ra ... rambotham"--he made as if he could not get her name out--"d'you know that i'm a great man for scent? fact. i take a bath in it every morning." laura smiled uncertainly, fixed always by the child. "fact, i assure you. over the tummy, up to the chin.--now, who's been at it? for it's my opinion i shan't have enough left to shampoo my eyebrows.--bob, is it you?" "don't be an ass, pater." "cut me some bread, bob, please," said tilly hastily. "mos' extraor'nary thing!" persisted the uncle. "or--good lord, mother, can it be my monthly attack of d.t.'s beginning already? they're not due, you know, till next week, monday, five o'clock." "dear, don't be so silly. besides it's my scent, not yours. and anyone is welcome to it." "well, well, let's call in the cats!--by the way, miss ra ... ra ... rambotham, are you aware that this son of mine is a professed lady-killer?" laura and bob went different shades of crimson. "why has she got so red?" the child asked her mother, in an audible whisper. "oh, chuck it, pater!" murmured bob in disgust. "fact, i assure you. put not your trust in robert! he's always on with the new love before he's off with the old. you ask him whose glove he's still cherishing in the pocket next his heart." bob pushed his plate from him and, for a moment, seemed about to leave the table. laura could not lift her eyes. tilly chewed in angry silence. here, however, the child made a diversion. "you're a lady-kilda yourself, pa." "me, thumbkin?--mother, d'you hear that?--then it's the whiskers, thumbby. ladies love whiskers--or a fine drooping moustache, like my son bob's." he sang: "'oh, oh, the ladies loved him so!'" "tom, dear, do be quiet." "tom, tom, the piper's son!" chirped thumbby. "well, well, let's call in the cats!"--which appeared to be his way of changing the subject. it seemed, after this, as though the remainder of lunch might pass off without further hitch. then however and all of a sudden, while he was peeling an apple, this dreadful man said, as though to himself: "ra ... ra ... rambotham. now where have i heard that name?" "wa ... wa ... wamboffam!" mocked thumbkin. "monkey, if you're so sharp you'll cut yourself!--young lady, do you happen to come from warrenega?" he asked laura, when thumbkin's excited chirrup of: "i'll cut you, pa, into little bits!" had died away. ready to sink through the floor, laura replied that she did. "then i've the pleasure of knowing your mother.--tall dark woman, isn't she?" under the table, laura locked the palms of her hands and stemmed her feet against the floor. was here, now, before them all, and bob in particular, the shameful secret of the embroidery to come to light? she could hardly force her lips to frame an answer. her confusion was too patent to be overlooked. above her lowered head, signs passed between husband and wife, and soon afterwards the family rose from the table. but tilly was so obviously sulky that the tense could not let her escape him thus. he cried: "for god's sake, tilly, stand still! what on earth have you got on your back?" tilly came from up-country and her thoughts leapt fearfully to scorpions and tarantulas. affrighted, she tried to peer over her shoulder, and gave a preliminary shriek. "gracious!--whatever is it?" "hold on!" he approached her with the tongs; the next moment to ejaculate: "begad, it's not a growth, it's a bustle!" and as he spoke he tweaked the place where a bustle used to be worn. even bob had to join in the ensuing boohoo, which went on and on till laura thought the uncle would fall down in a fit. then for the third time he invited those present to join him in summoning the cats, murmured something about "humping his bluey", and went out into the hall, where they heard him swinging thumbby "round the world". it was all the aunt could do to mollify tilly, who was enraged to the point of tears. "i've never worn a bustle in my life! uncle's a perfect fool! i've never met such a fool as he is!" still boiling, she disappeared to nurse her ruffled temper in private; and she remained absent from the room for over half an hour. during this time laura and bob were alone together. but even less than before came of their intercourse: bob, still smarting from his father's banter, was inclined to be stand-offish, as though afraid laura might take liberties with him after having been made to look so small; laura, rendered thoroughly unsure to begin with, by the jocular tone of the luncheon-table, had not recovered from the shock of hearing her parentage so bluffly disclosed. and since, at this time, her idea of the art of conversation was to make jerky little remarks which led nowhere, or to put still more jerky questions, bob was soon stifling yawns, and not with the best success. he infected laura; and there the two of them sat, doing their best to appear unconscious of the terrible spasms which, every few seconds, distorted their faces. at last bob could stand it no longer and bolted from the room. laura was alone, and seemed to be forgotten the minutes ticked by, and no one came--or no one but a little grey kitten, which arrived as if from nowhere, with a hop and a skip. she coaxed the creature to her lap, where it joined head to tail and went to sleep. and there she sat, in the gloomy, overfilled drawing-room, and stroked the kitten, which neither cracked stupid jokes nor required her to strain her wits to make conversation. when at length tilly came back, she expressed a rather acid surprise at bob's absence, and went to look for him; laura heard them whispering and laughing in the passage. on their return to the drawing-room it had been decided that the three of them should go for a walk. as the sky was overcast and the girls had no umbrellas, bob carried a big one belonging to the uncle. tilly called this a "family umbrella"; and the jokes that were extracted from the pair of words lasted the walkers on the whole of their outward way; lasted so long that laura, who was speedily finished with her contribution, grew quite stupefied with listening to the other two. collins street was now as empty as a bush road. the young people went into bourke street, where, for want of something better to do, they entered the eastern market and strolled about inside. the noise that rose from the livestock, on ground floor and upper storey, was ear-splitting: pigs grunted; cocks crowed, turkeys gobbled, parrots shrieked; while rough human voices echoed and re-echoed under the lofty roof. there was a smell, too, an extraordinary smell, composed of all the individual smells of all these living things: of fruit and vegetables, fresh and decayed; of flowers, and butter, and grain; of meat, and fish, and strong cheeses; of sawdust sprinkled with water, and freshly wet pavements--one great complicated smell, the piquancy of which made laura sniff like a spaniel. but after a very few minutes tilly, whose temper was still short, called it a "vile stink" and clapped her handkerchief to her nose, and so they hurried out, past many enticing little side booths hidden in dark corners on the ground floor, such as a woman without legs, a double-headed calf, and the like. outside it had begun to rain; they turned into a waxworks exhibition. this was a poor show, and they were merely killing time when the announcement caught their eye that a certain room was open to "married people only". the quips and jokes this gave rise to again were as unending as those about the umbrella; and laura grew so tired of them, and of pretending to find them funny, that her temper also began to give way; and she eased her feelings by making the nippy mental note on her companions, that jokes were evidently "in the blood". when they emerged, it was time for the girls to return to school. they took a hansom, bob accompanying them. as they drove, laura sitting sandwiched between the other two, it came over her with a rush what a miserable failure the day had been. a minute before, her spirits had given a faint flicker, for bob had laid his arm along the back of the seat. then she saw that he had done this just to pull at the little curls that grew on tilly's neck. she was glad when the cab drew up, when tilly ostentatiously took the fat half-crown from her purse, and bob left them at the gate with a: "well, so long, ladies!" the boarders spent the evening in sewing garments for charity. laura had been at work for weeks on a coarse, red flannel petticoat, and as a rule was under constant reprimand for her idleness. on this night, having separated herself from tilly, she sat down beside a girl with a very long plait of hair and small, narrow eyes, who went by the name of "chinky". chinky was always making up to her, and could be relied on to cover her silence. laura sewed away, with bent head and pursed lips, and was so engrossed that the sole rebuke she incurred had to do with her diligence. miss chapman exclaimed in horror at her stiffly outstretched arm. "how can you be so vulgar, laura? to sew with a thread as long as that!" xv. for days laura avoided even thinking of this unlucky visit. privately, she informed herself that tilly's wealthy relations were a "rude, stupid lot"; and, stuffing her fingers in her ears, memorised pages with a dispatch that deadened thought. when, however, the first smart had passed and she was able to go back on what had happened, a soreness at her own failure was the abiding result: and this, though tilly mercifully spared her the "dull as ditchwater", that was bob's final verdict.--but the fact that the invitation was not repeated told laura enough. her hurt was not relieved by the knowledge that she had done nothing to deserve it. for she had never asked for bob's notice or admiration, had never thought of him but as a handsome cousin of tilly's who sat in a distant pew at st stephen's-on-the-hill; and the circumstance that, because he had singled her out approvingly, she was expected to worm herself into his favour, seemed to her of a monstrous injustice. but, all the same, had she possessed the power to captivate him, she would cheerfully have put her pride in her pocket. for, having once seen him close at hand, she knew how desirable he was. having been the object of glances from those liquid eyes, of smiles from those blanched-almond teeth, she found it hard to dismiss them from her mind. how the other girls would have boasted of it, had they been chosen by such a one as bob!--they who, for the most part, were satisfied with blotchy-faced, red-handed youths, whose lean wrists dangled from their retreating sleeves. but then, too, they would have known how to keep him. oh, those lucky other girls! "i say, chinky, what do you do when a boy's gone on you?" she would have shrunk from putting an open question of this kind to her intimates; but chinky, could be trusted. for she garnered the few words laura vouchsafed her, as gratefully as lazarus his crumbs; and a mark of confidence, such as this, would sustain her for days. but she had no information to give. "me? ... why, nothing. boys are dirty, horrid, conceited creatures." in her heart laura was at one with this judgment; but it was not to the point. "yes, but s'pose one was awfully sweet on you and you rather liked him?" "catch me! if one came bothering round me, i'd do this" and she set her ten outstretched fingers to her nose and waggled them. and yet chinky was rather pretty, in her way. maria morell, cautiously tapped, threw back her head and roared with laughter. "bless its little heart! does it want to know?--say, laura, who's your mash?" "no one," answered laura stoutly. "i only asked. for i guess you know, maria." "by gosh, you bet i do!" cried maria, italicising the words in her vehemence. "well, look here, kiddy, if a chap's sweet on me i let him be sweet, my dear, and that's all--till he's run to barley-sugar. what i don't let him savvy is, whether i care a twopenny damn for him. soon as you do that, it's all up. just let him hang round, and throw sheep's-eyes, till he's as soft as a jellyfish, and when he's right down ripe, roaring mad, go off and pretend to do a mash with some one else. that's the way to glue him, chicken." "but you don't have anything of him that way," objected laura. maria laughed herself red in the face. "what'n earth more d'you want? why, he'll pester you with letters, world without end, and look as black as your shoe if you so much as wink at another boy. as for a kiss, if he gets a chance of one he'll take it you can bet your bottom dollar on that." "but you never get to know him!" "oh, hang it, laura, but you are rich! what d'you think one has a boy for, i'd like to know. to parlezvous about old shepherd's sermons? you loony, it's only for getting lollies, and letters, and the whole dashed fun of the thing. if you go about too much with one, you soon have to fake an interest in his rotten old affairs. or else just hold your tongue and let him blow. and that's dull work. d'you think it ever comes up a fellow's back to talk to you about your new sunday hat! if it does, you can teach your grandmother to suck eggs." but, despite this wisdom, laura could not determine how maria would have acted had she stood in her shoes. and then, too, the elder girl had said nothing about another side of the question, had not touched on the sighs and simpers, the winged glances, and drooped, provocative lids--all the thousand and one fooleries, in short, which laura saw her and others employ. there was a regular machinery of invitation and encouragement to be set in motion: for, before it was safe to ignore a wooer and let him dangle, as maria advised, you had first to make quite sure he wished to nibble your bait.--and it was just in this elementary science that laura broke down. looking round her, she saw mainly experts. to take the example nearest at hand: there was monsieur legros, the french master; well, maria could twist him round her little finger. she only needed to pout her thick, red lips, or to give a coquettish twist to her plump figure, or to ogle him with her fine, bold, blue eyes, and the difficult questions in the lesson were sure to pass her by.--once she had even got ten extra marks added to an examination paper, in this easy fashion. whereas, did she, laura, try to imitate maria, venture to pout or to smirk, it was ten to one she would be rebuked for impertinence. no, she got on best with the women-teachers, to whom red lips and a full bust meant nothing; while the most elderly masters could not be relied on to be wholly impartial, where a pair of magnificent eyes was concerned. even mr. strachey, the unapproachable, had been known, on running full tilt into a pretty girl's arms in an unlit passage, to be laughingly confused. laura was not, of course, the sole outsider in these things; sprinkled through the college were various others, older, too, than she, who by reason of demureness of temperament, or immersion in their work, stood aloof. but they were lost in the majority, and, as it chanced, none of them belonged to laura's circle. except chinky--and chinky did not count. so, half-fascinated, half-repelled, laura set to studying her friends with renewed zeal. she could not help admiring their proficiency in the art of pleasing, even though she felt a little abashed by the open pride they took in their growing charms. there was bertha, for instance, bertha who had one of the nicest minds of them all; and yet how frankly gratified she was, by the visible rounding of her arms and the curving of her bust. she spoke of it to laura with a kind of awe; and her voice seemed to give hints of a coming mystery. tilly, on the other hand, lived to reduce her waist-measure: she was always sucking at lemons, and she put up with the pains of indigestion as well as a red tip to her nose; for no success in school meant as much to tilly as the fact that she had managed to compress herself a further quarter of an inch, no praise on the part of her teachers equalled the compliments this earned her from dressmaker and tailor. as for inez, who had not only a pretty face but was graceful and slender-limbed as a greyhound, inez no longer needed to worry over artificial charms, or to dwell self-consciously on her development; serious admirers were not lacking, and with one of these, a young man some eight years older than herself, she had had for the past three months a sort of understanding. for her, as for so many others, the time she had still to spend at school was as purgatory before paradise. to top all, one of the day-scholars in laura's class was actually engaged to be married; and in no boy-and-girl fashion, but to a doctor who lived and practised in emerald hill: he might sometimes be seen, from a peephole under the stairs, waiting to escort her home from school. this fiancee was looked up to by the class with tremendous reverence, as one set apart, oiled and anointed. you really could not treat her as a comrade her, who had reached the goal. for this was the goal; and the thoughts of all were fixed, with an intentness that varied only in degree, on the great consummation which, as planned in these young minds, should come to pass without fail directly the college-doors closed behind them.--and here again laura was a heretic. for she could not contemplate the future that was to be hers when she had finished her education, but with a feeling of awe: it was still so distant as to be one dense blue haze; it was so vast, that thinking of it took your breath away: there was room in it for the most wonderful miracles that had ever happened; it might contain anything--from golden slippers to a jacob's ladder, by means of which you would scale the skies; and with these marvellous perhapses awaiting you, it was impossible to limit your hopes to one single event, which, though it saved you from derision, would put an end, for ever, to all possible, exciting contingencies. these thoughts came and went. in the meantime, despite her ape-like study of her companions, she remained where the other sex was concerned a disheartening failure. a further incident drove this home anew. one saturday afternoon, those boarders who had not been invited out were taken to see a cricket-match. they were a mere handful, eight or nine at most, and miss snodgrass alone was in charge. all her friends [p. ] being away that day, laura had to bring up the rear with the governess and one of the little girls. though their walk led them through pleasant parks, she was glad when it was over; for she did not enjoy miss snodgrass's company. she was no match for this crisply sarcastic governess, and had to be the whole time on her guard. for miss snodgrass was not only a great talker, but had also a very inquiring mind, and seemed always trying to ferret out just those things you did not care to tell--such as the size of your home, or the social position you occupied in the township where you lived. arrived at the cricket ground, they climbed the grand stand and sat down in one of the back rows, to the rear of the other spectators. before them sloped a steep bank of hats gaily-flowered and ribbon-banded hats--of light and dark shoulders, of alert, boyish profiles and pale, pretty faces--a representative gathering of young australia, bathed in the brilliant march light. laura's seat was between her two companions, and it was here the malheur occurred. during an interval in the game, one of the girls asked the governess's leave to speak to her cousin; and thereupon a shy lad was the target for twenty eyes. he was accompanied by a friend, who, in waiting, sat down just behind laura. this boy was addressed by miss snodgrass; but he answered awkwardly, and after a pause, laura felt herself nudged. "you can speak to him, laura," whispered miss snodgrass.--she evidently thought laura waited only for permission, to burst in. laura had already fancied that the boy looked at her with interest. this was not improbable; for she had her best hat on, which made her eyes seem very dark--"like sloes," chinky said, though neither of them had any clear idea what a sloe was. still, a prompting to speech invariably tied her tongue. she half turned, and stole an uneasy peep at the lad. he might be a year older than herself; he had a frank, sunburnt face, blue eyes, and almost white flaxen hair. she took heart of grace. "i s'pose you often come here?" she ventured at last. "you bet!" said the boy; but kept his eyes where they were on the pitch. "cricket's a lovely game ... don't you think so?" now he looked at her; but doubtfully, from the height of his fourteen male years; and did not reply. "do you play?" this was a false move, she felt it at once. her question seemed to offend him. "should rather think i did!" he answered with a haughty air. weakly she hastened to retract her words. "oh, i meant much--if you played much?" "comes to the same thing i guess," said the boy--he had not yet reached the age of obligatory politeness. "it must be splendid"--here she faltered--"fun." but the boy's thoughts had wandered: he was making signs to a friend down in the front of the stand.--miss snodgrass seemed to repress a smile. here, however, the little girl at laura's side chimed in. "i think cricket's awful rot," she announced, in a cheepy voice. now what was it, laura asked herself, in these words, or in the tone in which they were said, that at once riveted the boy's attention. for he laughed quite briskly as he asked; "what's a kid like you know about it?" "jus' as much as i want to. an' my sister says so 's well." "get along with you! who's your sister?" "ooh!--wouldn't you like to know? you've never seen her in scots' church on sundays i s'pose--oh, no!" "by jingo!--i should say i have. an' you, too. you're the little sister of that daisy with the simply ripping hair." the little girl actually made a grimace at him, screwing up her nose. "yes, you can be civil now, can't you?" "my aunt, but she's a tip-topper--your sister!" "you go to scots' church then, do you?" hazarded laura, in an attempt to re-enter the conversation. "think i could have seen her if i didn't?" retorted the boy, in the tone of: "what a fool question!" he also seemed to have been on the point of adding: "goose," or "sillybones." the little girl giggled. "she's church"--by which she meant episcopalian. "yes, but i don't care a bit which i go to," laura hastened to explain, fearful lest she should be accounted a snob by this dissenter. the boy, however, was so faintly interested in her theological wobblings that, even as she spoke, he had risen from his seat; and the next moment without another word he went away.--this time miss snodgrass laughed outright. laura stared, with blurred eyes, at the white-clad forms that began to dot the green again. her lids smarted. she did not dare to put up her fingers to squeeze the gathering tears away, and just as she was wondering what she should do if one was inconsiderate enough to roll down her cheek, she heard a voice behind her. "i say, laura ... laura!"--and there was chinky, in her best white hat. "i'm sitting with my aunt just a few rows down; but i couldn't make you look. can i come in next to you for a minute?" "if you like," said laura and, because she had to sniff a little, very coldly: chinky had no doubt also been a witness of her failure. the girl squeezed past and shared her seat. "i don't take up much room." laura feigned to be engrossed in the game. but presently she felt her bare wrist touched, and chinky said in her ear: "what pretty hands you've got, laura!" she buried them in her dress, at this. she found it in the worst possible taste of chinky to try to console her. "wouldn't you like to wear a ring on one of them?" "no, thanks," said laura, in the same repellent way. "truly? i'd love to give you one." "you? where would you get it?" "would you wear it, if i did?" "let me see it first," was laura's graceless reply, as she returned to her stony contemplation of the great sunlit expanse. she was sure miss snodgrass, on getting home, would laugh with the other governesses over what had occurred--if not with some of the girls. the story would leak out and come to tilly's ears; and tilly would despise her more than she did already. so would all the rest. she was branded, as it was, for not having a single string to her bow. now, it had become plain to her that she could never hope for one; for, when it came to holding a boy's attention for five brief minutes, she could be put in the shade by a child of eight years old. xvi. since, however, it seemed that some one had to be loved if you were to be able to hold up your head with the rest, then it was easier, infinitely easier, to love the curate. with the curate, no personal contact was necessary--and that was more than could be said even of the music-masters. in regard to them, pressures of the hand, as well as countless nothings, were expected and enacted, in the bi-weekly reports you rendered to those of your friends who followed the case. whereas for the curate it was possible to simulate immense ardour, without needing either to humble your pride or call invention to your aid: the worship took place from afar. the curate was, moreover, no unworthy object; indeed he was quite attractive, in a lean, ascetic fashion, with his spiritual blue eyes, and the plain gold cross that dangled from his black watch-ribbon--though, it must be admitted, when he preached, and grew greatly in earnest, his mouth had a way of opening as if it meant to swallow the church--and laura was by no means his sole admirer. several of her friends had a fancy for him, especially as his wife, who was much older than he, was a thin, elderly lady with a tired face. and now, by her own experience, laura was led to the following discovery: that, if you imagine a thing with sufficient force, you can induce your imagining to become reality. by dint of pretending that it was so, she gradually worked herself up into an attack of love, which was genuine enough to make her redden when mr. shepherd was spoken of, and to enjoy being teased about him. and since, at any rate when in church, she was a sincerely religious little girl, and one to whom--notwithstanding her protested indifference to forms of worship--such emotional accessories as flowers, and music, and highly coloured vestments made a strong appeal, her feelings for mr. shepherd were soon mystically jumbled up with her piety: the eastward slant for the creed, and the salutation at the sacred name, seemed not alone homage due to the deity, but also a kind of minor homage offered to and accepted by mr. shepherd; the school-pew being so near the chancel that it was not difficult to believe yourself the recipient of personal notice. at home during the winter holidays, his name chanced to cross her lips. straightway it occurred to mother that he was the nephew of an old friend whom she had long lost sight of letters passed between warrenega and melbourne, and shortly after her return to the college laura learnt that she was to spend the coming monthly holiday at mr. shepherd's house. in the agitated frame of mind this threw her into, she did not know whether to be glad or sorry. her feelings had, of late, got into such a rapt and pious muddle that it seemed a little like being asked out to meet god. on the other hand, she could not but see that the circumstance would raise her standing at school, immeasurably. and this it did. as soon as the first shock had passed she communicated the fact freely, and was shrewd enough not to relate how the invitation had come about, allowing it to be put down, as her friends were but too ready to do, to the effect produced on the minister by her silent adoration. the church girls were wild with envy. laura was dragged up the garden with an arm thrust through each of hers. mr. shepherd's holy calling and spiritual appearance stood him in small stead here; and the blackest interpretation was put on the matter of the visit. "nice things you'll be up to, the pair of you--oh, my aunt!" ejaculated maria. "i think it's beastly risky her going at all," filled in kate horner, gobbling a little; for her upper lip overhung the lower. "these saints are oftenest bad 'uns." "yes, and with an aunt sally like that for a wife.--now look here, kiddy, just you watch you're not left alone with him in the dark." "and mind, you've got to tell us everything--every blessed thing!" laura was called for, on saturday morning, by the maiden sister of her divinity. miss isabella shepherd was a fair, short, pleasant young woman, with a nervous, kindly smile, and a congenital inability to look you in the face when speaking to you; so that the impression she made was that of a perpetual friendliness, directed, however, not at you, but at the inanimate objects around you. laura was so tickled by this peculiarity, which she spied the moment she entered the waiting-room, that at first she could take in nothing else. afterwards, when the novelty had worn off, she subjected her companion to a closer scrutiny, and from the height of thirteen years had soon taxed her with being a frumpish old maid; the valiant but feeble efforts miss isabella made to entertain her, as they walked along, only strengthening her in this opinion. not very far from the college they entered a small, two-storied stone house, which but for an iron railing and a shrub or two gave right on the street. "will you come up to the study?" said miss isabella, smiling warmly, and ogling the door-mat. "i'm sure robby would like to see you at once." robby? her saint called robby?--laura blushed. but at the head of the stairs they were brought up short by mrs. shepherd, who, policeman-like, raised a warning hand. "hssh ... ssh ... sh!" she breathed, and simultaneously half-closed her eyes, as if imitating slumber. "robby has just lain down for a few minutes. how are you, dear?"--in a whisper. "i'm so pleased to see you." she looked even more faded than in church. but she was very kind, and in the bedroom insisted on getting out a clean towel for laura. "now we'll go down.--it's only lunch to-day, for robby has a confirmation-class immediately afterwards, and doesn't care to eat much." they descended to the dining-room, but though the meal was served, did not take their seats: they stood about, in a kind of anxious silence. this lasted for several minutes; then, heavy footsteps were heard trampling overhead: these persisted, but did not seem to advance, and at length there was a loud, impatient shout of: "maisie!" both ladies were perceptibly flurried. "he can't find something," said miss isabella in a stage-whisper; while mrs. shepherd, taking the front of her dress in both hands, set out for the stairs with the short, clumsy jerks which, in a woman, pass for running. a minute or two later the origin of the fluster came in, looking, it must be confessed, not much more amiable than his voice had been: he was extremely pale, too, his blue eyes had hollow rings round them, and there were tired wrinkles on his forehead. however he offered laura a friendly hand which she took with her soul in her eyes. "well, and so this is the young lady fresh from the halls of learning, is it?" he asked, after a mumbled grace, as he carved a rather naked mutton-bone: the knife caught in the bone; he wrenched it free with an ill-natured tweak. "and what do they teach you at college, miss, eh?" he went on. "french? ... greek? ... latin? how goes it? infandum, regina, jubes renovare dolorem--isn't that the way of it? and then ... let me see! it's so long since i went to school, you know." "trojanas ut opes et lamentabile regnum eruerint danai," said laura, almost blind with pride and pleasure. "well, well, well!" he exclaimed, in what seemed tremendous surprise; but, even as she spoke, his thoughts were swept away; for he had taken up a mustard-pot and found it empty. "yes, yes, here we are again! not a scrap of mustard on the table. "--his voice was angrily resigned. "with mutton, robby dear?" ventured mrs. shepherd, with the utmost humbleness. "with mutton if i choose!" he retorted violently. "will you, maisie, be kind enough to allow me to know my own tastes best, and not dictate to me what i shall eat?" but mrs. shepherd, murmuring: "oh dear! it's that dreadful girl," had already made a timid spring at the bell. "poor robby ... so rushed again!" said isabella in a reproachful tone. "and while she's here she may bring the water and the glasses as well," snarled the master of the house, who had run a flaming eye over the table. "tch, tch, tch!" said mrs. shepherd, with so little spirit that laura felt quite sorry for her. "really, maisie!" said miss isabella. "and when the poor boy's so rushed, too." this guerilla warfare continued throughout luncheon, and left laura wondering why, considering the dearth of time, and the distress of the ladies at each fresh contretemps, they did not jump up and fetch the missing articles themselves--as mother would have done--instead of each time ringing the bell and waiting for the appearance of the saucy, unwilling servant. as it turned out, however, their behaviour had a pedagogic basis. it seemed that they hoped, by constantly summoning the maid, to sharpen her memory. but mrs. shepherd was also implicated in the method; and this was the reason why isabella--as she afterwards explained to laura--never offered her a thimbleful of help. "my sister-in-law is nothing of a manager," she said. "but we still trust she will improve in time, if she always has her attention drawn to her forgetfulness--at least robby does; i'm afraid i have rather [p. ] given her up. but robby's patience is angelic." and laura was of the same opinion, since the couple had been married for more than seven years. the moment the meal, which lasted a quarter of an hour, was over, mr. shepherd clapped on his shovel-hat and started, with long strides, for his class, mrs. shepherd, who had not been quite ready, scuttling along a hundred yards behind him, with quick, fussy steps, and bonnet an awry. laura and isabella stood at the gate. "i ought really to have gone, too," said isabella, and smiled at the gutter. "but as you are here, robby said i had better stay at home to-day.--now what would you like to do?" this opened up a dazzling prospect, with the whole of melbourne before one. but laura was too polite to pretend anything but indifference. "well, perhaps you wouldn't mind staying in then? i want so much to copy out robby's sermon. i always do it, you know, for he can't read his own writing. but he won't expect it to-day and he'll be so pleased." it was a cool, quiet little house, with the slightly unused smell in the rooms that betokens a lack of children. laura did not dislike the quiet, and sat contentedly in the front parlour till evening fell. not, however, that she was really within hundreds of miles of melbourne; for the wonderful book that she held on her knee was called king solomon's mines, and her eyes never rose from the pages. supper, when it came, was as scrappy and as hurried as lunch had been: a class of working-men was momently expected, and robby had just time to gulp down a cup of tea. nor could he converse; for he was obliged to spare his throat. afterwards the three of them sat listening to the loud talking overhead. this came down distinctly through the thin ceiling, and mr. shepherd's voice--it went on and on--sounded, at such close quarters, both harsh and rasping. mrs. shepherd was mending a stole; isabella stooped over the sermon, which she was writing like copperplate. laura sat in a corner with her hands before her: she had finished her book, but her eyes were still visionary. when any of the three spoke, it was in a low tone. towards nine o'clock mrs. shepherd fetched a little saucepan, filled it with milk, and set it on the hob; and after this she hovered undecidedly between door and fireplace, like a distracted moth. "now do try to get it right to-night, maisie," admonished isabella; and, turning her face, if not her glance, to laura, she explained: "it must boil, but not have a scrap of skin on it, or robby won't look at it." presently the working-men were heard pounding down the stairs, and thereupon maisie vanished from the room. the next day laura attended morning and evening service at st stephen's-on-the-hill, and in the afternoon made one of isabella's class at sunday school. that morning she had wakened, in what seemed to be the middle of the night, to find isabella dressing by the light of a single candle. "don't you get up," said the latter. "we're all going to early service, and i just want to make robby some bread and milk beforehand. he would rather communicate fasting, but he has to have something, for he doesn't get home till dinner-time." when midday came, robby was very fractious. the mutton-bone--no cooking was done--was harder than ever to carve with decency; and poor mrs. shepherd, for sheer fidgetiness, could hardly swallow a bite. but at nine o'clock that evening, when the labours of the day were behind him, he was persuaded to lie down on the sofa and drink a glass of port. at his head sat mrs. shepherd, holding the wine and some biscuits; at his feet isabella, stroking his soles. the stimulant revived him; he grew quite mellow, and presently, taking his wife's hand, he held it in his--and laura felt sure that all his querulousness was forgiven him for the sake of this moment. then, finding a willing listener in the black-eyed little girl who sat before him, he began to talk, to relate his travels, giving, in particular, a vivid account of some months he had once spent in japan. laura, who liked nothing better than travelling at second hand--since any other way was out of the question--laura spent a delightful hour, and said so. "yes, robby quite surpassed himself to-night, i thought," said isabella as she let down her hair. "i never heard anyone who could talk as well as he does when he likes.--can you keep a secret, laura? we are sure, maisie and i, that robby will be a bishop some day. and he means to be, himself.--but don't say a word about it; he won't have it mentioned out of the house.--and meanwhile he's working as hard as he can, and we're saving every penny, to let him take his next degree." "i do hope you'll come again," she said the following morning, as they walked back to the college. "i don't mind telling you now, i felt quite nervous when robby said we were to ask you. i've had no experience of little girls. but you haven't been the least trouble--not a bit. and i'm sure it was good for robby having something young about the house. so mind you write and tell us when you have another holiday"--and isabella's smile beamed out once more, none the less kindly because it was caught, on its way to laura, by the gate they were passing through. laura, whose mind was set on a good, satisfying slab of cake, promised to do this, although her feelings had suffered so great a change that she was not sure whether she would keep her word. she was pulled two ways: on the one side was the remembrance of mr. shepherd hacking cantankerously at the bare mutton-bone; on the other, the cherry-blossom and the mousmes of japan. xvii. ohnmacht zur luge ist lange noch nicht liebe zur wahrheit.... wer nicht lugen kann, weiss nicht, was wahrheit ist. nietzsche a pantomime of knowing smiles and interrogatory grimaces greeted her, when, having brushed the cake-crumbs from her mouth, she joined her class. for the twinkling of an eye laura hesitated, being unprepared. then, however, as little able as a comic actor to resist pandering to the taste of the public, she yielded to this hunger for spicy happenings, and did what was expected of her: clapped her hands, one over the other, to her breast, and cast her eyes heavenwards. curiosity and anticipation reached a high pitch; while laura, by tragically shaking her head, gave it to be understood that no signs could transmit what she had been through, since seeing her friends last. in the thick of this message she was, unluckily, caught by dr pughson, who, after dealing her one of his butcherly gibes, bade her to the blackboard, to grapple with the seventh proposition. the remainder of the forenoon was a tussle with lessons not glanced at since friday night.--besides, laura seldom forestalled events by thinking over them, choosing rather to trust for inspiration to the spur of the moment. morning school at an end, she was laid hands on and hurried off to a retired corner of the garden. here, four friends squatted round, determined to extract her adventures from her--to the last pip. laura was in a pretty pickle. did she tell the plain truth, state the pedestrian facts--and this she would have been capable of doing with some address; for she had looked through her hosts with a perspicacity uncommon in a girl of her age; had once again put to good use those 'sharp, unkind eyes' which mother deplored. she had seen an overworked, underfed man, who nagged like any woman, and made slaves of two weak, adoring ladies; and she very well knew that, as often as her thoughts in future alighted on mr. robby, she would think of him pinching and screwing, with a hawk-like eye on a shadowy bishopric. of her warm feelings for him, genuine or imaginary, not a speck remained. the first touch of reality had sunk them below her ken, just as a drop of cold water sinks the floating grounds in a coffee-pot ... but did she confess this, confess also that, save for a handful of monosyllables, her only exchange of words with him had been a line of virgil; and, still more humbling, that she had liked his wife and sister better than himself: did this come to light, she would forfeit every sou of the prestige the visit had lent and yet promised to lend her. and, now that the possible moment for parting with this borrowed support had come, she recognised how greatly she had built on it. these thoughts whizzed through her mind, as she darted a look at the four predatory faces that hemmed her in. tilly's was one of them: the lightly mocking smile sat on it that laura had come to know so well, since her maladroit handling of bob. she would kill that smile--and if she had to die for it herself. still, she must be cautious, wary in picking her steps. especially as she had not the ghost of an idea how to begin. meanwhile cries of impatience buzzed round her. "she doesn't want to tell." "mean brute!" "shouldn't wonder if it's too dashed shady." "didn't i say he was a bad 'un?" "i bet you there's nothing to tell," said tilly cockily, and turned up her nose. "yes, there is," flung out laura, at once put on the defensive, and as she spoke she coloured. "look at her! look how red she's got!" "and after she promised--the sneak!" "i'm not a sneak. i am going to tell. but you're all in such a blooming hurry." "oh, fire away, slow-coach!" "well, girls," began laura gamely, breathing a little hard.--"but, mind, you must never utter a word of what i'm going to tell you. it's a dead secret, and if you let on----" "s' help me god!" "ananias and sapphira!" "oh, do hurry up." "well ... well, he's just the most--oh, i don't know how to say it, girls--the most----" "just scrumptious, i suppose, eh?" "just positively scrumptious, and ..." "and what'd he do?" "and what about his old sketch of a wife?" "her? oh"--and laura squeezed herself desperately for the details that would not come--"oh, why she's just a perfect old ... old cat. and twenty years older than him." "what on earth did he marry her for?" "guess he's pretty sick of being tied to an old gin like that?" "i should say! perfectly miserable. he can't think now why he let himself be induced to marry her. he just despises her." "well, why in the name of all that's holy did he take her?" laura cast a mysterious glance round, and lowered her voice. "well, you see, she had lots of money and he had none. he was ever so poor. and she paid for him to be a clergyman." "go on! as poor as all that?" "as poor as a church-mouse.--but, oh," she hastened to add, at the visible cooling-off of the four faces, "he comes of a most distinguished family. his father was a lord or a baronet or something like that, but he married a beautiful girl who hadn't a penny against his father's will and so he cut him out of his will." "i say!" "oh, never mind the father." "yes. well, now he feels under an awful obligation to her, and all that sort of thing, you know." "and she drives it home, i bet. she looks a nipper." "is always throwing it in his face." "what a ghoul!" "he'd do just anything to get rid of her, but--girls, it's a dead secret; you must swear you won't tell." gestures of assurance were showered on her. "well, he's to be a bishop some day. it's promised him." "holy moses!" "and i suppose he can't divorce her, because of that?" "no, of course not. he'll have to drag her with him like millstone round his neck." "and he'd twigged right enough you were gone on him?" laura's coy smile hinted many things. "i should say so. since the very first day in church. he said--but i don't like to tell you what he said." "you must!" "no. you'll only call me conceited." "no fear, kiddy. out with it!" "well, then, he said he saw me as soon as he got in the pulpit, and he wondered ever so much who the girl was with the eyes like sloes, and the skin like ... like cream." "snakes-alive-oh! he went it strong." "and how often were you alone with him?" "yes, and if he had met me before he was married--but no, i can't tell any more." "oh, don't be such an ass!" "no, i can't.--well, i'll whisper it then ... but only to maria," and leaning over laura put her lips to maria's ear. the reason for this by-stroke she could not have told: the detail she imparted did not differ substantially from those that had gone before.-- but by now she was at the end of her tether. here, fortunately for laura, the dinner-bell rang, and the girls had to take to their heels in order to get their books put away before grace. throughout the meal, from their scattered seats, they exchanged looks of understanding, and their cheeks were pink. in the afternoon, laura was again called on to prove her mettle. her companion on the daily walk was kate horner. kate had been one of the four, and did not lose this chance of beating up fresh particulars. after those first few awkward moments, however, which had come wellnigh being a fiasco, laura had no more trouble with her story. indeed, the plunge once taken, it was astounding how easy it became to make up things about the shepherds; the difficulty was, to know where to stop. fictitious details crowded thick and fast upon her--a regular hotchpotch; she had only to stretch out her hand and seize what she needed. it was simpler than the five-times multiplication-table, and did not need to be learnt. but all the same she was not idle: she polished away at her flimflams, bringing them nearer and nearer probability, never, thanks to her sound memory, contradicting herself or making a slip, and always able to begin again from the beginning. such initial scepticism as may have lurked in her hearers was soon got the better of. for, crass realists though these young colonials were, and bluntly as they faced facts, they were none the less just as hungry for romance as the most insatiable novel-reader. romance in any guise was hailed by them, and swallowed uncritically, though it was no more permitted to interfere with the practical conduct of their lives than it is in the case of just that novel-reader, who puts untruth and unreality from him, when he lays his book aside.--another and weightier reason was, their slower brains could not conceive the possibility of such extraordinarily detailed lying as that to which laura now subjected them. its very elaboration stood for its truth. and the days passed, and laura had the happiest ideas. a strange thing about them was that they came to her quite unsought, dropping on her like aladdin's oranges on his turban. all she had to do was to fit them into their niche in her fabrication. at first, her tale had been chiefly concerned with the internal rift in mr. shepherd's home-life, and only in a minor degree with herself. but her public savoured the love-story most, and hence, consulting its taste, as it is the tale-maker's bounden duty to do, laura was obliged to develop this side of her narrative at the expense of the other. and the more the girls heard, the more they wished to hear. she had early turned miss isabella into a staunch ally of her own, in the dissension she had introduced into the curate's household; and one day she arrived at a hasty kiss, stolen in the vestry after evening service, while mr. shepherd was taking off his surplice. the puzzle had been, to get herself into the vestry; but, once there, she saw what followed as if it had actually happened. she saw mr. shepherd's arm slipped with diffident alacrity round her waist, and her own virtuous recoil; saw maisie and isabella waiting, sheep-like, in their pew, till it should please the couple to emerge; saw the form of the verger moving about the darkening church, as he put the lights out, one by one. but the success this incident brought her turned laura's head, making her so foolhardy in her inventions that maria, who for all her boldness of speech was at heart a prude like the rest, grew uneasy. "you're not to go to that house again, kiddy. if you do, i'll peach to old gurley." laura ran upstairs to dress for tea, taking two steps at a time. on the top landing, beside the great clothes-baskets, she collided with chinky, who was coming primly down. "o ki, john!" she greeted her, being in a vast good-humour. "what do you look so black for?" "dunno. why do you never walk with me nowadays, laura? i say, you know about that ring? you haven't forgotten?" "course not. when am i to get it? it never turns up." her eyes glittered as she asked, for she foresaw a further link in her chain. "soon, now?" chinky nodded mysteriously. "pretty soon. and you promise faithfully never to take it off?" "but it must be a nice one ... with a red stone in it. and listen, chink, no one must ever know it was you who gave it me." "all right, i swear. you're a darling to say you'll wear it," and putting her arm round laura's shoulders, chinky gave her a hearty kiss. this was more than laura had bargained for;--she freed herself, ungraciously. "oh, don't!--now mind, a red stone, and for the third finger of the left hand." "yes. and laura, i've thought of something to put inside. semper eadem ... do you like that, laura?" "it'll do.--look out, there's old day!" and leaving chinky standing, she ran down the corridor to her room. xviii. der verbrecher ist haufig genug seiner tat nicht gewachsen. nietzsche for a month or more, laura fed like a honeybee on the sweets of success. and throve--even to the blindest eye. what had hitherto been lacking was now hers: the admiration and applause of her circle. and never was a child so spurred and uplifted by praise as laura. without it, her nature tended to be wary and unproductive; and those in touch with her, had they wished to make the most of her, would no more have stinted with the necessary incentive, that one stints a delicate rose tree in aids to growth. laura could swallow praise in large doses, without becoming over-sure. under the present stimulus she sat top in a couple of classes, grew slightly ruddier in face, and much less shrinking in manner. "call her back at once and make her shut that door," cried miss day thickly, from behind one of the long, dining-hall tables, on which were ranged stacks and piles of clean linen. she had been on early duty since six o'clock. the pupil-teacher in attendance stepped obediently into the passage; and laura returned. "doors are made to be shut, laura rambotham, i'd have you remember that!" fumed miss day in the same indistinct voice: she was in the grip of a heavy cold, which had not been improved by the draughts of the hall. "i'm sorry, miss day. i thought i had. i was a little late." "that's your own lookout," barked the governess.--"oh, there you are at last, miss snodgrass. i'd begun to think you weren't going to appear at all this morning. it's close on a quarter past seven." "sorry," said miss snodgrass laconically. "my watch must be losing.-- well, i suppose i can begin by marking laura rambotham down late.--what on earth are you standing there holding the door for?" "miss day knows--i don't," sauced laura, and made her escape. she did not let miss snodgrass's bad mark disturb her. no sooner had she begun her practising than she fell to work again on the theme that occupied all her leisure moments, and was threatening to assume the bulk of an early victorian novel. but she now built at her top-heavy edifice for her own enjoyment; and the usual fate of the robust liar had overtaken her: she was beginning to believe in her own lies. still she never ventured to relax her critical alertness, her careful surveillance of detail. for, just a day or two before, she had seen a quick flare-up of incredulity light tilly's face, and oddly enough this had happened when she tried her audience with a fact, a simple little fact, an incident that had really occurred. she had killed the doubt, instantly, by smothering it with a fiction; but she could not forget that it had existed. it has very perplexing; for otherwise her hearers did not shy at a mortal thing; she could drive them where and how she chose. at the present moment she was planning a great coup: nothing more or less than a frustrated attempt on her virtue. it was almost ready to be submitted to them--for she had read pamela with heartfelt interest during the holidays--and only a few connecting links were missing, with which to complete her own case. then, without the slightest warning, the blow fell. it was a sunday afternoon; the half-hour that preceded sunday school. laura, in company with several others, was in the garden, getting her bible chapter by heart, when maria called her. "laura! come here. i want to tell you something." laura approached, her lips in busy motion. "what's up?" "i say, chicken, your nose is going to be put out of joint." "mine? what do you mean?" queried laura, and had a faint sense of impending disaster. "what i say. m. pidwall's asked to the you-know-who's next saturday." "no, she's not!" cried laura vehemently, and clapped her bible to. "s'help me god, she is," asserted maria.--"look out, don't set the place on fire." "how do you know? ... who told you?" "m. p. herself--gosh, but you are a jealous little cub. oh, go on, kiddy, don't take it like that. i guess he won't give you away."--for laura was as pale as a moment before she had been scarlet. alleging a violent headache, she mounted to her room, and sat down on her bed. she felt stunned, and it took her some time to recover her wits. sitting on the extreme edge of the bedstead, she stared at [p. ] the objects in the room without seeing them. "m. p.'s going there on saturday ... m. p.'s going there on saturday," she repeated stupidly, and, with her hands pressed on her hips, rocked herself to and fro, after the fashion of an older woman in pain. the fact was too appalling to be faced; her mind postponed it. instead, she saw the fifty-five at sunday school--where they were at this minute--drawn up in a line round the walls of the dining-hall. she saw them rise to wail out the hymn; saw mr. strachey on his chair in the middle of the floor, perpetually nimming with his left leg. and, as she pictured the familiar scene to herself, she shivered with a sudden sense of isolation: behind each well-known face lurked a possible enemy. if it had only not been m. p.!--that was the first thought that crystallised. anyone else! ... from any of the rest she might have hoped for some mercy. but mary pidwall was one of those people--there were plenty such--before whom a nature like laura's was inclined, at the best of times, to shrink away, keenly aware of its own paltriness and ineffectualness. mary was rectitude in person: and it cannot be denied that, to laura, this was synonymous with hard, narrow, ungracious. not quite a prig, though: there was fun in mary, and life in her; but it was neither fun nor vivacity of a kind that laura could feel at ease with. such capers as the elder girl cut were only skin-deep; they were on the surface of her character, had no real roots in her: just as the pieces of music she played on the piano were accidents of the moment, without deeper significance. to mary, life was already serious, full of duties. she knew just what she wanted, too, where she wanted to go and how to get there; her plans were cut and dried. she was clever, very industrious, the head of several of her classes. nor was she ever in conflict with the authorities: she moved among the rules of the school as safely as an egg-dancer among his eggs. for the simple reasons that temptations seemed to pass her by. there was, besides, a kind of manly exactness in her habit of thinking and speaking; and it was this trait her companions tried to symbolise, in calling her by the initial letters of her name. she and laura, though classmates, had never drawn together. it is true, mary was sixteen, and, at that time of life, a couple of years dig a wide breach. but there was also another reason. once, in the innocence of her heart, laura had let the cat out of the bag that an uncle of hers lived in the up-country township to which mary belonged. the girl had eyed her coldly, incredulously. "what? that dreadful man your uncle?" she had exclaimed: she herself was the daughter of a church dignitary. "i should say i did know him--by reputation at least. and it's quite enough, thank you." now laura had understood that uncle tom--he needed but a pair of gold earrings to pose as the model for a spanish grandee--that uncle tom was odd, in this way: he sometimes took more to drink than was good for him; but she had never suspected him of being "dreadful", or a byword in wantabadgery. colouring to the roots of her hair, she murmured something about him of course not being recognised by the rest of the family; but m. p., she was sure, had never looked on her with the same eyes again. such was the rigid young moralist into whose hands her fate was given. she sat and meditated these things, in spiritless fashion. she would have to confess to her fabrications--that was plain. m. p.'s precise mind would bring back a precise account of how matters stood in the shepherd household: not by an iota would the truth be swerved from. why, oh why, had she not foreseen this possibility? what evil spirit had prompted her and led her on?--but, before her brain could contemplate the awful necessity of rising and branding herself as a liar, it sought desperately for a means of escape. for a wink, she even nursed the idea of dragging in a sham man, under the pretence that mr. shepherd had been but a blind, used by her to screen some one else. but this yarn, twist it as she might, would not pass muster. against it was the mass of her accumulated detail. she sat there, devising scheme after scheme. not one of them would do. when, at tea-time, she rose to wash her face before going downstairs, the sole point on which she had come to clearness was, that just seven days lay between her and detection.--yet after all, she reminded herself, seven days made a week, and a week was a good long time. perhaps something would happen between now and saturday. m. p. might have an accident and break her leg, and not be able to go. or thin, poorly-fed mr. shepherd fall ill from overwork.--oh, how she would rejoice to hear of it! and, if the worst came to the worst and she had to tell, at least it should not be to-day. to-day was sunday; and people's thoughts were frightfully at liberty. to-morrow they would be engaged again; and, by to-morrow, she herself would have grown more accustomed to the idea.--besides, how foolish to have been in too great a hurry, should something come to pass that rendered confession needless. on waking next morning, however, and accounting, with a throb, for the leaden weight on her mind, she felt braver, and quite determined to make a clean breast of her misdoings. things could not go on like this. but no sooner was she plunged into the routine of the day than her decision slackened: it was impossible to find just the right moment to begin. early in the morning everyone was busy looking over lessons, and would not thank you for the upset, the dinner-hour was all too short; after school, on the walk, she had a partner who knew nothing about the affair, and after tea she practised.--hence, on monday her purpose failed her. on tuesday it was the same; the right moment never presented itself. in bed that night she multiplied the remaining days into hours. they made one hundred and twenty. that heartened her a little; considered thus, the time seemed very much longer; and so she let wednesday slip by, without over-much worry. on thursday she not only failed to own up, but indulged anew. all the week, as if mary pidwall's coming visit worked upon them, the girls had been very greedy for more love-story, and had shown themselves decidedly nettled by laura's refusal to continue; for this was the week when the great revelation she had hinted at should have been made. and one afternoon when the four were twitting her, and things were looking very black, laura was incited by some devil to throw them, not, it is true, the savoury incident their mouths watered for, but a fresh fiction--just as the beset traveller throws whatever he has at hand, to the ravenous wolves that press round the sledge. at the moment, the excitement that accompanies inspiration kept her up; but afterwards she had a stinging fit of remorse; and her self-reproaches were every whit as bitter as those of the man who has again broken the moral law he has vowed to respect, and who now sees that he is powerless against recurring temptation. when she remembered those four rapacious faces, laura realised that, come what might, she would never have the courage to confess. to them, at least. that night in deep humility she laid her sin bare to god, imploring him, even though he could not pardon it, to avert the consequences from her. the last days were also darkened by her belief that m. p. had got wind of her romancings: as, indeed, was quite likely; for the girls' tongues were none too safe. mary looked at her from time to time with such a sternly suspicious eye that laura's very stomach quailed within her. and meanwhile the generous hours had declined to less than half. "twice more to get up, and twice to go to bed," she reckoned aloud to herself on saturday morning. she was spending that week-end at godmother's. it was as dull as usual; she had ample leisure to brood over what lay before her. it was now a certainty, fixed, immovable; for, by leaving school that day without having spoken, she had burned her ships behind her. when she went back on monday m. p. would be there, and every loophole closed. on sunday evening she made an excuse and went down into the garden. there was no moon; but, overhead, the indigo-blue was a prodigal glitter of stars--myriads of silver eyes that perforated the sky. they sparkled with a cold disregard of the small girl standing under the mulberry tree; but laura, too, was only half-alive to their magnificence. her thoughts ran on suicide, on making an end of her blighted career. god was evidently not going to be generous or long-suffering enough to come to her aid; and in imagination she saw the fifty-five gaining on her like a pack of howling hyaenas; saw mrs. gurley, mr. strachey--mother. detection and exposure, she knew it now, were the most awful things the world held. but she had nothing handy: neither a rope, nor poison, nor was there a dam in the neighbourhood. that night she had the familiar dream that she was being "stood up" and expelled, as annie johns had been: thousands of tongues shouted her guilt; she was hunted like a wallaby. she wakened with a scream, and marina, her bedfellow, rose on one elbow and lighted the candle. crumpled and dishevelled, laura lay outside the sheet that should have covered her; and her pillow had slipped to the floor. "what on earth's the matter? dreaming? then depend on it you've eaten something that's disagreed with you." how she dragged her legs back to school that morning, laura never knew. at the sight of the great stone building her inner disturbance was such that she was nearly sick. even the unobservant marina was forced to a remark. "you do look a bit peaky. i'm sure your stomach's out of order. your should take a dose of castor-oil to-night, before you go to bed." though it was a blazing november day, her fingers were cold as she took off her hat and changed her white frock. "for the last time," she murmured; by which she meant the last time in untarnished honour. and she folded and hung up her clothes, with a neatness that was foreign to her. classes were in full swing when she went downstairs; nothing could happen now till the close of morning school. but laura signalised the beginning of her downfall, the end of her comet-like flight, by losing her place in one form after another, the lessons she had prepared on friday evening having gone clean out of her head. directly half-past twelve struck, she ran to the top of the garden and hid herself under a tree. there she crouched, her fingers in her ears, her heart thumping as if it would break. till the dinner-bell rang. then she was forced to emerge--and no tottering criminal, about to face the scaffold, has ever had more need of dutch courage than laura in this moment. peeping round the corner of the path she saw the fateful group: m. p. the centre of four gesticulating figures. she loitered till they had scattered and disappeared; then with shaking legs crept to the house. at the long tables the girls still stood, waiting for mr. strachey; and the instant laura set foot in the hall, five pairs of eyes caught her, held her, pinned her down, as one pins a butterfly to a board. she was much too far gone to think of tossing her head and braving things out, now that the crisis had come. pale, guilty, wretched, she sidled to her seat. this was near maria's, and, as she passed, maria leant back. "you vile little liar!" "how's that shy little mouse of a girl we had here a month or two ago?" mr. shepherd had inquired. "let me see--what was her name again?" to which miss isabella had replied: "well, you know, robby dear, you really hardly saw her. you had so much to do, poor boy, just when she was here. her name was laura--laura rambotham." and mrs. shepherd gently: "yes, a nice little girl. but very young for her age. and so shy." "you wretched little lying sneak!" in vain laura wept and protested. "you made me do it. i should never have told a word, if it hadn't been for you." this point of view enraged them. "what? you want to put it on us now, do you? ... you dirty little skunk! to say we made you tell that pack of lies?--look here: as long as you stay in this blooming shop, i'll never open my mouth to you again!" "someone ought to tell old gurley and have her expelled. that's all she's fit for. spreading disgusting stories about people who've been kind to her. they probably only asked her there out of charity. she's as poor as dirt." "wants her bottom smacked--that's what i say!" thus maria, and, with her, kate horner. tilly was cooler and bitterer. "i was a dashed fool ever to believe a word. i might have known her little game. she? why, when i took her out to see my cousin bob, she couldn't say bo to a goose. he laughed about her afterwards like anything; said she ought to have come in a perambulator, with a nurse.--you make anyone in love with you--you!" and tilly spat, to show her disdain. "what have they been saying to you, laura?" whispered chinky, pale and frightened. "whatever is the matter?" "mind your own business and go away," sobbed laura. "i am, i'm going," said chinky humbly.--"oh, laura, i wish you had that ring." "oh, blow you and your ring! i hate the very name of it," cried laura, maddened.--and retreating to a lavatory, which was the only private place in the school, she wept her full. they all, every girl of them, understood white lies, and practised them. they might also have forgiven her a lie of the good, plain, straightforward, thumping order. what they could not forgive, or get over, was the extraordinary circumstantiality of the fictions which with she had gulled them: to be able to invent lies with such proficiency meant that you had been born with a criminal bent.--and as a criminal she was accordingly treated. even the grown-up girls heard a garbled version of the story. "whyever did you do it?" one of them asked laura curiously; it was a very pretty girl, called evelyn, with twinkling brown eyes. "i don't know," said laura abjectly; and this was almost true. "but i say! ... nasty tarradiddles about people who'd been so nice to you? what made you tell them?" "i don't know. they just came." the girl's eyes smiled. "well, i never! poor little kiddy," she said as she turned away. but this was the only kind word laura heard. for many and many a night after, she cried herself to sleep. xix. thus laura went to coventry.--not that the social banishment she now suffered was known by that name. to the majority of the girls coventry was just a word in the geography book, a place where ribbons were said to be made, and where for a better-read few, some one had hung with grooms and porters on a bridge; this detail, odd to say, making a deeper impression on their young minds than the story of lady godiva, which was looked upon merely as a naughty anecdote. but, by whatever name it was known, laura's ostracism was complete. she had been sampled, tested, put on one side. and not the softest-hearted could find an excuse for her behaviour. it was but another instance of how misfortune dogs him who is down, that chinky should choose this very moment to bring further shame upon her. on one of the miserable days that were now the rule, when laura would have liked best to be a rabbit, hid deep in its burrow; as she was going upstairs one afternoon, she met jacob, the man-of-all-work, coming down. he had a trunk on his shoulder. throughout the day she had been aware of a subdued excitement among the boarders; they had stood about in groups, talking in low voices--talking about her, she believed, from the glances that were thrown over shoulders at her as she passed. she made herself as small as she could; but when tea-time came, and then [p. ] supper, and chinky had not appeared at either meal, curiosity got the better of her, and she tried to pump one of the younger girls. maria came up while she was speaking, and the child ran away; for the little ones aped their elders in making laura taboo. "what, liar? you want to stuff us you don't know why she's gone?" said maria. "no, thank you, it's not good enough. you can't bamboozle us this time." "sapphira up to her tricks again, is she?" threw in the inseparable kate, who had caught the last words. "no, by dad, we don't tell liars what they know already.--so put that in your pipe and smoke it!" only bit by bit did laura dig out their meaning: then, the horrible truth lay bare. chinky had been dismissed--privately because she was a boarder--from the school. her crime was: she had taken half-a-sovereign from the purse of one of her room-mates. when taxed with the theft, she wept that she had not taken it for herself, but to buy a ring for laura rambotham; and, with this admission on her lips, she passed out of their lives, leaving laura, her confederate, behind.--yes, confederate; for, in the minds of most, liar and thief were synonymous. laura had not cared two straws for chinky; she found what the latter had done, "mean and disgusting", and said so, stormily; but of course was not believed. usually too proud to defend herself, she here returned to the charge again and again; for the hint of connivance had touched her on the raw. but she strove in vain to prove her innocence: she could not get her enemies to grasp the abysmal difference between merely making up a story about people, and laying hands on others' property; if she could do the one, she was capable of the other; and her companions remained convinced that, if she had not actually had her fingers in some one's purse, she had, by a love of jewellery, incited chinky to the theft. and so, after a time, laura gave up the attempt and suffered in silence; and it was suffering; for her schoolfellows were cruel with that intolerance, that unimaginative dullness, which makes a woman's cruelty so hard to bear. laura had to accustom herself to hear every word she said doubted; to hear some one called to, before her face, to attest her statements; to see her room-mates lock up their purses under her very nose. however, only three weeks had still to run till the christmas holidays. she drew twenty-one strokes on a sheet of paper, which she pinned to the wall above her bed; and each morning she ran her pencil through a fresh line. she was quite resolved to beg mother not to send her back to school: if she said she was not getting proper food, that would be enough to put mother up in arms. the boxes were being fetched from the lumber-rooms and distributed among their owners, when a letter arrived from mother saying that the two little boys had sandy blight, and that laura would not be able to come home under two or three weeks, for fear of infection. these weeks she was to spend, in company with pin, at a watering-place down the bay, where one of her aunts had a cottage. the news was welcome to laura: she had shrunk from the thought of mother's searching eye. and at the cottage there would be none of her grown-up relatives to face; only an old housekeeper, who was looking after a party of boys. hence, when speech day was over, instead of setting out on an up-country railway journey, laura, under the escort of miss snodgrass, went on board one of the steamers that ploughed the bay. "i should say sea-air'll do you good--brighten you up a bit," said the governess affably as they drove: she was in great good-humour at the prospect of losing sight for a time of the fifty-five. "you seem to be always in the dumps nowadays." laura dutifully waved her handkerchief from the deck of the silver star; and the paddles began to churn. as miss snodgrass's back retreated down the pier, and the breach between ship and land widened, she settled herself on her seat with a feeling of immense relief. at last--at last she was off. the morning had been a sore trial to her: in all the noisy and effusive leave-taking, she was odd man out; no one had been sorry to part from her; no one had extracted a promise that she would write. her sole valediction had been a minatory shaft from maria: if she valued her skin, to learn to stop telling crams before she showed up there again. now, she was free of them; she would not be humiliated afresh, would not need to stand eye to eye with anyone who knew of her disgrace, for weeks to come; perhaps never again, if mother agreed. her heart grew momentarily lighter. and the farther they left melbourne behind them, the higher her spirits rose. but then, too, was it possible, on this radiant december day, long to remain in what miss snodgrass had called "the dumps"?--the sea was a blue-green mirror, on the surface of which they swam. the sky was a stretched sheet of blue, in which the sun hung a very ball of fire. but the steamer cooled the air as it moved; and none of the white-clad people who, under the stretched white awnings, thronged the deck, felt oppressed by the great heat. in the middle of the deck, a brass band played popular tunes. at a pretty watering-place where they stopped, laura rose and crossed to the opposite railing. a number of passengers went ashore, pushing and laughing, but almost as many more came on board, all dressed in white, and with eager, animated faces. then the boat stood to sea again and sailed past high, grass-grown cliffs, from which a few old cannons, pointing their noses at you, watched over the safety of the bay--in the event, say, of the japanese or the russians entering the heads past the pretty township, and the beflagged bathing-enclosures on the beach below. they neared the tall, granite lighthouse at the point, with the flagstaff at its side where incoming steamers were signalled; and as soon as they had rounded this corner they were in view of the heads themselves. from the distant cliffs there ran out, on either side, brown reefs, which made the inrushing water dance and foam, and the entrance to the bay narrow and dangerous: on one side, there projected the portion of a wreck which had lain there as long as laura had been in the world. then, having made a sharp turn to the left, the boat crossed to the opposite coast, and steamed past barrack-like buildings lying asleep in the fierce sunshine of the afternoon; and, in due course, it stopped at laura's destination. old anne was waiting on the jetty, having hitched the horse to a post: she had driven in, in the 'shandrydan', to meet laura. for the cottage was not on the front beach, with the hotels and boarding-houses, the fenced-in baths and great gentle slope of yellow sand: it stood in the bush, on the back beach, which gave to the open sea. laura took her seat beside the old woman in her linen sunbonnet, the body of the vehicle being packed full of groceries and other stores; and the drive began. directly they were clear of the township the road as good as ceased, became a mere sandy track, running through a scrub of ti-trees.--and what sand! white, dry, sliding sand, through which the horse shuffled and floundered, in which the wheels sank and stuck. had one of the many hillocks to be taken, the two on the box-seat instinctively threw their weight forward; old anne, who had a stripped wattle-bough for a whip, urged and cajoled; and more than once she handed laura the reins and got down, to give the horse a pull. they had always to be ducking their heads, too, to let the low ti-tree branches sweep over their backs. about a couple of miles out, the old woman alighted and slipped a rail; and having passed the only other house within cooee, they drove through a paddock, but at a walking-pace, because of the thousands of rabbit-burrows that perforated the ground. another slip-rail lowered, they drew up at the foot of a steepish hill, beside a sandy little vegetable garden, a shed and a pump. the house was perched on the top of the hill, and directly they sighted it they also saw pin flying down, her sunbonnet on her neck. "laura, laura! oh, i am glad you've come. what a time you've been!" "hullo, pin.--oh, i say, let me get out first." "and pull up your bonnet, honey. d'you want to be after gettin' sunstruck?" glad though laura was to see her sister again, she did not manage to infuse a very hearty tone into her greeting; for her first glimpse of pin had given her a disagreeable shock. it was astonishing, the change the past half-year had worked in the child; and as the two climbed the hill together, to the accompaniment of pin's bubbly talk, laura stole look after look at her little sister, in the hope of growing used to what she saw. pin had never been pretty, but now she was "downright hideous"--as laura phrased it to herself. eleven years of age, she had at last begun to grow in earnest: her legs were as of old mere spindleshanks, but nearly twice as long; and her fat little body, perched above them, made one think of a shrivelled-up old man who has run all to paunch. her face, too, had increased in shapelessness, the features being blurred in the fat mass; her blue eyes were more slit-like than before; and, to cap everything, her fine skin had absolutely no chance, so bespattered was it with freckles. and none of your pretty little sun-kisses; but large, black, irregular freckles that disfigured like moles. laura felt quite distressed; it outraged her feelings that anyone belonging to her should be so ugly; and as pin, in happy ignorance of her sister's reflections, chattered on, laura turned over in her mind what she ought to do. she would have to tell pin about herself--that was plain: she must break the news to her, in case others should do it, and more cruelly. it was one consolation to know that pin was not sensitive about her looks; so long as you did not tease her about her legs, there was no limit to what you might say to her: the grieving was all for the onlooker. but not today: this was the first day; and there were pleasanter things to think of. and so, when they had had tea--with condensed milk in it, for the cow had gone dry, and no milkman came out so far--when tea was over--and that was all that could be undertaken in the way of refreshment after the journey; washing your face and hands, for instance, was out of the question; every drop of water had to be carried up the hill from the pump, and old anne purposely kept the ewers empty by day; if you would wash, you must wash in the sea--as soon, then, as tea was over, the two sisters made for the beach. the four-roomed, weatherboard cottage, to which at a later date a lean-to had been added, faced the bush: from the verandah there was a wide view of the surrounding country. between the back of the house and the beach rose a huge sand-hill, sparsely grown with rushes and coarse grass. it took you some twenty minutes to toil over this, and boots and stockings were useless impedimenta; for the sand was once more of that loose and shifting kind in which you sank at times up to the knees, falling back one step for every two you climbed. but then, sand was the prevailing note of this free and easy life: it bestrewed verandah and floors; you carried it in your clothes; the beds were full of it; it even got into the food; and you were soon so accustomed to its presence that you missed the grit of it under foot, or the prickling on your skin, did old anne happen to take a broom in her hand, or thoroughly re-make the beds.--when, however, on your way to the beach you had laboriously attained the summit of the great dune, the sight that met you almost took your breath away: as far as the eye could reach, the bluest of skies melting into the bluest of seas, which broke its foam-flecked edge against the flat, brown reefs that fringed the shore. then, downhill--with a trip and a flounder that sent the sand man-high--and at last you were on what laura and pin thought the most wonderful beach in the world. what a variety of things was there! whitest, purest sand, hot to the touch as a zinc roof in summer; rocky caves, and sandy caves hung with crumbly stalactites; at low tide, on the reef, lakes and ponds and rivers deep enough to make it unnecessary for you to go near the ever-angry surf at all; seaweeds that ran through the gamut of colours: brown and green, pearl-pink and coral-pink, to vivid scarlet and orange; shells, beginning with tiny grannies and cowries, and ending with the monsters in which the breakers had left their echo; the bones of cuttlefish, light as paper, and shaped like javelins. and, what was best of all, this beach belonged to them alone; they had not to share its treasures with strangers; except the inhabitants of the cottage, never a soul set foot upon it. the chief business of the morning was to bathe. if the girls were alone and the tide full, they threw off their clothes and ran into a sandy, shallow pool, where the water never came above their waists, and where it was safe to let the breakers dash over them. but if the tide were low, the boys bathed, too, and then pin and laura tied themselves up in old bathing-gowns that were too big for them, and all went in a body to the "half-moon hole". this pool, which was about twenty feet long and ten to fifteen deep, lay far out on the reef, and, at high tide, was hidden beneath surf and foam; at low water, on the other hand, it was like a glass mirror reflecting the sky, and so clear that you could see every weed that waved at the bottom. having cast off your shoes, you applied your soles gingerly to the prickles of the rock; then plop!--and in you went. pin often needed a shove from behind, for nowhere, of course, could you get a footing; but laura swam with the best. some of the boys would dive to the bottom and bring up weeds and shells, but laura and pin kept on the surface of the water; for they had the imaginative dread common to children who know the sea well--the dread of what may lurk beneath the thick, black horrors of seaweed. then, after an hour or so in the water, home to dinner, hungry as swagmen, though the bill of fare never varied: it was always rabbit for dinner, crayfish for tea; for the butcher called only once a week, and meat could not be kept an hour without getting flyblown. the rabbits were skinned and in the stew-pot before they were cold; the crayfish died an instant death: one that drove the blood to laura's head, and made pin run away and cry, with her fingers to her ears; for she believed the sizzling of the water, as the fish were dropped in, to be the shriek of the creatures in their death-agony. except in bathing, the girls saw little of the boys. both were afraid of guns, so did not go out on the expeditions which supplied the dinner-table; and old anne would not allow them to join the crayfishing excursions. for these took place by night, off the end of the reef, with nets and torches; and it sometimes happened, if the surf were heavy, that one of the fishers was washed off the rocks, and only hauled up again with considerable difficulty. laura took her last peep at the outside world, every evening, in the brief span of time between sunset and dark. running up to the top of one of the hills, and letting her eyes range over sky and sea, she would drink in the scents that were waking to life after the burning heat of the day: salt water, warmed sand and seaweeds, ti-scrub, sour-grass, and the sturdy berry-bushes, high as her knee, through which she had ploughed her way. that was one of the moments she liked best, that, and lying in bed at night listening to the roar of the surf, which went on and on like a cannonade, even though the hill lay between. it made her flesh crawl, too, in delightful fashion, did she picture to herself how alone she and pin were, in their room: the boys slept in the lean-to on the other side of the kitchen; old anne at the back. for miles round, no house broke the solitude of the bush; only a thin wooden partition separated her from possible bushrangers, from the vastness and desolation of the night, the eternal booming of the sea. such was the life into which laura now threw herself heart and soul, forgetting, in the sheer joy of living, her recent tribulation. but even the purest pleasures will pall; and after a time, when the bloom had worn off and the newness and her mind was more at leisure again, she made some disagreeable discoveries which ruffled her tranquillity. it was pin, poor, fat, little well-meaning pin, who did the mischief pin was not only changed in looks; her character had changed, too; and in so marked a way that before a week was out the sisters were at loggerheads. each day made it plainer to laura that pin was developing a sturdy independence; she had ceased to look up to laura as a prodigy of wisdom, and had begun to hold opinions of her own. she was, indeed, even disposed to be critical of her sister; and criticism from this quarter was more than laura could brook: it was just as if a slave usurped his master's rights. at first speechless with surprise, she ended by losing her temper; the more, because pin was prone to be mulish, and could not be got to budge, either by derision or by scorn, from her espoused views. they were those of the school at which for the past half-year she had been a day-pupil, and seemed to her unassailable. laura found them ridiculous, as she did much else about pin at this time: her ugliness, her setting herself up as an authority: and she jeered unkindly whenever pin came out with them.--a still more ludicrous thing was that, despite her plainness, pin actually had an admirer. true, she did not say so outright; perhaps she was not even aware of it; but laura gathered from her talk that a boy at her school, a boy some three years older than herself, had given her a silk handkerchief and liked to help her with her sums.--and to laura this was the most knockdown blow of all. one day it came to an open quarrel between them. they were lying on the beach after bathing, trying to protect their bare and blistered legs from the sandflies. laura, flat on her back, had spread a towel over hers; pin sat turk--fashion with her legs beneath her and fought the flies with her hands. having vainly endeavoured to draw from the reticent laura some of those school-tales of which, in former holidays, she had been so prodigal, pin was now chattering to her heart's content, about the small doings of home. laura listened to her with the impatient toleration of one who has seen the world: she really could not be expected to interest herself in such trifles; and she laughed in her sleeve at pin's simpleness. when, however, her little sister began to enlarge anew on some wonderful orders mother had lately had, she could not refrain from saying crossly: "you've told me that a dozen times already. and you needn't bawl it out for everyone to hear." "oh, laura! there isn't anyone anywhere near us ... and even if there were--why, i thought you'd be so pleased. mother's going to give you an extra shilling pocket-money, 'cause of it." "of course i'm pleased. don't be so silly, pin." "i'm not always silly, laura," protested pin. "and i don't believe you are glad, a bit. old anne was, though. she said: 'bless her dear heart!'" "old anne? well, i just wonder what next! it's none of her dashed business." "oh, laura!" began pin, growing tearful both at words and tone. "why, laura, you're not ashamed of it, are you?--that mother does sewing?"--and pin opened her lobelia-blue eyes to their widest, showing what very big eyes they would be, were they not so often swollen with crying. "of course not," said laura tartly. "but i'm blessed if i can see what it's got to do with old anne." "but she asked me ... what mother was working at--and if she'd got any new customers. she just loves mother." "like her cheek!" snapped laura. "poking her ugly old nose into what doesn't concern her. you should just have said you didn't know." "but that would have been a story, laura!" cried pin, horrified "i did know--quite well." "goodness gracious, pin, you----" "i've never told a story in my life," said pin hotly. "and i'm not going to either, for you or anyone. i think you ought to be ashamed of yourself." "hold your silly tongue!" "i shan't, laura. and i think you're very wicked. you're not a bit like what you used to be. and it's all going to school that's done it--mother says it is." "oh, don't be such a blooming ass!" and laura, stung to the quick, retaliated by taunting pin with the change that had come to pass in her appearance. to her surprise, she found pin grown inordinately touchy about her looks: at laura's brutal statement of the truth she cried bitterly. "i'm not, no, i'm not! i haven't got a full moon for a face! it's no fatter than yours. sarah said last time you were home how fat you were getting." "i'm sure i'm not," said laura, indignant in her turn. "yes, you are," sobbed pin. "but you only think other people are ugly, not yourself i'll tell mother what you've said as soon as ever i get home. and i'll tell her, too, you want to make me tell stories. and that i'm sure you've done something naughty at school, 'cause you won't ever talk about it. and how you're always saying bad words like blooming and gosh and golly--yes, i will!" "you were always a sneak and a tell-tale." "and you were always a greedy, selfish, deceitful thing." "you don't know anything about me, you numbskull, you!" "i don't want to! i know you're a bad, wicked girl." after this exchange of home truths, they did not speak to each other for two days: pin had a temper that smouldered, and could not easily forgive. so she stayed at old anne's side, helping to bake scones and leatherjackets; or trotted after the boys, who had dropped into the way of saying: "come on, little pin!" as they never said: "come on, laura!" and laura retired in lonely dudgeon to the beach. she took the estrangement so much to heart that she eased her feelings by abusing pin in thought; pin was a pig-headed little ignoramus, as timid as ever of setting one foot before the other. and the rest of them would be just the same--old stick-in-the muds, unchanged by a hair, or, if they had changed, then changed for the worse. laura had somehow never foreseen the day on which she would find herself out of tune with her home circle; with unthinking assurance she had expected that pin, for instance, would always be eager to keep pace with her. now, she saw that her little sister would probably never catch up to her again. such progress as pin might make--if she were not already glued firm to her silly notions--would be in quite another direction. for the quarrel had made one thing plain to laura: with regard to her troubles, she need not look to pin for sympathy: if pin talked such gibberish at the hint of putting off an inquisitive old woman, what would she--and not she alone--what would they all say to the tissue of lies laura had spun round mr. shepherd, a holy man, a clergyman, and a personal friend of mother's into the bargain? she could not blink the fact that, did it come to their ears, they would call her in earnest, what pin had called her in her temper--bad and wicked. home was, alas! no longer the snug nest in which she was safe from the slings and shanghais of the world. and then there was another thing: did she stay at home, she would have to re-live herself into the thousand and one gimcrack concerns, which now, as set forth by pin, so bored her: the colic leppie had brought on by eating unripe fruit; the fact that another of sarah's teeth had dropped out without extraneous aid. it was all very well for a week or two, but, at the idea of shutting herself wholly up with such mopokes, of cutting herself off from her present vital interests, laura hastily reconsidered her decision to leave school. no: badly as she had suffered at her companions' hands, much as she dreaded returning, it was at school she belonged. all her heart was there: in the doings of her equals, the things that really mattered--who would be promoted, who prefect, whose seat changed in the dining-hall.--besides, could one who had experienced the iron rule of mr. strachey, or mrs. gurley, ever be content to go back and just form one of a family of children? she not, at any rate! thus she lay, all day long, her hands clasped under her neck, a small white speck on the great wave-lapped beach. she watched the surf break, watched the waves creep up and hide the reef, watched the gulls vanish in the sun-saturated blue overhead. sometimes she rose to her elbow to follow a ship just inside the horizon; and it pleased her to think that this great boat was sailing off, with a load of lucky mortals, to some unknown, fairer world, while she, a poor cinderella, had to stop behind--even though she knew it was only the english mail going on to sydney. of pin she preferred not to think; nor could she dwell with equanimity on her late misfortunes at school and the trials that awaited her on her reappearance; and since she had to think of something, she fell into the habit of making up might-have-been, of narrating to herself how things would have fallen out had her fictions been fact, her ascetic hero the impetuous lover she had made of him.--in other words, lying prostrate on the sand, laura went on with her story. when, towards the end of the third week, she and pin were summoned to spend some days with godmother, she had acquired such a gusto for this occupation, that she preferred to shirk reality, and let pin pay the visit alone. xx. wie sollte ein strom nicht endlich den weg zum meere finden! nietzsche sea, sun and air did their healing work, as did also the long, idle days in the home garden; and laura drank in health and vigour with every breath. she had need of it all when, the golden holidays over, she returned to school; for the half-year that broke was, in many ways, the most trying she had yet had to face. true, her dupes' first virulence had waned--they no longer lashed her openly with their tongues--but the quiet, covert insults, that were now the rule, were every bit as hard to bear; and before a week had passed laura was telling herself that, had she been a christian martyr, she would have preferred to be torn asunder with one jerk, rather than submit to the thumbkin. not an eye but looked askance at her; on every face was painted a reminder of her moral inferiority; and even newcomers among the boarders soon learnt, without always knowing what her crime had been, that laura rambotham was "not the thing". this system of slight and disparagement was similar to what she had had to endure in her first school term; but its effect upon her was different. then, in her raw timidity, she had bowed her head beneath it; now, she could not be so lamb-like. in thought, she never ceased to lay half the blame of what had happened on her companions' shoulders; and she was embittered by their injustice in making her alone responsible, when all she had done was to yield to their craving for romance. she became a rebel, wrapping herself round in the cloak of bitterness which the outcasts of fortune wear, feeding on her hate of those within the pale. very well then, she said to herself: if her fellows chose to shut her out like this, she would stop outside, and never see eye to eye with them again. and it gave her an unholy pleasure to mock, in secret, at all they set store by. her outward behaviour for many a day was, none the less, that of a footlicker; and by no sign did she indicate what she really was--a very unhappy girl. like most rebels of her sex, she ardently desired to re-enter the fold of law and order; and it was to this end she worked, although, wherever she approached it, the place seemed to bristle with spears. but she did not let herself be daunted; she pocketed injuries, pretended not to hear them, played the spaniel to people she despised; and it soon became open talk, that no matter what you said to her, laura rambotham would not take offence. you could also rely on her to do a dirty job for you.--a horrid little toady was the verdict; especially of those who had no objection to be toadied to. torn thus, between mutinous sentiments on the one hand, a longing for restitution on the other, laura grew very sly--a regular little tactician. in these days, she was for ever considering what she ought to do, what to leave undone. she learnt to weigh her words before uttering them, instead of blurting out her thoughts in the childish fashion that had exposed her to ridicule; she learnt, too, at last, to keep her real opinions to herself, and to make those she expressed tally with her hearers'. and she was quick to discover that this was a short-cut towards regaining her lost place: to conceal what she truly felt--particularly if her feelings ran counter to those of the majority. for, the longer she was at school, the more insistently the truth was driven home to her, that the majority is always in the right. in the shifting of classes that took place at the year's end, she left the three chief witnesses of her disgrace--tilly, maria, kate--behind her. she was again among a new set of girls. but this little piece of luck was outweighed by the fact that, shortly after christmas, her room was changed for the one occupied by m. p., and m. p.'s best friend. so far, laura had hardly dared to lift her eyes in mary pidwall's presence. for mary knew not only the sum of her lies, but also held--or so laura believed--that she came of a thoroughly degenerate family; thanks to uncle tom. and the early weeks spent at close quarters with her bore out these fears. the looks both m. p. and her friend bent on laura said as plainly as words: if we are forced to tolerate this obnoxious little insect about us, we can at least show it just what a horrid little beast it is.--m. p. in particular was adamant, unrelenting; laura quailed at the sound of her step. and yet she soon felt, rightly enough, it was just in the winning over of this stern, rigid nature that her hope of salvation lay. if she could once get m. p. on her side, all might yet be well again. so she began to lay siege to mary's good-will--to mary, who took none but the barest notice of her, even in the bedroom ignoring her as if she did not exist, and giving the necessary orders, for she was the eldest of the three, in tones of ice. but it needed a great wariness on laura's part. and, in the beginning, she made a mistake. she was a toadeater here, too, seeking to curry favour with m. p. as with the rest, by fawning on her, in a way for which she could afterwards have hit herself. for it did not answer; m. p. had only a double disdain for the cringer, knowing nothing herself of the pitfalls that lie in wait for a temperament like laura's. mary's friendship was extended to none but those who had a lofty moral standard; and truthfulness and honesty were naturally the head virtues on her list. laura was sharp enough to see that, if she wished to gain ground with m. p. she must make a radical change in her tactics. it was not enough, where mary was in question, to play the echo. did she, laura, state an opinion, she must say what she meant, above all, mean what she said, and stick manfully to it, instead of, at the least hint, being ready to fly over to mary's point of view: always though, of course, with the disquieting proviso in the background that her own opinions were such as she ought to have, and not heretical leanings that shocked and dismayed. in which case, there was nothing for it but to go on being mum. she ventured, moreover, little unobtrusive services, to which she thought neither of the girls could take exception; making their beds for them in the morning, and staying up last at night to put out the light. and once she overheard the friend, who was called cupid, say: "you know, m. p., she's not such a bad little stick after all."--but then cupid was easy-going, and inclined to be original. may answered: "she's no doubt beginning to see she can't lie to us. but she's a very double-faced child." it was also with an eye to m. p.'s approval that laura threw herself, with renewed zeal, upon her work. and in those classes that called only for the exercise of her memory, she soon sat high. the reason why she could not mount still higher was that m. p. occupied the top place, and was not to be moved, even had laura dreamed of attempting it. and at length, after three months of unremitting exertion in the course of which, because she had little peeps of what looked like success, the rebel in her went to sleep again--at length laura had her reward. one sunday morning m. p. asked her to be her partner on the walk to church. this was as if a great poet should bend from his throne to take a younger brother-singer by the hand; and, in her headlong fashion, laura all but fell at the elder girl's feet. from this day forward she out-heroded herod, in her efforts to make of herself exactly what mary thought she ought to be. deep within her, none the less, there lurked a feeling which sometimes made as if to raise its head: a feeling that she did not really like m. p., or admire her, or respect her; one which, had it come quite to life, would have kicked against mary's authority, been contemptuous of her unimaginative way of seeing and saying things, on the alert to remind its owner that her way, too, had a right to existence. but is was not strong enough to make itself heard, or rather laura refused to hear it, and turned a deaf ear whenever it tried to hint at its presence.--for mr. worldly-wiseman was her model just now. whereas cupid--there was something in cupid that was congenial to her. a plain girl, with irregular features--how she had come by her nickname no one knew--cupid was three years older than laura, and one of the few in the school who loved reading for its own sake. in a manner, she was cleverer even than m. p.; but it was not a school-booky way, and hence was not thought much of. however, laura felt drawn to her at once--even though cupid treated her as quite a little girl--and they sometimes got as far as talking of books they had read. from this whiff of her, laura was sure that cupid would have had more understanding than m. p. for her want of veracity; for cupid had a kind of a dare-devil mind in a hidebound character, and was often very bold of speech. yet it was not cupid's good opinion she worked for, with might and main. the rate of her upward progress in mary's estimation could be gauged by the fact that the day came when the elder girl spoke openly to her of her crime. at the first merciless words laura winced hotly, both at and for the tactlessness of which mary was guilty. but, the first shameful stab over, she felt the better of it; yes, it was a relief to speak to some one of what she had borne alone for so long. to speak of it, and even to argue round it a little; for, like most wrongdoers, laura soon acquired a taste for dwelling on her misdeed. and mary, being entirely without humour, and also unversed in dealing with criminals, did not divine that this was just a form of self-indulgence. it was cupid who said: "look here, infant, you'll be getting cocky about what you did, if you don't look out." mary would not allow that a single one of laura's excuses held water. "that's the sheerest nonsense. you don't seem to realise that you tried to defame another person's moral character," she said, in the assured, superior way that so impressed laura.--and this aspect of the case, which had never once occurred to her, left laura open-mouthed; and yet a little doubtful: mr. shepherd was surely too far above her, and too safely ensconced in holiness, to be injured by anything she might say. but the idea gave her food for thought; and she even tentatively developed her story along these unfamiliar lines, just to see how it might have turned out. one night as they were undressing for bed, mary spoke, with the same fireless depreciation, of the behaviour of a classmate which had been brought to her notice that day. this girl was said to have nefariously "copied" from another, in the course of a written examination; and, as prefect of her class mary was bound to track the evil down. "i shall make them both show me their papers as soon as they get them back; and then, if i find proof of what's being said, i must tackle her. just as i tackled you, laura." laura flushed. "oh, m. p., i've never 'copied' in my life!" she cried. "probably not. but those things all belong in the same box: lying, and 'copying', and stealing." "you never will believe me when i say i didn't know anything about that horrid chinky. i only told a few crams--that was quite different." "i think it's most unfortunate, laura, that you persist in clinging to that idea." here m. p. was obliged to pause; for she had put a lock of hair between her teeth while she did something to a plait at the back. as soon as she could speak again, she went on: "you and your few crams! have you ever thought, pray, what a state of things it would be, if we all went about telling false-hoods, and saying it didn't matter, they were merely a few little fibs?--what are you laughing at?" "i'm not laughing. i mean ... i just smiled. i was only thinking how funny it would be--sandy, and old gurley, and jim chapman, all going round making up things that had never happened." "you've a queer notion of what's funny. have you utterly no respect for the truth?" "yes, of course i have. but i say"--laura, who always slipped quickly out of her clothes, was sitting in her nightgown on the edge of the bed, hugging her knees. "i say, m. p., if everybody told stories, and everybody knew everybody else was telling them, then truth wouldn't be any good any more at all, would it? if nobody used it?" "what rubbish you do talk!" said mary serenely, as she shook her toothbrush on to a towel and rubbed it dry. "as if truth were a soap!" remarked cupid who was already in bed, reading nana, and trying to smoke a cigarette under the blankets. "you can't do away with truth, child." "but why not? who says so? it isn't a law." "don't try to be so sharp, laura." "i don't mean to, m. p.--but what is truth, anyhow?" asked laura. "the bible is truth. can you do away with the bible, pray?" "of course not. but m. p.... the bible isn't quite all truth, you know. my father----" here she broke off in some confusion, remembering uncle tom. "well, what about him? you don't want to say, i hope, that he didn't believe in the bible?" laura drove back the: "of course not!" that was all but over her lips. "well, not exactly," she said, and grew very red. "but you know, m. p., whales don't have big enough throats ever to have swallowed jonah." "little girls shouldn't talk about what they don't understand. the bible is god's word; and god is truth." "you're a silly infant," threw in cupid, coughing as she spoke. "truth has got to be--and honesty, too. if it didn't exist, there couldn't be any state, or laws, or any social life. it's one of the things that makes men different from animals, and the people who boss us know pretty well what they're about, you bet when they punish the ruffians who don't practise it." "yes, now that i see," agreed laura eagerly. "then truth's a useful thing.--oh, and that's probably what it means, too, when you say: honesty is the best policy." "i never heard such a child," said m. p., shocked. "cupid, you really shouldn't put such things into her head.--you're down-right immoral, laura." "oh, how can you say such a horrid thing?" "well, your ideas are simply dreadful. you ought to try your hardest to improve them." "i do, m. p., really i do." "you don't succeed. i think there must be a screw loose in you somewhere." "anyhow, i vote we adjourn this meeting," said cupid, recovering from a fresh cough and splutter. "or old gurley'll be coming in to put me on a mustard plaster.--as for you, infant, if you take the advice of a chap who has seen life, you'll keep your ideas to yourself: they're too crude for this elegant world." "right you are!" said laura cheerfully. she was waiting by the gas-jet till m.p. had folded her last garment, and she shuffled her bare feet one over the other as she stood; for it was a cold night. the light out, she hopped into bed in the dark. xxi. but the true seal was set on her regeneration when she was invited to join the boarders' literary society; of which cupid and mary were the leading spirits. this carried her back, at one stroke, into the swing of school life. for everybody who was anybody belonged to the society. and, despite her friendship with the head of her class, laura still knew what it was to get the cold shoulder. but this was to some extent her own fault. at the present stage of her career she was an extraordinarily prickly child, and even to her two sponsors did not at times present a very amiable outside: like a hedgehog, she was ever ready to shoot out her spines. with regard, that is, to her veracity. she had been so badly grazed, in her recent encounter, that she was now constantly seeing doubt where no doubt was; and this wakeful attitude of suspicion towards others did not make for brotherly love. the amenity of her manners suffered, too: though she kept to her original programme of not saying all she thought, yet what she was forced to say she blurted out in such a precise and blunt fashion that it made a disagreeable impression. at the same time, a growing pedantry in trifles warped both her imagination and her sympathies: under the aegis of m. p., she rapidly learned to be the latter's rival in an adherence to bald fact, and in her contumely for those who departed from it. indeed, before the year spent in mary's company was out, laura was well on the way towards becoming one of those uncomfortable people who, concerned only for their own salvation, fire the truth at you on every occasion, without regard for your tender places.--so she remained but scantly popular. hence, her admission to the literary society augured well. her chief qualifications for membership were that she could make verses, and was also very fond of reading. at school, however, this taste had been quiescent; for books were few. still, she had read whatever she could lay hands on, and for the past half-year or more she had fared like a little pig in a clover field. since christmas, she was one of the few permitted to do morning practice on the grand piano in mrs. strachey's drawing-room--an honour, it is true, not overmuch valued by its recipients, for mrs. gurley's bedroom lay just above, and that lady could swoop down on whoever was weak enough to take a little rest. but laura snapped her fingers at such a flimsy objection; for this was the wonderful room round the walls of which low, open bookshelves ran; and she was soon bold enough, on entering, hastily to select a book to read while she played, always on the alert to pop it behind her music, should anyone come into the room. for months, she browsed unchecked. as her choice had to be made with extreme celerity, and from those shelves nearest the piano, it was in the nature of things that it was not invariably a happy one. for some time she had but moderate luck, and sampled queer foods. to these must be reckoned a translation of faust, which she read through, to the end of the first part at least, with a kind of dreary wonder why such a dull thing should be called great. for her next repast, she sought hard and it was in the course of this rummage that she had the strangest find of all. running a skilled eye over the length of a shelf close at hand, she hit on a slim, blue volume, the title of which at once arrested her attention. for, notwithstanding her fourteen years, and her dabblings in richardson and scott, laura's liking for a real child's book was as strong as it had ever been; and a doll's house seemed to promise good things. deftly extracting the volume, she struck up her scales and began to read. this was the day on which, after breakfast, mrs. gurley pulverised her with the remark: "a new, and, i must say, extremely interesting, fashion of playing scales, laura rambotham! to hold, the forte pedal down, from beginning to end!" laura was unconscious of having sinned in this way. but it might quite well be so. for she had spent a topsy-turvy, though highly engrossing hour. in place of the children's story she anticipated, she had found herself, on opening the book, confronted by the queerest stuff she had ever seen in print. from the opening sentence on. to begin with, it was a play--and laura had never had a modern prose play in her hand before--and then it was all about the oddest, yet the most commonplace people. it seemed to her amazingly unreal--how these people spoke and behaved--she had never known anyone like them; and yet again so true, in the way it dragged in everyday happenings, so petty in its rendering of petty things, that it bewildered and repelled her: why, some one might just as well write a book about mother or sarah! her young, romantic soul rose in arms against this, its first bluff contact with realism, against such a dispiriting sobriety of outlook. something within her wanted to cry out in protest as she read--for read she did, on three successive days, with an interest she could not explain. and that was not all. it was worse that the people in this book--the extraordinary person who was married, and had children, and yet ate biscuits out of a bag and said she didn't; the man who called her his lark and his squirrel--as if any man ever did call his wife such names!--all these people seemed eternally to be meaning something different from what they said; something that was for ever eluding her. it was most irritating.-- there was, moreover, no mention of a doll's house in the whole three acts. the state of confusion this booklet left her in, she allayed with a little old brown leather volume of longfellow. and hyperion was so much more to her liking that she even ventured to borrow it from its place on the shelf, in order to read it at her leisure, braving the chance that her loan, were it discovered, might be counted against her as a theft. it hung together, no doubt, with the after-effects of her dip into ibsen that, on her sitting down to write the work that was to form her passport to the society, her mind should incline to the most romantic of romantic themes. not altogether, though: laura's taste, such as it was, for literature had, like all young people's, a mighty bias towards those books which turned their backs on reality: she sought not truth, but the miracle. however, though she had thus taken sides, there was still a yawning gap to be bridged between her ready acceptance of the honourable invitation, and the composition of a masterpiece. thanks to her wonted inability to project her thoughts beyond the moment, she had been so unthinking of possible failure that cupid had found it necessary to interject: "here, i say, don't blow!" whereas, when she came to write, she sat with her pen poised over the paper for nearly half an hour, without bringing forth a word. first, there was the question of form: she considered, then abruptly dismissed, the idea of writing verses: the rhymes with love and dove, and heart and part, which could have been managed, were, she felt, too silly and sentimental to be laid before her quizzical audience. next, what to write about--a simple theme, such as a fairy-tale, was not for a moment to be contemplated. no, laura had always flown her hawk high, and she was now bent on making a splutter. it ended by being a toss-up between a play in the shakesperian manner and a novel after scott. she decided on the novel. it should be a romance of venice, with abundant murder and mystery in it, and a black, black villain, such as her soul loved--no macaroon-nibblers or rompers with children for her! and having thus attuned her mind to scarlet deeds, she set to work. but she found it tremendously difficult to pin her story to paper: she saw things clearly enough, and could have related them by word of mouth; but did she try to write them down they ran to mist; and though she toiled quite literally in the sweat of her brow, yet when the eventful day came she had but three niggardly pages to show for her pains. about twenty girls formed the society, which assembled one saturday evening in an empty music-room. all were not, of course, equally productive: some had brought it no further than a riddle: and it was just these drones who, knowing nothing of the pother composition implied, criticised most stringently the efforts of the rest. several members had pretty enough talents, laura's two room-mates among the number: on the night laura made her debut, the weightiest achievement was, without doubt, m. p.'s essay on "magnanimity"; and laura's eyes grew moist as she listened to its stirring phrases. next best--to her thinking, at least--was a humorous episode by cupid, who had a gift that threw laura into a fit of amaze; and this was the ability to expand infinitely little into infinitely much; to rig out a trifle in many words, so that in the end it seemed ever so much bigger than it really was--just as a thrifty merchant boils his oranges, to swell them to twice their size. laura being the youngest member, her affair came last on the programme: she had to sit and listen to the others, her cheeks hot, her hands very cold. presently all were done, and then cupid, who was chairman, called on "a new author, rambotham, who it is hoped will prove a valuable acquisition to the society, to read us his maiden effort". laura rose to her feet and, trembling with nervousness, stuttered forth her prose. the three little pages shot past like a flash; she had barely stood up before she was obliged to sit down again, leaving her hearers, who had only just re-adopted their listening attitudes, agape with astonishment. she could have endured, with phlegm, the ridicule this malheur earned her: what was harder to stomach was that her paper heroics made utterly no impression. she suffered all the humiliation of a flabby fiasco, and, till bedtime, shrank out of her friends' way. "you were warned not to be too cocky, you know," mary said judicially, on seeing her downcast air. "i didn't mean to be, really.--then you don't think what i wrote was up to much, m. p.?" "mm," said the elder girl, in a non-committal way. here cupid chimed in. "look here, infant, i want to ask you something. have you ever been in venice?" "no." "ever seen a gondola?" "no." "or the doge's palace?--or a black-cloaked assassin?--or a masked lady?" "you know i haven't," murmured laura, humbled to the dust. "and probably never will. well then, why on earth try to write wooden, second-hand rubbish like that?" "second-hand? ... but cupid ... think of scott! he couldn't have seen half he told about?" "my gracious!" ejaculated cupid, and sat down and fanned herself with a hairbrush. "you don't imagine you're a scott, do you? here, hold me, m. p., i'm going to faint!"--and at laura's quick and scarlet denial, she added: "well, why the unmentionable not use the eyes the lord has given you, and write about what's before them every day of your life?" "do you think that would be better?" "i don't think--i know it would." but laura was not so easily convinced as all that. ever a talented imitator, she next tried her hand at an essay on an abstract subject. this was a failure: you could not see things, when you wrote about, say, "beneficence"; and laura's thinking was done mainly in pictures. matters were still worse when she tinkered at cupid's especial genre: her worthless little incident stared at her, naked and scraggy, from the sheet; she had no wealth of words at her disposal in which to deck it out. so, with a sigh, she turned back to the advice cupid had given her, and prepared to make a faithful transcript of actuality. she called what she now wrote: "a day at school", and conscientiously set down detail on detail; so fearful, this time, of over-brevity, that she spun the account out to twenty pages; though the writing of it was as distasteful to her as her reading of a doll's house had been. at the subsequent meeting of the society, expression of opinion was not lacking. "oh, jehoshaphat! how much more?" "here, let me get out. i've had enough." "i say, you forgot to count how many steps it took you to come downstairs." till the chairman had pity on the embarrassed author and said: "look here, laura, i think you'd better keep the rest for another time." "it was just what you told me to do," laura reproached cupid that night: she was on the brink of tears. but cupid was disinclined to shoulder the responsibility. "told you to be as dull and long-winded as that? infant, it's a whacker!" "but it was true what i wrote--every word of it." neither of the two elder girls was prepared to discuss this vital point. cupid shifted ground. "good lord, laura, but it's hard to drive a thing into your brain-pan.--you don't need to be all true on paper, silly child!" "last time you said i had to." "well, if you want it, my candid opinion is that you haven't any talent for this kind of thing.--now turn off the gas." as the light in the room went out, a kind of inner light seemed to go up in laura; and both then and on the following days she thought hard. she was very ambitious, anxious to shine, not ready to accept defeat; and to the next literary contest she brought the description of an excursion to the hills and gullies that surrounded warrenega; into which she had worked an adventure with some vagrant blacks. she and pin and the boys had often picnicked on these hills, with their lunches packed in billies; and she had seen the caves and rocky holes where blackfellows were said to have hidden themselves in early times; but neither this particular excursion, nor the exciting incident which she described with all the aplomb of an eyewitness, had ever taken place. that is to say: not a word of her narration was true, but every word of it might have been true. and with this she had an unqualified success. "i believe there's something in you after all," said cupid to her that night. "anyhow, you know now what it is to be true, yet not dull and prosy." and laura manfully choked back her desire to cry out that not a word of her story was fact. she was long in falling asleep. naturally, she was elated and excited by her success; but also a new and odd piece of knowledge had niched itself in her brain. it was this. in your speech, your talk with others, you must be exact to the point of pedantry, and never romance or draw the long-bow; or you would be branded as an abominable liar. whereas, as soon as you put pen to paper, provided you kept one foot planted on probability, you might lie as hard as you liked: indeed, the more vigorously you lied, the louder would be your hearers' applause. and laura fell asleep over a chuckle. xxii. und vergesst mir auch das gute lachen nicht! nietzsche and then, alas! just as she rode high on this wave of approbation, laura suffered another of those drops in the esteem of her fellows, another of those mental upsets, which from time to time had thrown her young life out of gear. true, what now came was not exactly her own fault; though it is doubtful whether a single one of her companions would have made her free of an excuse. they looked on, round-eyed, mouths a-stretch. once more, the lambkin called laura saw fit to sunder itself from the flock, and to cut mad capers in sight of them all. and their delectation was as frank as their former wrath had been.--as for laura, as usual she did not stop to think till it was too late; but danced lightly away to her own undoing. the affair began pleasantly enough. a member of the literary society was the girl with the twinkly brown eyes--she who had gone out of her way to give laura a kindly word after the shepherd debacle. this girl, evelyn souttar by name, was also the only one of the audience who had not joined in the laugh provoked by laura's first appearance as an author. laura had never forgotten this; and she would smile shyly at evelyn when their looks met. but a dozen reasons existed why there should have been no further rapport between them. although now in the fifth form, laura had remained childish for her age: whereas evelyn was over eighteen, and only needed to turn up her hair to be quite grown-up. she had matriculated the previous christmas, and was at present putting away a rather desultory half-year, before leaving school for good. in addition, she was rich, pampered and very pretty--the last comrade in the world for drab little laura. one evening, as the latter was passing through the dining-hall, she found evelyn, who studied where she chose, disconsolately running her fingers through her gold-brown hair. "i say, kiddy," she called to laura. "you know latin, don't you? just give us a hand with this."--latin had not been one of evelyn's subjects, and she was now employing some of her spare time in studying the language with mr. strachey, who taught it after a fashion of his own. "how on earth would you say: 'we had not however rid here so long, but should have tided it up the river'? what's the old fool mean by that?" and she pushed an open volume of robinson crusoe towards laura. laura helped to the best of her ability. "thanks awfully," said evelyn. "you're a clever chickabiddy. but you must let me help you with something in return. what's hardest?" "filling baths and papering rooms," replied laura candidly. "arithmetic, eh? well, if ever you want a sum done, come to me." but laura was temperamentally unable to accept so vague an invitation; and here the matter closed. when, consequently, miss chapman summoned her one evening to tell her that she was to change her present bedroom for evelyn's, the news came as a great shock to her. "change my room?" she echoed, in slow disgust. "oh, i can't, miss chapman!" "you've got to, laura, if mrs. gurley says so," expostulated the kindly governess. "but i won't! there must be some mistake. just when i'm so comfortably settled, too.--very well, then, miss chapman, i'll speak to mrs. gurley myself." she carried out this threat, and, for daring to question orders, received the soundest snubbing she had had for many a long day. that night she was very bitter about it all, and the more so because mary and cupid did not, to her thinking, show sufficient sympathy. "i believe you're both glad i'm going. it's a beastly shame. why must i always be odd man out?" "look here, infant, don't adopt that tone, please," said cupid magisterially. "or you'll make us glad in earnest. people who are always up in arms about things are the greatest bores in the world." so the following afternoon laura wryly took up armfuls of her belongings, mounted a storey higher, and deposited them on the second bed in evelyn's room. the elder girl had had this room to herself for over a year now, and laura felt sure would be chafing inwardly at her intrusion. for days she stole mousily in and out, avoiding the hours when evelyn was there, getting up earlier in the morning, hurrying into bed at night and feeling very sore indeed at the sufferance on which she supposed herself to be. but once evelyn caught her and said: "don't, for gracious' sake, knock each time you want to come in, child. this is your room now as well as mine." laura reddened, and blurted out something about knowing how she must hate to have her stuck in there. evelyn wrinkled up her forehead and laughed. "what rot! do you think i'd have asked to have you, if i hated it so much?" "you asked to have me?" gasped laura. "of course--didn't you know? old gurley said i'd need to have some one; so i chose you." laura was too dumbfounded, and too diffident, to ask the grounds of such a choice. but the knowledge that it was so, worked an instant change in her. in all the three years she had been at school, she had not got beyond a surface friendliness with any of her fellows. even those who had been her "chums" had wandered like shades through the groves of her affection: rough, teasing bertha; pretty, lazy inez; perky tilly, slangily frank maria and kate, mary and her moral influence, clever, instructive cupid: to none of them had she been drawn by any deeper sense of affinity. and though she had come to believe, in the course of the last, more peaceful year, that she had grown used to being what you would call an unpopular girl--one, that is, with whom no one ever shared a confidence--yet seldom was there a child who longed more ardently to be liked, or suffered more acutely under dislike. apart however from the brusque manner she had contracted, in her search after truth, it must be admitted that laura had but a small talent for friendship; she did not grasp the constant give-and-take intimacy implies; the liking of others had to be brought to her, unsought, she, on the other hand, being free to stand back and consider whether or no the feeling was worth returning. and friends are not made in this fashion. but evelyn had stoutly, and without waiting for permission, crossed the barrier; and each new incident in her approach was pleasanter than the last. laura was pleased, and flattered, and round the place where her heart was, she felt a warm and comfortable glow. she began to return the liking, with interest, after the manner of a lonely, bottled-up child. and everything about evelyn made it easy to grow fond of her. to begin with, laura loved pretty things and pretty people; and her new friend was out and away the prettiest girl in the school. then, too, she was clever, and that counted; you did not make a friend of a fool. but her chief characteristics were a certain sound common sense, and an inexhaustible fund of good-nature--a careless, happy, laughing sunniness, that was as grateful to those who came into touch with it as a rare ointment is grateful to the skin. this kindliness arose, it might be, in the first place from indolence: it was less trouble to be merry and amiable than to put oneself out to be selfish, which also meant standing a fire of disagreeable words and looks; and then, too, it was really hard for one who had never had a whim crossed to be out of humour. but, whatever its origin, the good-nature was there, everlastingly; and laura soon learnt that she could cuddle in under it, and be screened by it, as a lamb is screened by its mother's woolly coat. evelyn was the only person who did not either hector her, or feel it a duty to clip and prune at her: she accepted laura for what she was--for herself. indeed, she even seemed to lay weight on laura's bits of opinions, which the girl had grown so chary of offering; and, under the sunshine of this treatment, laura shot up and flowered like a spring bulb. she began to speak out her thoughts again; she unbosomed herself of dark little secrets; and finally did what she would never have believed possible: sitting one night in her nightgown, on the edge of evelyn's bed, she made a full confession of the pickle she had got herself into, over her visit to the shepherds. to her astonishment, evelyn, who was already in bed, laughed till the tears ran down her cheeks. at laura's solemn-faced incredulity she said: "i say, kiddy, but that was rich. to think a chicken of your size sold them like that. it's the best joke i've heard for an age. tell us again--from the beginning." nothing loath laura started in afresh, and in this, the second telling, embroidered the edge of her tale with a few fancy stitches, in a way she had not ventured on for months past; so that evelyn was more tickled than before. "no wonder they were mad about being had like that. you little rascal!" she was equally amused by laura's description of the miserable week she had spent, trying to make up her mind to confess. "you ridiculous sprat! why didn't you come to me? we'd have let them down with a good old bump." but laura could not so easily forget the humiliations she had been forced to suffer, and delicately hinted to her friend at m. p.'s moral strictures. with her refreshing laugh, evelyn brushed these aside as well. "tommyrot! never mind that old jumble-sale of all the virtues. it was jolly clever of a mite like you to bamboozle them as you did--take my word for that." this jocose way of treating the matter seemed to put it in an entirely new light; laura could even smile at it herself. in the days that followed, she learned, indeed, to laugh over it with evelyn, and to share the latter's view that she had been superior in wit to those she had befooled. this meant a great and healthy gain in self-assurance for laura. it also led to her laying more and more weight on what her friend said. for it was not as if evelyn had a low moral standard; far from that: she was honest and straightforward, too proud, or, it might be, too lazy to tell a lie herself--with all the complications lying involved--and laura never heard her say a harder thing of anyone than what she had just said about mary pidwall. the two talked late into every night after this, laura perched, monkey-fashion, on the side of her friend's bed. evelyn had all the accumulated wisdom of eighteen, and was able to clear her young companion up on many points about which laura had so far been in the dark. but when, in time, she came to relate the mortifications she had suffered--and was still called on to suffer--at the hands of the other sex, evelyn pooh-poohed the subject. "time enough in a couple of years for that. don't bother your head about it in the meantime." "i don't now--not a bit. i only wanted to know why. sometimes, evvy, do you know, they liked to talk to quite little kids of seven and eight better than me." "perhaps you talked too much yourself--and about yourself?" "i don't think i did. and if you don't talk something, they yawn and go away." "you've got to let them do the lion's share, child. just you sit still, and listen, and pretend you like it--even though you're bored to extinction." "and they never need to pretend anything, i suppose? no, i think they're horrid. you don't like them either, evvy, do you? ... any more than i do?" evelyn laughed. "say what you think they are," persisted laura and waggled the other's arm, to make her speak. "mostly fools," said evelyn, and laughed again--laughed in all the conscious power of lovely eighteen. overjoyed at this oneness of mind, laura threw her arms round her friend's neck and kissed her. "you dear!" she said. and yet, a short time afterwards, it was on this very head that she had to bear the shock of a rude awakening. evelyn's people came to melbourne that year from the riverina. evelyn was allowed considerable freedom, and one night, by special permit, laura also accepted an invitation to dinner and the theatre. the two girls drove to a hotel, where they found evelyn's mother, elegant but a little stern, and a young lady-friend. only the four of them were present at dinner, and the meal passed off smoothly; though the strangeness of dining in a big hotel had the effect of tying laura's tongue. another thing that abashed her was the dress of the young lady, who sat opposite. this person--she must have been about the ripe age of twenty-five--was nipped into a tight little pink satin bodice, which, at the back, exposed the whole of two very bony shoulder-blades. but it was the front of the dress that laura faced; and, having imbibed strict views of propriety from mother, she wriggled on her chair whenever she raised her eyes. they drove to the theatre--though it was only a few doors off. the seats were in the dress circle. the ladies sat in the front row, the girls, who were in high frocks, behind. evelyn made a face of laughing discontent. "it's so ridiculous the mater won't let me dress." these words gave laura a kind of stab. "oh evvy, i think you're ever so much nicer as you are," she whispered, and squeezed her friend's hand. evelyn could not answer, for the lady in pink had leant back and tapped her with her fan. "it doesn't look as if jim were coming, my dear." evelyn laughed, in a peculiar way. "oh, i guess he'll turn up all right." there had been some question of a person of this name at dinner; but laura had paid no great heed to what was said. now, she sat up sharply, for evelyn exclaimed: "there he is!" it was a man, a real man--not a boy--with a drooping, fair moustache, a single eyeglass in one eye, and a camellia-bud in his buttonhole. for the space of a breathless second laura connected him with the pink satin; then he dropped into a vacant seat at evelyn's side. from this moment on, laura's pleasure in her expensive seat, in the pretty blue theatre and its movable roof, in the gay trickeries of the mikado, slowly fizzled out. evelyn had no more thought for her. now and then, it is true, she would turn in her affectionate way and ask laura if she were all right just as one satisfies oneself that a little child is happy--but her real attention was for the man at her side. in the intervals, the two kept up a perpetual buzz of chat, broken only by evelyn's low laughs. laura sat neglected, sat stiff and cold with disappointment, a great bitterness welling up within her. before the performance had dragged to an end, she would have liked to put her head down and cry. "tired?" queried evelyn noticing her pinched look, as they drove home in the wagonette. but the mother was there, too, so laura said no. directly, however, the bedroom door shut behind them, she fell into a tantrum, a fit of sullen rage, which she accentuated till evelyn could not but notice it. "what's the matter with you? didn't you enjoy yourself?" "no, i hated it," returned laura passionately. evelyn laughed a little at this, but with an air of humorous dismay. "i must take care, then, not to ask you out again." "i wouldn't go. not for anything!" "what on earth's the matter with you?" "nothing's the matter." "well, if that's all, make haste and get into bed. you're overtired." "go to bed yourself!" "i am, as fast as i can. i can hardly keep my eyes open;" and evelyn yawned heartily. when laura saw that she meant it, she burst out: "you're nothing but a story-teller--that's what you are! you said you didn't like them ... that they were mostly fools ... and then ... then, to go on as you did to-night." her voice was shaky with tears. "oh, that's it, is it? come now, get to bed. we'll talk about it in the morning." "i never want to speak to you again." "you're a silly child. but i'm really too sleepy to quarrel with you to-night." "i hate you--hate you!" "i shall survive it." she turned out the light as she spoke, settled herself on her pillow, and composedly went to sleep. laura's rage redoubled. throwing herself on the floor she burst into angry tears, and cried as loudly as she dared, in the hope of keeping her companion awake. but evelyn was a magnificent sleeper; and remained undisturbed. so after a time laura rose, drew up the blind, opened the window and sat down on the sill. it was a bitterly cold night, of milky-white moonlight; each bush and shrub carved its jet-black shadow on paths and grass. across evelyn's bed fell a great patch of light: this, or the chill air would, it was to be trusted, wake her. meanwhile laura sat in her thin nightgown and shivered, feeling the cold intensely after the great heat of the day. she hoped with all her heart that she would be lucky enough to get an inflammation of the lungs. then, evelyn would be sorry she had been so cruel to her. it was nearly two o'clock, and she had several times found herself nodding, when the sleeper suddenly opened her eyes and sat bolt upright in bed. "laura, good heavens, what are you doing at the window? oh, you wicked child, you'll catch your death of cold! get into bed at once." and, the culprit still maintaining an immovable silence, evelyn dragged her to bed by main force, and tucked her in as tightly as a mummy. xxiii. gut und bose und lust und leid und ich und du. nietzsche "laura, you're a cipher!" "i'm nothing of the sort!" threw back laura indignantly. "you're one yourself.--what does she mean, evvy?" she asked getting out of earshot of the speaker. "goodness knows. don't mind her, poppet." it was an oppressive evening: all day long a hot north wind had scoured the streets, veiling things and people in clouds of gritty dust; the sky was still like the prolonged reflection of a great fire. the hoped-for change had not come, and the girls who strolled the paths of the garden were white and listless. they walked in couples, with interlaced arms; and members of the matriculation class carried books with them, the present year being one of much struggling and heartburning, and few leisured moments. mary pidwall and cupid were together under an acacia tree at the gate of the tennis-court; and it was m. p. who had cast the above gibe at laura. at least laura took it as a gibe, and scowled darkly; for she could never grow hardened to ridicule. as she and evelyn re-passed this spot in their perambulation, a merry little lump of a girl called lolo, who darted her head from side to side when she spoke, with the movements of a watchful bird--this [p. ] lolo called: "evelyn, come here, i want to tell you something." "yes, what is it?" asked evelyn, but without obeying the summons; for she felt laura's grip of her arm tighten. "it's a secret. you must come over here." "hold on a minute, poppet," said evelyn persuasively, and crossed the lawn with her characteristically lazy saunter. minutes went by; she did not return. "look at her laura-ship!" said a saucebox to her partner. the latter made "hee-haw, hee-haw!" and both laughed derisively. the object of their scorn stood at the farther end of the wire-net fence: all five fingers of her right hand were thrust through the holes of the netting, and held oddly and unconsciously outspread; she stood on one leg, and with her other foot rubbed up and down behind her ankle; mouth and brow were sullen, her black eyes bent wrathfully on her faithless friend. "a regular moon-calf!" said cupid, looking up from the tempest, which was balanced breast-high on the narrow wooden top of the fence. "mark my words, that child'll be plucked in her 'tests'," observed m. p. "serve her right, say i, for playing the billy-ass," returned cupid, and killed a giant mosquito with such a whack that her wrist was stained with its blood. "ugh, you brute! ... gorging yourself on me. but i'm dashed if i know how evelyn can be bothered to have her always dangling round." "she's a cipher," repeated mary, in so judicial a tone that it closed the conversation. laura, not altogether blind to externals, saw that her companions made fun of her. but at the present pass, the strength of her feelings quite out-ran her capacity for self-control; she was unable to disguise what she felt, and though it made her the laughing-stock of the school. what scheme was the birdlike lolo hatching against her? why did evelyn not come back?--these were the thoughts that buzzed round inside her head, as the mosquitoes buzzed outside.--and meanwhile the familiar, foolish noises of the garden at evening knocked at her ear. on the other side of the hedge a batch of third-form girls were whispering, with choked laughter, a doggerel rhyme which was hard to say, and which meant something quite different did the tongue trip over a certain letter. of two girls who were playing tennis in half-hearted fashion, the one next laura said 'oh, damn!' every time she missed a ball. and over the parched, dusty grass the hot wind blew, carrying with it, from the kitchens, a smell of cabbage, of fried onions, of greasy dish-water. then evelyn returned, and a part, a part only of the cloud lifted from laura's brow. "what did she want?" "oh, nothing much." "then you're not going to tell me?" i can't. "what business has she to have secrets with you?" said laura furiously. and for a full round of the garden she did not open her lips. her companions were not alone in eyeing this lopsided friendship with an amused curiosity. the governesses also smiled at it, and were surprised at evelyn's endurance of the tyranny into which laura's liking had degenerated. on this particular evening, two who were sitting on the verandah-bench came back to the subject. "just look at that laura rambotham again, will you?" said miss snodgrass in her tart way. "sulking for all she's worth. what a little fool she is!" "i'm sure i wonder mrs. gurley hasn't noticed how badly she's working just now," said miss chapman; and her face wore it best-meaning, but most uncertain smile. "oh, you know very well if mrs. gurley doesn't want to see a thing she doesn't," retorted miss snodgrass. "a regular talent for going blind, i call it--especially where evelyn souttar's concerned." "oh, i don't think you should talk like that," urged miss chapman nervously. "i say what i think," asserted miss snodgrass. "and if i had my way, i'd give laura rambotham something she wouldn't forget. that child'll come to a bad end yet.--how do you like that colour, miss c.?" she had a nest of cloth-patterns in her lap, and held one up as she spoke. "oh, you shouldn't say such things," remonstrated miss chapman. "there's many a true word said in jest." she settled her glasses on her nose. "it's very nice, but i think i like a bottle-green better." "of course, i don't mean she'll end on the gallows, if that's what troubles you. but she's frightfully unbalanced, and, to my mind, ought to have some sense knocked into her before it's too late.--that's a better shade, isn't it?" "poor little laura," said miss chapman, and drew a sigh. "yes, i like that. where did you say you were going to have the dress made?" miss snodgrass named, not without pride, one of the first warehouses in the city. "i've been saving up my screw for it, and i mean to have something decent this time. besides, i know one of the men in the shop, and i'm going to make them do it cheap." and here they fell to discussing price and cut. thus the onlookers laughed and quizzed and wondered; no one was bold enough to put an open question to evelyn, and evelyn did not offer to take anyone into her confidence. she held even hints and allusions at bay, with her honeyed laugh; which was her shield against the world. laura was the only person who ever got behind this laugh, and what she discovered there, she did not tell. as it was, varying motives were suggested for evelyn's long-suffering, nobody being ready to believe that it could really be fondness, on her part, for the byronic atom of humanity she had attracted to her. however that might be, the two girls, the big fair one and the little dark one, were, outside class-hours, seldom apart. evelyn did not often, as in the case of the birdlike lolo, give her young tyrant cause for offence; if she sometimes sought another's company, it was done in a roguish spirit--from a feminine desire to tease. perhaps, too, she was at heart not averse to laura's tantrums, or to testing her own power in quelling them. on the whole, though, she was very careful of her little friend's sensitive spots. she did not repeat the experiment of taking laura out with her; as her stay at school drew to a close she went out less frequently herself; for the reason that, no matter how late it was on her getting back, she would find laura obstinately sitting up in bed, wide-awake. and it went against the grain in her to keep the pale-faced girl from sleep. on such occasions, while she undid her pretty muslin dress, unpinned the flowers she was never without, and loosened her gold-brown hair, which she had put up for the evening: while she undressed, evelyn had to submit to a rigorous cross-examination. laura demanded to know where she had been, what she had done, whom she had spoken to; and woe to her if she tried to shirk a question. laura was not only jealous, she was extraordinarily suspicious; and the elder girl had need of all her laughing kindness to steer her way through the shallows of distrust. for a great doubt of evelyn's sincerity had implanted itself in laura's mind: she could not forget the incident of the "mostly fools"; and, after an evening of this kind, she never felt quite sure that evelyn was not deceiving her afresh out of sheer goodness of heart, of course--by assuring her that she had had a "horrid time", been bored to death, and would have much preferred to stay with her; when the truth was that, in the company of some moustached idiot or other, she had enjoyed herself to the top of her bent. on the night laura learned that her friend had again met the loathly "jim", there was a great to-do. in vain evelyn laughed, reasoned, expostulated. laura was inconsolable. "look here, poppet," said evelyn at last, and was so much in earnest that she laid her hairbrush down, and took laura by both her bony little shoulders. "look here, you surely don't expect me to be an old maid, do you?--me?" the pronoun signified all she might not say: it meant wealth, youth, beauty, and an unbounded capacity for pleasure. "evvy, you're not going to marry that horrid man?" "of course not, goosey. but that doesn't mean that i'm never going to marry at all, does it?" laura supposed not--with a tremendous sniff. "well, then, what is all the fuss about?" it was not so easy to say. she was of course reconciled, she sobbed, to evelyn marrying some day: only plain and stupid girls were left to be old maids: but it must not happen for years and years and years to come, and when it did, it must be to some one much older than herself, some one she did not greatly care for: in short, evelyn was to marry only to escape the odium of the single life. having drawn this sketch of her future word by word from the weeping laura, evelyn fell into a fit of laughter which she could not stifle. "well, poppet," she said when she could speak, "if that's your idea of happiness for me, we'll postpone it just as long as ever we can. i'm all there. for i mean to have a good time first--a jolly good time--before i tie myself up for ever, world without end, amen." "that's just what i hate so--your good time, as you call it," retorted laura, smarting under the laughter. "everyone does, child. you'll be after it yourself when you're a little older." "me?--never!" "oh, yes, indeed you will." "i won't. i hate men and i always shall. and oh, i thought"--with an upward, sobbing breath--"i thought you liked me best." "of course i like you, you silly child! but that's altogether different. and i don't like you any less because i enjoy having some fun with them, too." "i don't want your old leavings!" said laura savagely. it hurt, almost as much as having a tooth pulled out, did this knowledge that your friend's affection was wholly yours only as long as no man was in question. and out of the sting, laura added: "wait till i'm grown up, and i'll show them what i think of them--the pigs!" this time evelyn had to hold her hand in front of her mouth. "no, no, i don't mean to laugh at you. come, be good now," she petted. "and you really must go to bed, laura. it's past twelve o'clock, and that infernal machine'll be going off before you've had any sleep at all." the "machine" was laura's alarum, which ran down every night just now at two o'clock. for, if one thing was sure, it was that affairs with laura were in a sorry muddle. in this, the last and most momentous year of her school life, at the close of which, like a steep wall to be scaled, rose the university examination, she was behindhand with her work, and occupied a mediocre place in her class. so steadfastly was her attention pitched on evelyn that she could link it to nothing else: in the middle of an important task, her thoughts would stray to contemplate her friend or wonder what she was doing; while, if evelyn were out for the evening, laura gave up her meagre pretence of study altogether, and moodily propped her head in her hand. this was why she had hit on the small hours for the necessary cramming; then, there were no distractions: the great house was as still as an empty church; and evelyn lay safe and sound before her. so, punctually at two o'clock laura was startled, with a pounding heart, out of her first sleep; and lighting the gas she sat up in bed and pored over her books. evelyn was not disturbed by the light, or at least she did not complain; and it was certainly a famous time for committing things to memory: the subsequent hours of sleep seemed rather to etch the facts into your brain than to blur them. you cannot however rob peter to pay paul, with impunity, and in the weeks that followed, despite her nightly industry, laura made no headway. as the term tapered to an end, things went from bad to worse with her; and since, besides, the parting with evelyn was at the door, she was often to be seen with red-rimmed eyelids, which she did not even try to conceal. "as if she'd lost her nearest relation!" laughed her school-fellows. and did they meet her privately, on the stairs or in a house-corridor, they crossed their hands on their breasts and turned up their eyes, in tragedy-fashion. laura hardly saw them; for once in her life ridicule could not have her. the nearer the time drew, the more completely did the coming loss of evelyn push other considerations into the background. it was bitter to reflect that her present dear friendship had no more strength to endure than the thin pretences of friendship she had hitherto played at. evelyn and she would, no doubt, from time to time meet and take pleasure in each other again; but their homes lay hundreds of miles apart; and the intimacy of the schooldays was passing away, never to return. and no one could be held to blame for this. evelyn's mother and father thought, rightly enough, that it was time for their daughter to leave school--but that was all. they did not really miss her, or need her. no, it was just a stupid, crushing piece of ill-luck, which happened one did not know why. the ready rebel in laura sprang into being again; and she fought hard against the lesson that there are events in life--bitter, grim, and grotesque events--beneath which one can only bow one's head.--a further effect of the approaching separation was to bring home to her a sense of the fleetingness of things; she began to grasp that, everywhere and always, even while you revelled in them, things were perpetually rushing to a close; and the fact of them being things you loved, or enjoyed, was powerless to diminish the speed at which they escaped you. of course, though, these were sensations rather than thoughts; and they did not hinder laura from going on her knees to evelyn, to implore her to remain. day after day evelyn kindly and patiently explained why this could not be; and if she sometimes drew a sigh at the child's persistence, it was too faint to be audible. now laura knew that it was possible to kill animal-pets by surfeiting them; and, towards the end, a suspicion dawned on her that you might perhaps damage feelings in the same way. it stood to reason: no matter how fond two people were of each other, the one who was about to emerge, like a butterfly from its sheath, could not be asked to regret her release; and, at moments--when laura lay sobbing face downwards on her bed, or otherwise vented her pertinacious and disruly grief--at these moments she thought she scented a dash of relief in evelyn, at the prospect of deliverance. but such delicate hints on the part of the hidden self are rarely able to gain a hearing; and, as the days dropped off one by one, like over-ripe fruit, laura surrendered herself more and more blindly to her emotions. the consequence was, m. p.'s prediction came true: in the test-examinations which took place at midwinter, laura, together with the few dunces of her class, was ignominiously plucked. and still staggering under this blow, she had to kiss evelyn good-bye, and to set her face for home. xxiv. was mich nicht umbringt, macht mich starker. nietzsche mother did not know or understand anything about "tests"; and laura had no idea of enlightening her. she held her peace, and throughout the holidays hugged her disgraceful secret to her, untold. she had never before failed to pass an examination, having always lightly skimmed the surface of them on the wings of her parrot-like memory; hence, at home no one suspected that anything was amiss with her. the knowledge weighed the more heavily on her own mind. and, as if her other troubles were not enough, she was now beset by nervous fears about the future. she saw chiefly rocks ahead. if she did not succeed in getting through the final examination in summer, she would not be allowed to present herself for matriculation, and, did this happen, there would be the very devil to pay. all her schooling would, in mother's eyes, have been for naught. for mother was one of those people who laid tremendous weight on prizes and examinations, as offering a tangible proof that your time had not been wasted or misspent. besides this, she could not afford in the event of a failure, to pay the school-fees for another year. the money which, by hook and by crook, had been scraped together and hoarded up for laura's education was now coming to an end; as it was, the next six months would mean a terrible pinching and screwing. the other children, too, were growing day by day more costly; their little minds and bodies clamoured for a larger share of attention. and laura's eyes were rudely opened to the struggle mother had had to make both ends meet, while her first-born was acquiring wisdom; for mother spoke of it herself, spoke openly of her means and resources, perhaps with some idea of rousing in laura a gratitude that had so far been dormant. if this was her intention she failed. laura was much too fast entangled in her own troubles, to have leisure for such a costly feeling as gratitude; and mother's outspokenness only added a fresh weight to her pack. it seemed as if everybody and everything were ranged against her; and guilty, careworn, lonely, she shrank into her shell. about school affairs she again kept her lips shut, enduring, like a stubborn martyr, the epithets "close" and "deceitful" this reticence earned her. her time was spent in writing endless, scrawly letters to evelyn, which covered days; in sitting moodily at the top of the fir tree which she climbed in defiance of her length of petticoat glaring at sunsets, and brooding on dead delights; in taking long, solitary, evening walks, by choice on the heel of a thunderstorm, when the red earth was riddled by creeklets of running water; till mother, haunted by a lively fear of encounters with "swags" or chinamen, put her foot down and forbade them. sufferers are seldom sweet-tempered; and laura formed no exception. pin, her most frequent companion, had to bear the brunt of her acrimony: hence the two were soon at war again. for pin was tactless, and took small heed of her sister's grumpy moods, save to cavil at them. laura's buttoned-upness, for instance, and her love of solitude, were perverse leanings to pin's mind; and she spoke out against them with the assurance of one who has public opinion at his back. laura retaliated by falling foul of little personal traits in pin: a nervous habit she had of clearing her throat--her very walk. they quarrelled passionately, having branched as far apart as the end-points of what is ultimately to be a triangle, between which the connecting lines have not yet been drawn. sometimes they even came to blows. "i'll fetch your ma to you--that i will!" threatened sarah, called by the noise of the scuffle. "great girls like you--fightin' like bandicoots! you ought to be downright ashamed o' yourselves." "i don't know what's come over you two, i'm sure," scolded mother, when the combatants had been parted and brought before her in the kitchen, where she was rolling pastry. "you never used to go on like this.--pin, stop that noise. do you want to deafen me?" "she hit me first," sobbed pin. "it's always laura who begins." "i'll teach her to cheek me like that!" "well, all i can say is," said mother exasperated, and pushed a lock of hair off her perspiring forehead with the back of her hand. "all i say is, big girls as you are, you deserve to have the nonsense whipped out of you.--as for you, laura, if this is your only return for all the money i've spent on you, then i wish from my heart you'd never seen the inside of that melbourne school." "how pretty your eyes look, mother, when your eyelashes get floury!" said laura, struck by the vivid contrast of black and white. she merely stated the fact, without intent to flatter, her anger being given to puffing out as suddenly as it kindled. "oh, get along with you!" said mother, at the same time skilfully lifting and turning a large, thin sheet of paste. "you can't get round me like that." "you used to have nice, ladylike manners," she said on another occasion, when laura, summoned to the drawingroom to see a visitor, had in mother's eyes disgraced them both. "now, you've no more idea how to behave than a country bumpkin. you sit there, like a stock or a stone, as if you didn't know how to open your mouth."--mother was very cross. "i didn't want to see that old frump anyhow," retorted laura, who inclined to charge the inhabitants of the township with an extreme provinciality. "and what else was there to say, but yes or no? she asked me all things i didn't know anything about. you don't want me to tell stories, i suppose?" "well, if a child of mine doesn't know the difference between being polite and telling stories," said mother, completely outraged, "then, all i can say is, it's a ... a great shame!" she wound up lamely, after the fashion of hot-tempered people who begin a sentence without being clear how they are going to end it.--"you were a nice enough child once. if only i'd never let you leave home." this jeremiad was repeated by mother and chorused by the rest till laura grew incensed. she was roused to defend her present self, at the cost of her past perfections; and this gave rise to new dissensions. so that in spite of what she had to face at school, she was not altogether sorry, when the time came, to turn her back on her unknowing and hence unsympathetic relations. she journeyed to melbourne on one of those pleasant winter days when the sun shines from morning till night in a cloudless sky, and the chief mark of the season is the extraordinary greenness of the grass; returned a pale, determined, lanky girl, full of the grimmest resolutions. the first few days were like a bad dream. the absence of evelyn came home to her in all its crushing force. a gap yawned drearily where evelyn had been--but then, she had been everywhere. there was now a kind of emptiness about the great school--except for memories, which cropped up at each turn. laura was in a strange room, with strange, indifferent girls; and for a time she felt as lonely as she had done in those unthinkable days when she was still the poor little green "new chum". her companions were not wilfully unkind to her--her last extravagance had been foolish, not criminal--and two or three were even sorry for the woebegone figure she cut. but her idolatrous attachment to evelyn had been the means of again drawing round her one of those magic circles, which held her schoolfellows at a distance. and the aroma of her eccentricity still clung to her. the members of her class were deep in study, too; little was now thought or spoken of but the approaching examinations. and her first grief over, laura set her teeth and flung herself on her lessons like a dog on a bone, endeavouring to pack the conscientious work of twelve months into less than six. the days were feverish with energy. but at night the loneliness returned, and was only the more intense because, for some hours on end, she had been able to forget it. on one such night when she lay wakeful, haunted by the prospect of failure, she turned over the leaves of her bible--she had been memorising her weekly portion--and read, not as a school-task, but for herself. by chance she lighted on the fourteenth chapter of st john, and the familiar, honey-sweet words fell on her heart like caresses. her tears flowed; both at the beauty of the language and out of pity for herself; and before she closed the book, she knew that she had found a well of comfort that would never run dry. in spite of a certain flabbiness in its outward expression, deep down in laura the supreme faith of childhood still dwelt intact: she believed, with her whole heart, in the existence of an all-knowing god, and just as implicitly in his perfect power to succour his human children at will. but thus far on her way she had not greatly needed him: at the most, she had had recourse to him for forgiveness of sin. now, however, the sudden withdrawal of a warm, human sympathy seemed to open up a new use for him. an aching void was in her and about her; it was for him to fill this void with the riches of his love.--and she comforted herself for her previous lack of warmth, by the reminder that his need also was chiefly of the heavy-laden and oppressed. in the spurt of intense religious fervour that now set in for her, it was to christ she turned by preference, rather than to the remoter god the father. for of the latter she carried a kind of michelangelesque picture in her brain: that of an old, old man with a flowing grey beard, who sat, turk-fashion, one hand plucking at this beard, the other lying negligently across his knees. christ, on the contrary, was a young man, kindly of face, and full of tender invitation. to this younger, tenderer god, she proffered long and glowing prayers, which vied with one another in devoutness. soon she felt herself led by him, felt herself a favourite lying on his breast; and, as the days went by, her ardour so increased that she could not longer consume the smoke of her own fire: it overspread her daily life--to the renewed embarrassment of her schoolfellows. was it then impossible, they asked themselves, for laura rambotham to do anything in a decorous and ladylike way. must she at every step put them out of countenance? it was not respectable to be so fervent. religion, felt they, should be practised with modesty; be worn like an indispensable but private garment. whereas she committed the gross error in taste of, as it were, parading it outside her other clothes. laura, her thoughts turned heavenwards, did not look low enough to detect the distaste in her comrades' eyes. the farther she spun herself into her intimacy with the deity, the more indifferent did she grow to the people and things of this world. weeks passed. her feelings, in the beginning a mere blissful certainty that god was love and she was god's, ceased to be wholly passive. thus, her first satisfaction at her supposed election was soon ousted by self-righteousness, did she contemplate her unremitting devotion. and one night, when her own eloquence at prayer had brought the moisture to her eyes--one night the inspiration fell. throughout these weeks, she had faithfully worshipped god without asking so much as a pin's head from him in return; she had given freely; all she had, had been his. now the time had surely come when she might claim to be rewarded. now it was for him to show that he had appreciated her homage.--oh, it was so easy a thing for him to help her, if he would ... if he only would! pressing her fingers to her eyeballs till the starry blindness was effected that induces ecstasy, she prostrated herself before the mercy-seat, not omitting, at this crisis, to conciliate the almighty by laying stress on her own exceeding unworthiness. "oh, dear lord jesus, have mercy upon me, miserable sinner! oh, christ, i ask thy humble pardon! for i have been weak, lord, and have forgotten to serve thy holy name. my thoughts have erred and strayed like ... like lost sheep. but loved thee, jesus, all the time, my heart seemed full as it would hold ... no, i didn't mean to say that. but i was not ever thus, nor prayed that thou shouldst lead me on. but now, dear jesus, if thou wilt only grant me my desire, i will never forget thee or be false to thee again. i will love thee and serve thee, all the days of my life, till death us do ... i mean, only let me pass my examinations, lord, and there is nothing i will not do for thee in return. oh, dear lord jesus, son of mary, hear my prayer, and i will worship thee and adore thee, and never forget thee, and that thou hast died to save me! grant me this my prayer, lord, for christ's sake, amen." it came to this: laura made a kind of pact with god, in which his aid at the present juncture guaranteed her continued, unswerving allegiance. the idea once lodged in her mind, she wrestled with him night after night, filling his ears with her petitions, and remaining on her knees for such an immoderate length of time that her room-mates, who were sleepy, openly expressed their impatience. "oh, draw it mild, laura!" said the girl in the neighbouring bed, when it began to seem as if the supplicant would never rise to her feet again. "leave something to ask him to-morrow." but laura, knowing very well that the lord our god is a jealous god, was mindful not to scrimp in lip-service, or to shirk the minutest ceremony by means of which he might be propitiated and won over. her prayers of greeting and farewell, on entering and leaving church, were drawn out beyond anyone else's; she did not doze or dream over a single clause of the litany, with its hypnotising refrain; and she not only made the sign of the cross at the appropriate place in the creed, but also privately at every mention of christ's name. meanwhile, of course, she worked at her lessons with unflagging zeal, for it was by no means her intention to throw the whole onus of her success on the divine shoulders. she overworked; and on one occasion had a distressing lapse of memory. and at length spring was gone and summer come, and the momentous week arrived on which her future depended. now, though, she was not alone in her trepidation. the eyes of even the surest members of the form had a steely glint in them, and mouths were hard. dr. pughson's papers were said to be far more formidable than the public examination: if you got happily through these, you were safe. six subjects were compulsory; high-steppers took nine. laura was one of those with eight, and since her two obligatory mathematics were not to be relied on, she could not afford to fail in a single subject. in the beginning, things, with the exception of numbers, went pretty well with her. then came the final day, and with it the examination in history. up to the present year laura had cut a dash in history; now her brain was muddled, her memory overtaxed, by her having had to cram the whole of green's history of the english people in a few months, besides a large dose of greece and rome. reports ran of the exceptionally "catchy" nature of dr pughson's questions; and laura's prayer, the night before, was more like a threat than a supplication. the class had only just entered the headmaster's room on the eventful morning, and begun to choose desks, when there came a summons to laura to take a music-lesson. this was outside consideration, and dr pughson made short work of the intruder--a red-haired little girl, who blushed meekly and unbecomingly, and withdrew. here, however, laura rose and declared that, under these circumstances, some explanation was due to monsieur boehmer, the music-master, to-day's lesson being in fact a rehearsal for the annual concert. dr pughson raised his red-rimmed eyes from his desk and looked very fierce. "tch, tch, tch!" he snapped, in the genial irish fashion that made him dreaded and adored. "how like a woman that is! playing at concerts when she can't add two and two together!--your arithmetic paper's fit for punch, miss rambotham." the smile he looked for went round. "have you seen the questions?--no? well, give them here then. you've got to go, i suppose, or we might deprive the concert of your shining light.--hurry back, now. stir your stumps!" but this laura had no intention of doing. in handling the printed slip, her lagging eye had caught the last and most vital question: "give a full account of oliver cromwell's foreign policy."--and she did not know it! she dragged out her interview with the music-master, put questions wide of the point, insisted on lingering till he had arranged another hour for the postponed rehearsal; and, as she walked, as she talked, as she listened to monsieur boehmer's ridiculous english, she strove in vain to recall jot or tittle of oliver's relations to foreign powers.--oh, for just a peep at the particular page of green! for, if once she got her cue, she believed she could go on. the dining-hall was empty when she went through it on her way back to the classroom: her history looked lovingly at her from its place on the shelf. but she did not dare to go over to it, take it out, and turn up the passage: that was too risky. what she did do, however, when she had almost reached the door, was to dash back, pull out a synopsis--[p. ] a slender, medium-sized volume--and hastily and clumsily button this inside the bodice of her dress. the square, board-like appearance it gave her figure, where it projected beyond the sides of her apron, she concealed by hunching her shoulders. her lightning plan was, to enter a cloakroom, snatch a hurried peep at oliver's confounded policy, then hide the book somewhere till the examination was over. but on emerging from the dining-hall she all but collided with the secretary, who had come noiselessly across the verandah; and she was so overcome by the thought of the danger she had run, and by miss blount's extreme surprise at dr pughson's leniency, that she allowed herself to be driven back to the examination-room without a word. the girls were hard at it; they scarcely glanced up when she opened the door. from her friends' looks, she could judge of the success they were having. cupid, for instance, was smirking to herself in the peculiar fashion that meant satisfaction; m. p.'s cheeks were the colour of monthly roses. and soon laura, crouching low to cover her deformity, was at work like the rest. had only oliver cromwell never been born!--thus she reflected, when she had got the easier part of the paper behind her. why could it not have been a question about bourke and wills, or the eureka stockade, or the voyages of captain cook? ... something about one's own country, that one had heard hundreds of times and was really interested in. or a big, arresting thing like the retreat of the ten thousand, or hannibal's march over the alps? who cared for old oliver, and his shorn head, and his contempt for baubles! what did it matter now to anyone what his attitude had been, more than two hundred years ago, to all those far-away, dream-like countries? ... desperately she pressed her hand to her eyes. she knew the very page of green on which cromwell's foreign relations were set forth; knew where the paragraph began, near the foot of the page: what she could not get hold of was the opening sentence that would have set her mechanical memory a-rolling. the two hours drew steadily to a close. about half an hour beforehand the weakest candidates began to rise, to hand in their papers and leave the room; but it was not till ten minutes to twelve that the "crack" girls stopped writing. laura was to be allowed an extra twenty minutes, and it was on this she relied. at last, she was alone with the master. but though he was already dipping into the examination-papers, he was not safe. she had unbuttoned two buttons and was at a third, when he looked up so unexpectedly that she was scared out of her senses, and fastened her dress again with all the haste she could. three or four of the precious minutes were lost. at this point, the door opened and mr. strachey strode into the room. dr pughson blinked up from the stacks of papers, rose, and the two spoke in low tones. then, with a glance at laura, they went together to the door, which dr pughson held to behind him, and stood just over the threshold. as they warmed to their talk, the master let the door slip into the latch. laura could see them from where she sat, without being seen. a moment later they moved stealthily away, going down the verandah in the direction of the office. now for it! with palsied hands she undid her bodice, clutched at the book, forced her blurred eyes to find the page, and ran them over it. a brief survey: five or six heads to remember: a few dates. flapped to again; tucked under her apron; shoved into her bosom. and not a second too soon. there he came, hurrying back. and three buttons were still undone. but laura's head was bent over her desk: though her heart was pummelling her ribs, her pen now ran like lightning; and by the time the order to stop was given, she had covered the requisite number of sheets. afterwards she had adroitly to rid herself of the book, then to take part--a rather pale-eyed, distracted part--in the lively technical discussions that ensued; when each candidate was as long-winded on the theme of her success, or non-success, as a card-player on his hand at the end of a round. directly she could make good her escape, she pleaded a headache, climbed to her bedroom and stretched herself flat on her bed. she was through--but at what a cost! she felt quite sore. her very bones seemed to hurt her. not till she was thoroughly rested, and till she had assured herself that all risk attaching to the incident was over, did she come to reflect on the part god had played in the business. and then, it must be admitted, she found it a sorry one. just at first, indeed, her limpid faith was shocked into a reluctance to believe that he had helped her at all: his manner of doing it would have been so inexpressibly mean. but, little by little, she dug deeper, and eventually she reached the [p. ] conclusion that he had given her the option of this way, throwing it open to her and then standing back and watching to see what she would do, without so much as raising an eyelid to influence her decision. in fact, the more she pondered over it, the more inclined she grew to think that it had been a kind of snare on the part of god, to trap her afresh into sin, and thus to prolong her dependence on him after her crying need was past. but, if this were true, if he had done this, then he must like people to remain miserable sinners, so that he might have them always crawling to his feet. and from this view of the case her ingenuous young mind shrank appalled. she could not go on loving and worshipping a god who was capable of double dealing; who could behave in such a "mean, jewy fashion". nor would she ever forget his having forced her to endure the moments of torture she had come through that day. lying on her bed, she grappled with these thoughts. a feeling of deep resentment was their abiding result. whatever his aim, it had been past expression pitiless of him, him who had at his command thousands of pleasanter ways in which to help her, thus to drive a poor unhappy girl to extremities: one, too, whose petition had not been prompted by selfish ends alone. what she had implored of him touched mother even more nearly than herself: her part prayer to him had been to save mother--whose happiness depended on things like examinations--from a bitter disappointment. that much at least he had done--she would give him his due--but at the expense of her entire self-respect. oh, he must have a cold, calculating heart ... could one only see right down into it. the tale of his clemency and compassion, which the bible told, was not to be interpreted literally: when one came to think of it, had he ever--outside the bible--been known to stoop from his judgment-seat, and lovingly and kindly intervene? it was her own absurd mistake: she had taken the promises made through his son, for gospel truth; had thought he really meant what he said, about rewarding those who were faithful to him. her companions--the companions on whom, from the heights of her piety, she had looked pityingly down--were wiser than she. they did not abase themselves before him, and vow a lifelong devotion; but neither did they make any but the most approved demands on him. they satisfied their consciences by paying him lip-homage, by confessing their sins, and by asking for a vague, far-distant mercy, to which they attached no great importance. hence, they never came into fierce personal conflict with him. nor would she, ever again; from this time forward, she would rival the rest in lukewarmness.--but, before she could put this resolve into force, she had to let her first indignation subside: only then was it possible for her to recover the shattering of her faith, and settle down to practise religion after the glib and shallow mode of her friends. she did not, however, say her prayers that night, or for many a right to come; and when, at church, christ's name occurred in the service, she held her head erect, and shut the ears and eyes of her soul. xxv. ihr lerntet alle nicht tanzen, wie man tanzen muss--uber euch hinweg tanzen! nietzsche the school year had ebbed; the ceremonies that attended its conclusion were over. a few days beforehand, the fifth-form boarders, under the tutelage of a couple of governesses, drove off early in the morning to the distant university. on the outward journey the candidates were thoughtful and subdued; but as they returned home, in the late afternoon, their spirits were not to be kept within seemly bounds. they laughed, sang, and rollicked about inside the wagonette, miss zielinski weakly protesting unheard--were so rowdy that the driver pushed his cigar-stump to the corner of his mouth, to be able to smile at ease, and flicked his old horse into a canter. for the public examination had proved as anticipated, child's play, compared with what the class had been through at dr pughson's hands; and its accompanying details were of an agreeable nature: the weather was not too hot; the examination-hall was light and airy; through the flung-back windows trees and flowering shrubs looked in; the students were watched over by a handsome trinity man, who laid his straw hat on the desk before him. then came the annual concert, at which none of the performers broke down; speech day, when the body of a big hall was crowded with relatives and friends, and when so many white, blue-beribboned frocks were massed together on the platform, that this looked like a great bed of blue and white flowers; and, finally, trunks were brought out from boxrooms and strewn through the floors, and upper-form girls emptied cupboards and drawers into them for the last time. on the evening before the general dispersion, laura, cupid, and m. p. walked the well-known paths of the garden once again. while the two elder girls were more loquacious than their wont, laura was quieter. she had never wholly recovered her humour since the day of the history-examination; and she still could not look back, with composure, on the jeopardy in which she had placed herself one little turn of the wheel in the wrong direction, and the end of her schooldays would have been shame and disgrace.--and just as her discovery of god's stratagem had damped her religious ardour, so her antipathy to the means she had been obliged to employ had left a feeling of enmity in her, towards the school and everything connected with it: she had counted the hours till she could turn her back on it altogether. none the less, now that the time had come there was a kind of ache in her at having to say good-bye; for it was in her nature to let go unwillingly of things, places and people once known. besides, glad as she felt to have done with learning, she was unclear what was to come next. the idea of life at home attracted her as little as ever--mother had even begun to hint as well that she would now be expected to instruct her young brothers. hence, her parting was effected with very mixed feelings; she did not know in the least where she really belonged, or under what conditions she would be happy; she was conscious only of a mild sorrow at having to take leave of the shelter of years. her two companions had no such doubts and regrets; for them the past was already dead and gone; their talk was all of the future, so soon to become the present. they forecast this, mapping it out for themselves with the iron belief in their power to do so, which is the hall-mark of youth. laura, walking at their side, listened to their words with the deepest interest, and with the reverence she had learned to extend to all opinions save her own. m. p. proposed to return to melbourne at the end of the vacation; for she was going on to trinity, where she intended to take one degree after another. she hesitated only whether it was to be in medicine or arts. "oogh! ... to cut off people's legs!" ejaculated laura. "m. p., how awful." "oh, one soon gets used to that, child.--but i think, on the whole, i should prefer to take up teaching. then i shall probably be able to have a school of my own some day." "i shouldn't wonder if you got sandy's place here," said laura, who was assured that m. p.'s massy intellect would open all doors. "who knows?" answered mary, and set her lips in a determined fashion of her own. "stranger things have happened." cupid, less enamoured of continual discipline, intended to be a writer. "my cousin says i've got the stuff in me. and he's a journalist and ought to know." "i should rather think he ought." "well, i mean to have a shot at it." "and you, laura?" m. p. asked suavely. "me?--oh, goodness knows!" "close as usual, infant." "no, really not, cupid." "well, you'll soon have to make up your mind to something now. you're nearly sixteen.--why not go on working for your b.a.?" "no thanks! i've had enough of that here." and laura's thoughts waved their hands, as it were, to the receding figure of oliver cromwell. "be a teacher, then." "m.p.! i never want to hear a date or add up a column of figures again." "laura!" "it's the solemn truth. i'm fed up with all those blessed things." "fancy not having a single wish!" "wish? ... oh, i've tons of wishes. first i want to be with evvy again. and then, i want to see things--yes, that most of all. hundreds and thousands of things. people, and places, and what they eat, and how they dress, and china, and japan ... just tons." "you'll have to hook a millionaire for that, my dear." "and perhaps you'll write a book about your travels for us stay-at-homes." "gracious! i shouldn't know how to begin. but you'll send me all you write--all your books--won't you, cupid? and, m. p., you'll let me come and see you get your degrees--every single one." with these and similar promises the three girls parted. they never met again. for a time they exchanged letters regularly, many-sheeted letters, full of familiar, personal detail. then the detail ceased, the pages grew fewer in number, the time-gap longer. letters in turn gave place to mere notes and postcards, scribbled in violent haste, at wide intervals. and ultimately even these ceased; and the great silence of separation was unbroken. nor were the promises redeemed: there came to laura neither gifts of books nor calls to be present at academic robings. within six months of leaving school, m. p. married and settled down in her native township; and thereafter she was forced to adjust the rate of her progress to the steps of halting little feet. cupid went a-governessing, and spent the best years of her life in the obscurity of the bush. and laura? ... in laura's case, no kindly atropos snipped the thread of her aspirations: these, large, vague, extemporary, one and all achieved fulfilment; then withered off to make room for more. but this, the future still securely hid from her. she went out from school with the uncomfortable sense of being a square peg, which fitted into none of the round holes of her world; the wisdom she had got, the experience she was richer by, had, in the process of equipping her for life, merely seemed to disclose her unfitness. she could not then know that, even for the squarest peg, the right hole may ultimately be found; seeming unfitness prove to be only another aspect of a peculiar and special fitness. but, of the after years, and what they brought her, it is not the purport of this little book to tell. it is enough to say: many a day came and went before she grasped that, oftentimes, just those mortals who feel cramped and unsure in the conduct of everyday life, will find themselves to rights, with astounding ease, in that freer, more spacious world where no practical considerations hamper, and where the creatures that inhabit dance to their tune: the world where are stored up men's best thoughts, the hopes, and fancies; where the shadow is the substance, and the multitude of business pales before the dream. in the meantime, however, the exodus of the fifty-five turned the college upside-down. early the following morning laura made her final preparations for departure. this, alas! was not to be on so imposing a scale as the departures of her schoolfellows. they, under special escort, would have a cab apiece, and would drive off with flying handkerchiefs and all their luggage piled high in front. whereas laura's box had gone by van: for she and pin, who was in melbourne on a visit, were to spend a couple of days at godmother's before starting up-country. even her farewells, which she had often rehearsed to herself with dramatic emphasis, went off without eclat. except for miss chapman, the governesses were absent when the moment came, and miss chapman's mind was so full of other things that she went on giving orders while she was shaking hands. but laura was not destined to leave the walls, within the shadow of which she had learned so much, as tamely as all this. there was still a surprise in waiting for her. as she whisked about the corridors in search of mrs. gurley, she met two girls, one of whom said: "i say, laura rambotham, you're fetched. your pretty sister's come for you." "my ... who?" gaped laura. "your sister. by gum, there's a nose for you--and those whopping eyes! you'll have to play second fiddle to that, all your days, my dear." on entering the reception-room laura tried hard to see pin with the eyes of a stranger. pin rose from her chair--awkwardly, of course, for there were other people present, and laura's violent stare was disconcerting in the extreme: it made pin believe her hat was crooked, or that she had a black speck on her nose. as for laura, she could see no great change in her sister; the freckles were certainly paler, and the features were perhaps beginning to emerge a little, from the cushiony fat in which they were bedded; but that was all. still, if outsiders, girls in particular, were struck by it ... a keener stab than this--really, she did not grudge pin being pretty: it was only the newness of the thing that hurt--a keener stab was it that, though she had ordered pin repeatedly, and with all the stress she was master of, to come in a wagonette to fetch her, so that she might at least drive away like the other girls; in spite of this, the little nincompoop had after all arrived on foot. godmother had said the idea of driving was stuff and nonsense--a quite unnecessary expense. pin, of course, had meekly given in; and thus laura's last brave attempt to be comfortably like her companions came to naught. she went out of the school in the same odd and undignified fashion in which she had lived there. the wrangle caused by pin's chicken-heartedness lasted the sisters down the garden-path, across the road, and over into the precincts of a large, public park. only when they were some distance through this, did laura wake to what was happening to her. then, it came over her with a rush: she was free, absolutely free; she might do any mortal thing she chose. as a beginning she stopped short. "hold on, pin ... take this," she said, giving her sister the heavy leather bag they were carrying in turns to the tramway. pin obediently held out her hand, in its little white cotton glove. "and my hat." "what are you going to do, laura?" "you'll see." "you'll get sunstroke!" "fiddles!--it's quite shady. here're my gloves.--now, pin, you follow your nose and you'll find me--where you find me!" "oh, what are you going to do, laura?" cried pin, in anxiety. "i'm going to have a good run," said laura; and tightened her hair-ribbon. "oh, but you can't run in the street! you're too big. people'll see you." "think i care?--if you'd been years only doing what you were allowed to, i guess you'd want to do something you weren't allowed to, too.-- good-bye!" she was off, had darted away into the leaden heat of the december morning, like an arrow from its bow, her head bent, her arms close to her sides, fleet-footed as a spaniel: pin was faced by the swift and rhythmic upturning of her heels. there were not many people abroad at this early hour, but the few there were, stood still and looked in amazement after the half-grown girl in white, whose thick black plait of hair sawed up and down as she ran; and a man with mop and bucket, who was washing statues, stopped his work and whistled, and winked at pin as she passed. cross and confused pin trudged after her sister, laura's hat and gloves in one hand, the leather bag in the other. right down the central avenue ran laura, growing smaller and smaller in the distance, the area of her movements decreasing as she ran, till she appeared to be almost motionless, and not much larger than a figure in the background of a picture. then came a sudden bend in the long, straight path. she shot round it, and was lost to sight. daddy do-funny's wisdom jingles by ruth mcenery stuart illustrated by g. h. clements [illustration] new york the century co. copyright, , , , , by the century co. _published, october, _ to the memory of those faithful brown slave-men of the plantations throughout the south, daddy's contemporaries all, who during the war while their masters were away fighting in a cause opposed to their emancipation, brought their blankets and slept outside their mistresses' doors, thus keeping night-watch over otherwise unprotected women and children--a faithful guardianship of which the annals of those troublous times record no instance of betrayal. foreword in presenting a loyal and venerable ex-slave as an artless exponent of freedom, freedom of conduct as well as of speech, the author of this trivial volume is perhaps not composing an individual so truly as individualizing a composite, if the expression will pass. the grizzled brown dispenser of homely admonitions is a figure not unfamiliar to those who have "moved in plantation circles" in the cotton and sugar country, and touched hands with the kindly dark survivors of the old regime. if the man, daddy do-funny, was unique as an individual, perhaps in the very fact of an individuality unembarrassed by the limitations of convention, of education and of precedent, he becomes in a sense typical of his people and of his time. of course, a man is not called do-funny for nothing, not even playfully and in the free vernacular of rusticity at its freest. one of a small community of superannuated pensioners upon the bounty of their former owners, daddy was easily first citizen of evergreen annex on crepe myrtle plantation, which is to say he was therein a personage of place and of privilege, coming and going at will, doing as he pleased, and as, with uplifted eye, he reverently boasted, "sponsible to nobody but almighty gord for manners and behavior." even so late as this year of grace, a full half century after "emancipation," there are still to be found on many of the larger plantations in the far south a few such members of the order of the rocking-chair, whose records of "good and honorable service" reach back through periods of bondage, even such kindergartners as septuagenarians in the privileged class, having clear title to nearly a quarter of a century of slave memories; not to mention the occasional centenarian with even his semi-occasional uncle or father poking around, toothless and white-plumed dignitaries, these, sometimes with leaders, being blind, but ever important in pride of association and memory. it is something even if one is bent double and may never again behold the light of day, to be able to reach back into a dim and forgotten past and to say, "i remember," especially when the memory recalls days of brilliance and of importance. but daddy's place among the gentle knights and ladies of the rocking-chair was far and away above such as these whose thoughts, alert though they were and loyal, travelled forever backward to the sweet but worn fields of memory where every pleasure is a recognition and fashions do not change--a restful retreat for dreamers whose days of activity are done. but daddy's mind worked forward and upward and although he did not know the alphabet excepting by rote, a common ante-bellum plantation accomplishment, and while professing high contempt for what he called "cold shelf-knowledge," his reputation for wisdom, wisdom as gleaned in observation and experience and "ripened by insight," was supreme, while his way of casually tossing it off in bits in playful epigram finally gave the word its plural form so that the expression "do-funny wisdoms" came into familiar use. as an example of his rambling talk, much of which seems at least semivagarious on transcription, i recall one of his meandering dissertations on the value of experience as superior to observation. several of the old people, his neighbors, had joined the listening children who surrounded him under the fig-tree, and perhaps he unconsciously deferred to them in his accent of their common possession in length of days, although he gave no sign of heed to any audience, when he said: "dey's mighty few facts de same behind an' befo', not to say inside an' outside, and a man can go roun' an' roun' de blackberry bush an' not git nowhar. 'spe'unce is a thorny bramble, an' yer 'bleeged to go _th'ough_ it, to _draw blood_, an', i tell yer, _de blood is de life_!" although this tribute brought grunts of approval from the gray heads, daddy was soon off at a tangent in playful fancy, hitting off a foible or "celebrating truth and justice" in one of the unconscious epigrams which it is sought herein to preserve, even when having occasionally to hammer them into shape, for, while daddy was almost unerring in rhyme, his rhythm, never at fault in delivery, was strictly a temperamental matter, not adequately renderable in cold print. but more than as philosopher, satirist or seer was the old man distinguished as a social factor on the place. wherever his chair was set, there were the children gathered together, both black and white, eager listeners to his quaint pictorial recitals, even seeming to cherish the "wisdoms" which fell from his tongue, as is not a common way with children, who seem instinctively to spurn the obviously didactic. but daddy's moralizing, besides its saving grace of imagery, was generally sequential and convincing; while his repartee, to use a word which seems almost a misfit in this rural setting, had a way of hitting the mark and striking fire, as when, in reply to the question from a forth-putting youngster on one occasion, "where do you keep all your wisdoms, daddy?" he snapped: "in my ole toof holes, dat's whar! wisdoms don't ripen good tel yo' toofs is ready to drap out. ev'rybody knows dat gord a'mighty ain't nuver is set but one live wisdom-toof in a man's mouf--an' dat comes late an' goes early." and then he added with a mischievous smile: "you-all smarty undergrowth, you ain't chawed life yit. you jes 'speramintin' wid yo' milk-toofs. "now's yo' havin' time, chillen, but _to have an' to lose, dat's life_! "study wisdom now an' minch on it good wid yo yo'ng baby toofs an' hol' fas' to it, so's it'll meller down ripe, time de caverns opens for it. "but look out! i knows a lot o' ole vacant wisdom caves for rent behin' dis crepe myrtle hedge--so, i say, watch and pray! pray for insight an' outsight! an' even so, dey's some wisdoms so fine you can't see 'em tel you nearin' home an' livin' on de far side o' life!" daddy lived alone in a tiny vine-clad cabin and there were times when he seemed frail and to need care, and the doctor said he was rheumatic. this, however, he denied, declining companionship while he insisted that the sharp pains which occasionally twisted his brow were only growing pains which he was glad to endure as not having got his growth in his first childhood, he was "'bleeged to wrastle wid it in de second," and, "of course," he added, "it comes harder when a man's bones is set." on days when his pains were bad, he would propel himself around in a roller-chair, which he called his chariot; and although evidently suffering, he was never heard to complain. once, when he seemed almost helpless, some one asked him how he had got into the chair, and was quickly silenced by his ready answer, "gord lifted me in!" now, to daddy clothes were clothes. in dress as in manners, he knew no obligation of precedent; and as to fashion, the word made him chuckle. when his pains were unusually severe and it was difficult for him to get into his own garments, he did not hesitate to clothe himself in one of the flowing wrappers which his old wife, judy, long since dead, had worn. and thus it happened that while on some days an aged man might have been seen hobbling about, working among his plants, on others there appeared to be an old woman propelling herself around in a rolling chair; and seeing her, his neighbors, with perhaps a chuckle, would remark, "i see daddy do-funny is laid up ag'in!" another peculiar habit of the old man was the way in which he took his bath--a dangerous process, one would think, for a rheumatic, but harmless, no doubt, to growing pains. seeing the rain coming, he would exclaim: "gord sendeth de rain! he's offerin' me a bath--just or unjust!" then donning his "bath-slip," an old wool wrapper of judy's and getting into his roller-chair, he would wheel out and sit calmly in the shower, often closing his eyes and lifting his face as he exclaimed: "bless gord for de sweet drops! bless gord for de rain!" and when he had had bath enough, he would either put up his umbrella or roll his chair indoors as he felt inclined. but perhaps we cannot get nearer the soul of the old man than by recalling a conversation which occurred during an invasion of the children, a conversation between him and his guests which is thrown into a sort of rhyme for easy memorizing, passing from one speaker to another without more than the natural pause for reply. obviously, the children began it: "ol' daddy do-funny, how do you come on?" "po'ly, thank gord, honey, po'ly dis morn. my ol' spine it's sort o' stiff, an' my arms dey 'fuze to lif'. an' de miz'ry 's in my breas', an' i got some heart-distress. an' de growin' pains dey lingers, in my knee-j'ints an' my fingers, but i'm well, praise gord, dis mornin'." "ol' daddy do-funny, what cuyus talk! how is you well, when you can't even walk?" "hush, you foolish chillen, hush! what's dat singin' in de brush? ain't dat yonder blue de sky? feel de cool breeze passin' by! dis ol' painful back an' knee, laws-a-mussy, _dey ain't me! i'm well, praise gord, dis mornin'!_" ruth mcenery stuart. [illustration] contents page daddy's weather prayer the old rooster the butterfly the wren the watermelon the gourd judge owl the mosquito confession the game-cock the epicure the mule the grubworm rain or shine little green tree-toad sparrows the fly the little chicken the scare-crow the yellow rose the ambitious cow tried by fire jack o' lantern the flea will o' the wisp the mole the runt the monkey the aristocrat the crawfish the angleworm the chimney-swallow catching doodle-bugs the porcupine ants the parrot the rattle-snake the persimmon in harness the canary answering back dat's de way my lady'll do the mammy alligator the new rich the wibbly wabbly calf the turkey-gobbler the cauliflower the step-mother the frog the rat the mocking-bird the mushroom the measuring worm the top-knot hen too familiar the 'possum the owl the chameleon the caterpillar dr. drake the peacock the alligator the terrapin the dandelion the cud the mirror goslings the pet the guinea-hen the moon the hen-roost man a guilty conscience the bat incubator chickens the firefly the thistle the gray squirrel look out for mister bee the rose the locomotive the goat the fig the frizzled chicken the endless song the eel the rain-crow the giraffe the black sheep the prize-winner the dog daddy do-funny's wisdom jingles daddy's weather prayer one asks for sun, an' one for rain, an' sometimes bofe together; i prays for sunshine in my heart, an' den forgits de weather. [illustration] the old rooster ef de hoa'se ol' rooster wouldn't crow so loud he mought pass for yo'ng in de barn-yard crowd; but he strives so hard an' he steps so spry dat de pullets all winks whilst he marches by. an' he ain't by 'isself in dat, in dat-- an' he ain't by 'isself in dat. [illustration] the butterfly sis' butterfly aimed to work all right, but 'er wings dey was heavy, an' 'er head too light; so she riz in de air, 'ca'ze she see she was made jes' to fly in de sun in de beauty parade. an' she ain't by 'erself in dat, in dat-- an' she ain't by 'erself in dat. [illustration] the wren she's a citizen-bird, sis little brown wren, she nests in de spring an' de fall again; "race suicide" talk nuver fazes her, 'ca'ze she's good for 'er ten little wrens a year. an' she ain't by 'erself, my ladies, in dat-- no, she ain't by 'erself in dat. [illustration] the watermelon oh, watermilion sho' is good to eat! but de darkie rates it twice-t mo' sweet, 'ca'ze it's ap' to b'long to de yether man, an' it's mighty hard to lif' by sleight o' han'. an' it ain't by itself, made sweet like dat-- no, it ain't by itself like dat. [illustration] the gourd de green gou'd on de sunny shed was mighty proud of his pethy head, so he nuver pondered or studied or trained, an' now he's ol' an' rattle-brained. an' he ain't by 'isself in dat, in dat-- an' he ain't by 'isself in dat. [illustration] judge owl jedge owl 's so pompious on 'is limb, you'd s'pose dey was nobody roun' but him; he's afeard ef he was too polite you'd ax 'im whar he spent de night. but he ain't by 'isself in dat, in dat-- but he ain't by 'isself in dat. [illustration] the mosquito wid so much christian blood in 'is veins, you'd think br'er 'skitty would take some pains to love 'is neighbor an' show good will, but he's p'izenin' an' back-bitin' still. an' he ain't by 'isself in dat, in dat-- no, he ain't by 'isself in dat. [illustration] confession dat whale wha' gulped br'er jonah down was bleeged to swim close-t to de groun' ontel he riz up an' confessed he'd swallered mo' 'n he could digest. but you ain't by yo'self, br'er whale, in dat-- no, you ain't by yo'self in dat. [illustration] the game-cock dey's some things square an' some things round, an' little game cocks ain't sol' by de pound; dey's weighed by sand an' pluck an' grit an' de number o' dead dey leave in de pit. an' dey ain't by deyselves in rank like dat-- no, dey ain't by deyselves in dat. [illustration] the epicure ef you keep yo' eyes on br'er carrion crow, you'll wonder huccome he kin carry on so! he flies in high circles an' chooses meat dat no honest workin'-man would eat. an' he ain't no new high-flyer in dat-- no, he ain't by 'isself in dat. [illustration] the mule ef you quiz br'er mule, you'll find dat he gits mixed on de subjec' of 'is fam'ly tree; he'll brag about 'is mammy with a noble neigh, an' deny 'is own daddy wid a ginuine bray. but he ain't by 'isself in dat, in dat-- but he ain't by 'isself in dat. [illustration] the grubworm br'er grubworm wrops 'isself in twine an' swings in 'is shroud on a evergreen vine, becaze it's mortal death dat brings his on'iest chance to git 'is wings. but you ain't by yo'self, br'er worm, in dat-- oh, you ain't by yo'self in dat. [illustration] rain or shine? ol' mingo, on 'is knees, he say: "lord, teach dis nigger how to pray, else riconcile two kinds o' weather for craps an' rheumatiz together!" but you ain't by yo'self, ol' man, in dat-- oh, you ain't by yo'self in dat. [illustration] little green tree-toad little green tree-toad on banana leaf, plenty po' relations all aroun' 'im in de bog; but he'd ruther be blind an' dumb an' deef dan to hold a conversation wid a "low-life" frog! but he ain't no lonesome toady in dat-- no, he ain't by 'isself in dat. [illustration] sparrows dey say dem sparrers come crost de seas to eat our surplus grubs an' fleas; but dey's whupped our birds off'n dis plantation, tell we craves to constric' dey immigration. an' dey ain't by deyselves in dat, in dat-- an' dey ain't by deyselves in dat. [illustration] the fly wid dem suctious foots, seem lak br'er fly mought draw down health ef he trod de sky; but he's so onpartic'lar whar he roams dat he's got 'isself screened out o' quality homes. an' he ain't by 'isself outcas' like dat-- no, he ain't by 'isself in dat. [illustration] the little chicken little yaller fluff-ball, one day out, steps mighty high while he picks all about; never sees de egg-shell layin' in 'is track, much less the little piece stickin' on 'is back. but he ain't by 'isself in dat, in dat-- but he ain't by 'isself in dat. [illustration] the scare-crow br'er scare-crow's built to suit 'is job wid flappin' legs an' arms dat bob; he ain't got brains for discontent so he works widout no argument. an' he ain't by 'isself in dat, in dat-- no, he ain't by 'isself in dat. [illustration] the yellow rose dey's a sweet plantation, yaller-buff rose dat in my ricollection grows; in my ol' dreams she seems to wait whar she stood an' bloomed by de love-vine gate an' i ain't by myself in dreams like dat-- no, i ain't by myself in dat. [illustration] the ambitious cow sis' twis'-horn brindle is a bothersome cow, she's boun' to raise a ruction an' she don't keer how; she craves to be de bell-cow an' lead off wid a clang, so it's all a man kin do to make 'er gallup wid de gang. an' she ain't by 'erself in dat, in dat-- an' she ain't by 'erself in dat. [illustration] tried by fire de sugar-cane stands so proud an' smart, you'd nuver suspicion it sweet at de heart, but to prove its sweets it yields its will to be tried by fire an' ground in de mill. an' it ain't by itself in dat, in dat-- no, it ain't by itself in dat. [illustration] jack-o'lantern sence he los' 'is brains to git 'is smile, brer jack-o-lantern grins lak a wilderin' chile widout no secrets out or in; an' de lighter in de head de broader 'is grin an' he ain't by 'isself in dat, in dat-- an' he ain't by 'isself in dat. [illustration] the flea look out for mr. po'-trash flea! ef you let 'im come in, he'll make too free; he'll chase yo' dog till he makes 'im pant, an' he'll take yo' skin for a restaurant. an' he ain't by 'isself in dat, in dat-- an' he ain't by 'isself in dat. [illustration] will o' the wisp ef de wul o' de wust would cuss an' swear an' take some shape, an' rip an' tear, it wouldn't sen' col' chills down a nigger's spine like de changeable expression of a mystery shine. an' it ain't by its ghostly self in dat-- no, it ain't by itself in dat. [illustration] the mole de blind mole tunnels straight ahead, an' he gits whar he gwine wid a trustful tread, but he nuver is yit got nowhar else, an' he'll nuver view de skies whar glory melts. but he ain't by 'isself in dat, in dat-- but he ain't by 'isself in dat. [illustration] the runt you'll sometimes trace de loudes' grunt in de horg-lot down to de littles' runt, lak as ef he'd 'nounce whilst he gulps 'is swill, "a pompious horg is as big as 'is will." an' he ain't by 'isself in dat, in dat-- no, he ain't by 'isself in dat. [illustration] the monkey de organ plays an' br'er monkey struts, an' he takes high pride in de capers he cuts, while folks draps picayunes into 'is han' for fallin' so short o' bein' a man. an' he ain't by 'isself, misled like dat-- no, he ain't by 'isself in dat. [illustration] the aristocrat dat three-name chicken wid de feathery legs wha' 'merged f'om de ten dollar settin' of eggs, is a lonesome bird an' i s'picion he frets 'ca'ze he can't outgrow dem pantalettes. an' he ain't by 'isself in dat, in dat-- an' he ain't by 'isself in dat. [illustration] the crawfish br'er crawfish th'ows a racklass bluff, an' he sho do look like fightin' stuff; but turn 'im loose on a battle-groun', an' he'll bow 'isself out, an' nuver turn roun'. but he ain't by 'isself in dat, in dat-- but he ain't by 'isself in dat. [illustration] the angleworm "i could stand de hook," says de angleworm, "an' a lily-brook wouldn't make me squirm, but i can't help wrigglin' ag'in' my fate; it breaks me all up to be used for bait." an' he ain't by 'isself in dat, in dat-- an' he ain't by 'isself in dat. [illustration] the chimney-swallow wid 'is nest in de flue whar de suctions blow, storms due above an' fire below, no wonder br'er swaller sags an' sways like a pusson ableeged to dodge bofe ways. an' he ain't by 'isself in dat, in dat-- an' he ain't by 'isself in dat. catching doodle-bugs little picaninnies, fishin' in de doodle-bug holes. wid a "spit for luck," an' straws for poles, show pyore delight in de fisherman's aim all disp'opo'tioned to de game. an' dey ain't by deyselves in dat, in dat-- an' dey ain't by deyselves in dat. [illustration] the porcupine sis' porcupine, wid 'er bristles all set in a pompado' style, is waitin' yet, an' she can't understan', whilst she puckers 'er mug, de sca'city o' kisses an' de absent hug. but she ain't by 'er lonesome self in dat-- no, she ain't by 'erself in dat. [illustration] ants dem ants is sho' got savin' ways an' even de scripture 'lows 'em praise; but dey hoa'ds for deyselves f'om day to day an' dey stings any man wha' gits in de way. an' dey ain't no new co'poration in dat-- no, dey ain't by deyselves in dat. [illustration] the parrot sis' tin-cage polly wid de roamin' nose dat roams f'om 'er eyes tel it p'ints to 'er toes, she keeps up a ratlin' talkin' pace to turn off attention f'om de shape of 'er face. an' you ain't by yo'self, sis' polly, in dat-- no, you ain't by yo'self in dat. [illustration] the rattle-snake br'er rattle-snake rattles befo' he springs, but he warns too late to 'scape 'is stings; his high-class manners don't count for much 'ca'ze dey grafted on to a sarpent's touch. an' he ain't by 'isself in dat, in dat-- an' he ain't by 'isself in dat. [illustration] the persimmon is you little gals, growin' into women, ever tasted a snappy young persimmin? it takes a hard frost to make it sweet, an' it's ol' an' swiveled 'fo' it's fit to eat! but it ain't by itself, sharp chillen, in dat-- no, it ain't by itself in dat. [illustration] in harness dat flee-bitten mule an' my bay mare in de hay-wagon, sho is a mixtious pair; but dey's pulled so long th'ough wind an' weather dat out in de field dey graze together. an' dey ain't by deyselves in dat, in dat-- an' dey ain't by deyselves in dat. [illustration] the canary de little yaller cage-bird preems 'is wings an' he mounts 'is pyerch an' sings an' sings; he feels 'is cage, but i s'pec' he 'low to take what comes an' sing _anyhow_! an' you ain't by yo'self, little bird, in dat-- no, you ain't by yo'self in dat. [illustration] answering back br'er pole-cat's got a s'ciety smile an' he sho is dressed in scrumptious style, but he keeps 'is own hat off de quality rack by de scan'lous way he answers back. but he ain't by 'isself in dat, in dat-- but he ain't by 'isself in dat. [illustration] dat's de way my lady'll do it ain't how many eyes you got, 'les' needles could see an' potatoes, too; an' "hookin' a' eye," as like as not, would be classed as a sin dat no lady'd do. but it's keepin' yo' eyes turned to'des de right, an' to'des de wrong jes' shettin' 'em tight-- lookin' out for ways to be polite-- dat's de way my lady'd do! it ain't how many ears you got dat makes you listen an' learn an' do; else a hill o' corn in a garden plot would be 'way ahead o' me an' you; but it's shettin' yo' ears to heartless speech, an' listenin' whilst de teachers teach, an' strivin' to practise mo' 'n to preach-- dat's de way my lady'll do! it ain't how many tongues you got, 'les' shoes would talk an' wagons, too; an' all de bells would gabble a lot, an' tattle an' brag de long day th'ough; but it's gyardin' yo' tongue f'om talk dat's wrong, an' passin' a helpful word along, an' maybe singin' a hopeful song-- dat's de way my lady'll do! [illustration] the mammy alligator said de mammy alligator, wid a motherly grin: "i nuver liked babies wid dey dimples tucked in, but our little pet, wid its horny hide, like its mammy's an' its daddy's, is de fam'ly pride." an' dey ain't by deyselves in dat, in dat-- an' dey ain't by deyselves in dat. [illustration] the new rich sis' mush a. roon sprung up over night an' to name whar she sprung f'om ain't polite; but she spreads 'erself wuss'n me or you, an' wid on'y one foot to stan' on, too. an she ain't by er new-come self in dat-- no, she ain't by 'erself in dat. [illustration] the wibbly wabbly calf cunnin' little donkey-baby-- "ye-haw! ye-haw!" what a funny laugh! soun' jes like a creaky, cranky seesaw--seesaw! wasn't nothin' funny roun' dat we saw--we saw! 'tel we glimpsed de stagger-gait dat he saw--he saw! brindle strikin' swagger-gait when she saw--she saw--_her wibbly wabbly calf_! [illustration] den we j'ined wid mister donkey, "he-haw! he-haw!" how we-all did laugh! but we laughed at some'h'n' mo' dan he saw--he saw! donkey couldn't see de ears dat we saw--we saw! rabbit lopin' down de road, we three saw--three saw! wagged his ears an' called him daddy! "haw-haw! haw-haw!" how dat--who dat laugh? an' de last to see de joke was _wibbly wabbly calf_! [illustration] the turkey-gobbler ol' gobbly struts aroun' de stable an' th'ows out hints o' de rich man's table, an' he h'ists his tail an' spreads it wide, to display his cuyus graveyard pride. but he ain't by 'isself in pride like dat-- but he ain't by 'isself in dat. [illustration] the cauliflower when de cabbage got ambitiom, in a uppish hour an' lost 'is head an' bu'st into flower wid 'is brains outside, an addled, at dat-- he sot 'isself up for a 'ristocrat. an' he ain't by 'isself in dat, in dat-- an' he ain't by 'isself in dat. [illustration] the stepmother sis' dominick follers her brood o' ducks to de bayou's edge, an' she clucks an' clucks: 'dis stepmammy job, oh me, oh me! ain't all dat it's quacked up to be!" but she ain't by 'erself in dat, in dat-- but she ain't by 'erself in dat. [illustration] the frog ol' br'er frog ain't much to sing, but he clairs a log in a single spring, an' jedgin' 'im by his bigoty ways, he's clean forgot 'is tadpole days! but he ain't by 'isself in dat, in dat-- but he ain't by 'isself in dat. [illustration] the rat br'er rat in de corn-bin over-fed an' under-worked, an' now he's dead; he craved to live lak a bloated chief, an' now he ain't nothin' but a ol' dead thief. an' he ain't by 'isself in dat, in dat-- no, he ain't by 'isself in dat. [illustration] the mocking-bird br'er mockin'-bird sings in de live-oak shade, a secon'-hand chant or a serenade; he'll take off a pa'tridge, a robin, or a jay, but he'd nuver make a name no other way. but he ain't by 'isself in dat, in dat-- but he ain't by 'isself in dat. [illustration] the mushroom dey's many a musharoon good to de tas'e an' rich for de table, dat goes to was'e 'ca'ze folks don't dast to gether it in for de way it favors its dung-hill kin. an' it ain't by itself condemned like dat-- no, it ain't by itself in dat [illustration] the measuring worm when br'er measurin'-worm strikes out so brave, makin' tend he kin measure you for yo grave, wid all 'is stride an' all 'is stren'th he can't measure mo'n 'is own little len'th. an' he ain't by 'isself made cheap like dat-- no, he ain't by 'isself like dat. [illustration] the top-knot hen hit's a proper pride in sis' top-knot's breast dat makes 'er step to march 'er crest; yit jalousy follers 'er 'roun' de shed on de count o' dat innercent tufted head. an' she ain't by 'erself pursued lak dat-- no, she ain't by 'erself in dat. [illustration] too familiar de cantelope gits mighty bilious f'om runnin' wid punkins too familias, so it's banished out for its sociable sin along wid its yaller kitchen kin. an' it ain't by itself in dat, in dat-- an' it ain't by itself in dat. [illustration] the 'possum br'er 'possum makes pertend he's dead whilst shots goes whizzin' over 'is head. but time de hounds is out o' sight, he's up an' "hongry for a fight!" an' he ain't by 'isself in a bluff like dat-- no, he ain't by 'isself in dat. [illustration] the owl when de big owl calls out "_who--ooo--ooo--!!!!!_" in de dark o' de moon, like night-owls do, de chillen, a-beggin' to play out late, come tumblin' back into daddy's gate. an' dey ain't by deyselves in dat, in dat-- no, dey ain't by deyselves in dat. [illustration] the chameleon de camelia-lizard is a turn-coat man, an' he borries his colors where dey's "room to stan'"; he mought keep solid as a county candidate, but you couldn't sca'cely find 'im on a map o' de state. but he ain't by 'isself lost out, like dat-- no, he ain't by 'isself in dat. [illustration] the caterpillar whilst she eats de groun' f'om onder 'er feet, sis' caterpillar's weavin' 'er windin'-sheet; but 'er red eyes shine an' 'er grass-green-hair, an' 'er short life's bright, so she don't care. an' she ain't by 'erself in dat, in dat-- an' she ain't by 'erself in dat. [illustration] dr. drake ol' dr. drake wid 'is college waddle an' latin inscriptioms on 'is noddle, would part wid 'is gait an' 'is shimmerin' back to perscribe a _crowin'-powder_ an' nuver say "quack!" but he ain't by 'isself in dat, in dat-- but he ain't by 'isself in dat. [illustration] the peacock br'er peacock 'lows he's a 'ristocrat, wid mighty fine clo'es, an' vain at dat; he'll answer yo' glance wid col' surprise an' look you over wid a thousan' eyes! but he ain't by 'isself in dat, in dat-- but he ain't by 'isself in dat. [illustration] the alligator br'er alligator kin grin a mile, but dey ain't no inducemint in his smile; whilst he ain't no race-horse, yit dey say a little alligator goes a mighty long way. but he ain't by 'isself in dat, in dat-- but he ain't by 'isself in dat. [illustration] the terrapin br'er tarrapin draws in 'is head so knowin', you can't tell whether he's comin' or goin', but _his_ mind ain't mixed--he's layin' low tel he sees which way he's obleeged to go. an' he ain't no new politician in dat-- no, he ain't by 'isself in dat. [illustration] the dandelion de dandelion flower blooms out so young wid a look in its face like a sassy tongue, den it grows light-headed wid self-conceit wid a flighty ol' age, for full defeat. an' it ain't by itself, pert chillen, in dat-- no, it ain't by itself in dat. [illustration] the cud "life's give an' take," sis' cow, she laugh. so i gives my milk an' dey takes my calf." an' when contentment's hard to fin', she chaws 'er cud to ease 'er min'. and you ain't by yo'self, sis' cow, in dat-- no, you ain't by yo'self in dat. [illustration] the mirror br'er donkey, drinkin' at de brook, surveys hisself wid offish look, an' 'low: "you jackass makes too free! huccome you dast to drink wid me!" an' he ain't by 'isself in dat, in dat-- oh, he ain't by 'isself in dat. [illustration] goslings de purty yaller goslin's say: "oh, what--oh, what's de use! when mama say, 'come, walk dis way an' ac' jes like a goose!' oh, what's de use--oh, what's de use? i's boun' to grow a noddle, like every goosey, goosey, goose, an' waddle, waddle, waddle! "but mama say: 'don't talk dat way! come, waddle like a mild goose, f'om side to side, wid proper pride-- not like a woodsy wild goose! dey's plenty use--dey's plenty use! come, git yo' education! see how to waddle an' tote yo' noddle accordin' to yo' station!'" [illustration] the pet de little white chicken dat's petted too much gits stunted in growth f'om de sp'ilin' touch. an' she'll nuver make a hen so brave an' good as ef she went a-pickin', an' worked wid de brood. an' she ain't by 'erself in dat, in dat-- no, she ain't by 'erself in dat. [illustration] the guinea-hen sis' guinea, in proud week-day clo'es forgits how she was hatched outdo's; wid 'er red boot chicks, she cuts a dash, an' calls 'er neighbors "_po' trash! po' trash!_"[ ] but she ain't by 'erself in dat-- but she ain't by 'erself in dat. [illustration] the moon dey say sis' moon daresn't shine at night cep'n by marse sun's allowance o' light, an' whilst he's away whar de yether moons are she don't even dast to wink at a star. an' she ain't de onies' wife like dat-- no, she ain't by 'erself in dat. [illustration] the hen-roost man de hen-roost man he'll preach about paul, an' james an' john, an' herod, an' all, but nuver a word about peter, oh, no! he's afeard he'll hear dat rooster crow. an' he ain't by 'isself in dat, in dat-- an' he ain't by 'isself in dat. [illustration] a guilty conscience dat little yaller pup 's got so many lickin's for pesterin' all de ducks an' chickens, dat whenever he hears any barn-yard strife, he looks over his shoulder an' runs for 's life. but he ain't by 'isself in dat, in dat-- no, he ain't by 'isself in dat. [illustration] the bat br'er bat flaps out in de gloomin' dark, an' even ef he's boun' for a harmless lark, he favors de devil an' he keeps sech hours dat he seems in cahoot wid de evil powers. an' he ain't by 'isself in dat, in dat-- an' he ain't by 'isself in dat. [illustration] incubator chickens dem inkybator chickens dat's hatched by de clock, wid a lamp for love, is lonesome stock; dey feeds in droves, but dey envies de others dat scratches for grubs wid any ol' mothers. an' dey ain't by deyselves, po' orphans, in dat-- no, dey ain't by deyselves in dat. [illustration] the firefly br'er lightnin'-bug is a gay yo'ng spark, but he nuver is yit put out de dark; he shines for 'isself in 'is zigzag flight, an' he's middlin' sho he's de sou'ce of light. but he ain't by 'isself in dat, in dat-- but he ain't by 'isself in dat. the thistle de thistle-stalk sends up a noble bloom wid de shape of a flower an' de thought of a plume, but its prickle-y ways turn friendship down; so it stands all alone, in its velvet gown. an' it ain't by its lonesome self in dat-- no, it ain't by itself in dat. [illustration] the gray squirrel de gray squir'l lives a nachel life, wid friends an' foes an' chillen an' wife; but whenever he gits his picture took, he snatches dat nut, to appear in de book. but he ain't by 'isself in dat, in dat-- but he ain't by 'isself in dat. [illustration] look out for mister bee look out for mister bee in de punkin-flower! plenty gallinippers in de grass! mighty close tie 'twix' wings an' stings better let de honey-bee pass! z--z--z, z, z! better let de honey-bee pass! white-face bumblebee--white folks' ways-- never give a sassy answer back! but don't you trus' de black-face, no matter what he says! give de nigger bumblebee de track! z--z--z, z, z! give de nigger bumblebee de track![ ] [illustration] the rose when sis' rose th'ows open her heart _too proud_, she blooms mighty brief in beauty's crowd; 'ca'ze the rains beat in an' de bees make free 'tel de heart o' de rose is sad to see. an' you ain't by yo'self, sis' rose, in dat-- no, you ain't by yo'self in dat. [illustration] the locomotive dey say sis' ingine's fiercest scream don't mean nothin' but lettin' off steam, but wid so much wrackage behin' 'er back, seem like she say: "git out o' my track!" an' she ain't by 'erself, old mis, in dat-- no, she ain't by 'erself in dat. [illustration] the goat no matter how much she strive to 'spire, sis' nannie goat's measured 'g'inst some'h'n' higher; "first cousin to a sheep" an' "de po' man's cow," is hol'-down luck, come when, come how. an' she ain't by 'erself helt down like dat-- no, she ain't by 'erself in dat. [illustration] the fig de fig dat's "sweet enough to eat" is _sweet enough_, but _not too sweet_; but de honey-lip fig in de blazin' light is a battle-ground whar de varmints fight. an' it ain't by itself in dat, in dat-- an' it ain't by itself in dat. [illustration] the frizzled chicken dat frizzledy chicken, he steps so spry, an' he totes 'is head so pompious high, like as ef he tries, wharever he goes, to rise above dem rough-dried clo'es. an' he ain't by 'isself in dat, in dat-- an' he ain't by 'isself in dat. [illustration] the endless song oh, i used to sing a song, an' dey said it was too long, so i cut it off de en' to accommodate a frien' nex' do', nex' do'-- to accommodate a frien' nex' do'. but it made de matter wuss dan it had been at de fus, 'ca'ze de en' was gone, an' den co'se it didn't have no en' any mo', any mo'-- oh, it didn't have no en' any mo'! so, to save my frien' from sinnin', i cut off de song's beginnin'; still he cusses right along whilst i sings _about_ my song jes so, jes so-- whilst i sings _about_ my song _jes so_. how to please 'im is my riddle, so i'll fall back on my fiddle; for i'd stan' myself on en' to accommodate a frien' nex' do', nex' do'-- to accommodate a frien' nex' do'. [illustration] the eel br'er eel got a mighty jewbious name, but maybe he ain't so much to blame; he couldn't squirm out ef he nuver ventured in, an' he resks his all when he resks his skin. but he ain't by 'isself in dat, in dat-- but he ain't by 'isself in dat. [illustration] the rain-crow br'er rain-crow sho kin prophesy, caze he reads his wisdom f'om de page on high; his mind ain't clogged wid secon'-hand facts, but de moon an' de skies is his almanacs. an' he ain't by 'isself in dat, in dat-- an' he ain't by 'isself in dat. [illustration] the giraffe br'er gy-raffe don't make no pertense o' not seein' over 'is neighbor's fence, an' ef he'd listen close-t, i 'spec' he'd hear somebody say: "rubber-neck!!!" but he ain't by 'isself in dat, in dat-- but he ain't by 'isself in dat. [illustration] the black sheep de black sheep says, "oh, what's de use to shun de mire an' de muddy sluice? for whether i walks for praise or blame, dey'll call me 'black sheep,' jes de same!" an' he ain't by 'isself in dat, in dat-- an' he ain't by 'isself in dat. [illustration] the prize-winner dat berkshire horg in de blue ribbon pen come home wid de heavy-weight prize again; he looks mighty pompious in 'is stall, but he's on'y a fat horg, after all. an' he ain't by 'isself in dat, in dat-- an' he ain't by 'isself in dat. [illustration] the dog i can't talk dog an' he can't talk man, yit rover an' me, we onderstan'; i wag my tongue an' he wags 'is tail, an' love explains whar grammars fail. an' we ain't by ourselves in dat, in dat-- no, we ain't by ourselves in dat. * * * * * * footnotes: [ ] the guinea-fowl strays away from home and makes her nest in the fields. the newly hatched guinea-chicks are beautiful, dainty things, with coral-colored feet which look very fine. the guinea's cry, loud and harsh, sounds like "potterack!" or "poor trash!" [ ] the white-faced bee does not sting. angelic wisdom about divine providence by emanuel swedenborg translation by william frederic wunsch _standard edition_ swedenborg foundation incorporated new york established in originally published in latin at amsterdam first english translation published in u.s.a. st printing, ( th printing wunsch translation). isbn - - - (student) - - - (trade) _library of congress catalog card number - _ manufactured in the united states of america contents[ ] translator's preface i. what divine providence is ii. the goal of divine providence iii. the outlook of divine providence iv. providence has its laws v. its regard for human freedom and reason vi. even in the struggle against evil vii. the law of noncompulsion viii. the law of overt guidance ix. the law of hidden operation x. divine providence and human prudence xi. binding time and eternity xii. the law guarding against profanation xiii. laws of tolerance in the laws of providence xiv. why evil is permitted xv. providence attends the evil and the good xvi. providence and prudence in the appropriation of good and evil to man xvii. the salvation of all the design of providence xviii. the steadfast observance of its laws by providence index of scripture passages subject index [ ]swedenborg gave neither numbers nor brief captions to the chapters of the book. nor did he prefix a recital of all the propositions and subsidiary propositions to come in the book; this was the work of the latin editor. for this the above, giving the reader a succinct idea of the book's contents, is substituted. _tr._ translator's preface the book the reader will find in this book a firm assurance of god's care of mankind as a whole and of each human being. the assurance is rested in god's infinite love and wisdom, the love pure mercy, the wisdom giving love its ways and means. it is further grounded in an interpretation of the universe as a spiritual-natural world, an interpretation fully set forth in the earlier book, _divine love and wisdom_, on which the present work draws heavily. as there is a world of the spirit, no view of providence can be adequate which does not take that world into account. for in that world must be channels for the outreach of god's care to the human spirit. there also any eternal goal--such as a heaven from the human race--must exist. a view of providence limited to the horizons of the passing existence can hardly resemble the care which the eternal god takes of men and women who, besides possessing perishable bodies, are themselves creatures of the spirit and immortal. the full title of the book, _angelic wisdom about divine providence_, implies that its author, in an other-world experience, had at hand the knowledge which men and women in heaven have of god's care. who should know the divine guidance if not the men and women in heaven who have obviously enjoyed it? "the laws of divine providence, hitherto hidden with angels in their wisdom, are to be revealed now" (n. ). as it is presented in this book, providence seeks to engage man in its purposes, and to enlist all his faculties, his freedom and reason, his will and understanding, his prudence and enterprise. it acts first of all on his volitions and thinking, to align them with itself. that it falls directly on history, its events and our circumstances, is a superficial view. it is man's inner life which first feels the omnipresent divine influence and must do so. if we cannot be lifted to our best selves and if our aims and outlook cannot be modified for the better, how shall the world be bettered which we affect to handle? paramount in god's presence with all men, if only in their possibilities, is his providential care. this care, to which man's inner life is open, is alert every moment, not occasional. it is gentle and not tyrannical, constantly respecting man's freedom and reason, otherwise losing him as a human being. it has set this and other laws for itself which it pursues undeviatingly. the larger part of the book is an exposition of these laws in the conviction that by them the nature of providence is best seen. is it not to be expected in a universe which has its laws, and in which impersonal forces are governed by laws, that the creator of all should pursue laws in his concern with the lives of conscious beings? to fit a world of laws must not the divine care have its laws, too? adjustment of thought about divine providence to scientific thought is not the overriding necessity, for scientific thought must keep adjusting to laws which it discerns in the physical world. in consonance, religious thought seeks to learn the lawful order in the guidance of the human spirit. do not each and all things in tree or shrub proceed constantly and wonderfully from purpose to purpose according to the laws of their order of things? why should not the supreme purpose, a heaven from the human race, proceed in similar fashion? can there be anything in its progress which does not proceed with all constancy according to the laws of divine providence? (n ) respecting the laws of providence, it is to be noted that there are more laws than those, five in number, which are stated at the heads of as many chapters in the book. further laws are embodied in other chapters. at n. ( ) we are told that further laws were presented in nn. - , - , and - . in fact, at n. . there is a reference to laws which follow in even later chapters. in nn. - the law, partly stated in the heading over the chapter, comes to full sight particularly at n. ( ), namely, that providence, in engaging human response, shall align human prudence with itself, so that providence becomes one's prudence (n. e). in nn. - the law is that providence employ the temporal goals of distinction and wealth towards its eternal goals, and perpetuate standing and wealth in a higher form, for a man will then have sought them not for themselves and handled them for the use they can be. to keep a person from premature spiritual experience, nn. - , is obviously a law of providence, guarding against relapse and consequent profanation of what had become sacred to him. the paradox of divine foreknowledge and human freedom, regularly discussed in studies of providence, receives an explanation which becomes more and more enlightening in the course of the book. the paradox, probably nowhere else discussed, of man's thinking and willing to all appearance all by himself, and of the fact that volition and thought come to him from beyond him, receives a similar, cumulative answer. the tension between the divine will and human self-will is a subject that pervades the book; to that subject the profoundest insights into the hidden activity of providence and into human nature are brought. on the question, "is providence only general or also detailed?" the emphatic answer is that it cannot be general unless it takes note of the least things. on miracle and on chance conclusions unusual in religious thought meet the reader. the inequalities, injustices and tragedies in life which raise doubts of the divine care are faced in a long chapter after the concept of providence has been spread before the reader. what would be the point in considering them before what providence is has been considered? against what manner of providence are the arguments valid? a chapter such as this, on doubts of providence and on the mentality which cherishes them, becomes a monograph on the subject, as the chapter on premature spiritual experience, with the risk of relapse and profanation, becomes a monograph on kinds of profanation. coming by revelation and by a lengthy other-world experience on swedenborg's part (in which he learned of the incorrectness of some of his own beliefs, nn. ( ), ) the book, like others of his, nevertheless has for an outstanding feature a steady address to the reason. the profoundest truths of the spiritual life, among them the nature of god and the laws and ways of providence, are not beyond grasp by the reason. sound reason swedenborg credits with lofty insights. _divine providence_ is a book to be studied, and not merely read, and studied slowly. by its own way of proceeding, it extends an invitation to read, not straight through, but something like a chapter at a time. in a new chapter swedenborg will recall for the reader what was said in the preceding chapter, as though the reader had mean-while laid the book down. the revelator proceeds at a measured pace, carries along the whole body of his thought, and places each new point in this larger context, where it receives its precise significance and its full force. it is an accumulation of thought and not a repetition of statements merely that one meets. "what has been written earlier cannot be as closely connected with what is written later as it will be if the same things are recalled and placed with both in view" (n. ( )). the translation this volume has been translated afresh from the latin; it is not a revision of any earlier edition. greater readableness has been striven for. in the past, it is generally recognized, latin sentence structure and word order were clung to unnecessarily. "the defects in previous translations of swedenborg have arisen mainly from too close an adherence to cognate words and to the latin order of words and phrases." so wrote the rev. john c. ager in in his translator's note in the library edition of _divine providence_. why, indeed, should english not be allowed its own sentence structure and word order? in addition, in this translation, long sentences, readily followed in an inflected language like latin, have been broken up into short ones. english also uses fewer particles of logical relation than are at home in latin. there is more paragraphing, aiding the eye, which both british and american translators have been doing for some years. latin has neither a definite article nor an indefinite article, and a translator into english must decide when to use either or neither. the definite article, the present translator thinks, has been overused, perhaps in a dogmatic tendency to be as precise as can be. when, for instance, one is admitted into "truths of faith" he is certainly not admitted into "the truths of faith," as though he could comprehend them all. the very title of the book changes the impression which it makes as the definite article is inserted or omitted in it. "the divine providence" seems to single out a theological concept; "divine providence" seems more likely to lead the thought to god's actual care. swedenborg has his carefully chosen terms, of course, like "proprium," which are best kept, although in the present translation that term is sometimes rendered by an explanatory word and one which, in the particular context, is an equivalent. the verb "appropriate" presents a difficulty, but has been kept, partly because of the noun "proprium." one could translate rather wordily "make"--something good or evil--"one's own." the english word now means "take exclusive possession of," which one can hardly do of good or evil. assimilation is the thought and the act, and with that in mind the verb "appropriate" and the noun "appropriation" can be retained. the unusual locution "affection of truth" or "of good," which mr. ager abandoned, translating "for truth" and "for good," has been returned to. much is implied in that phrase which is not to be found in the other wording, namely, that we are affected by truth and by good, and that there is an influx of these into the human spirit. similarly meaningful is another unusual way of speaking in english, of a person's being "in" faith or "in" charity, where we say that he has faith or exercises charity. the thought is that faith and charity, truth and goodness beckon to us, to be welcomed and entered into. latin sometimes has a number of words for an idea or an entity, and the english has not, but when english has the richer vocabulary, why not avail oneself of the variety possible? the latin word "finis," for example, used in so many connections, can be rendered by one word in one connection and by another in another connection. the "goal" or the "object" of providence is plainer than the "end" of providence. the "close" of life is common speech. "meritorious" has been kept in our translations, for in a restricted field of traditional theology it does mean that virtue, for example, _earns_ a reward. to most readers the word will be misleading, for they will understand it in its usual meaning, that some act is well-deserving. the former is swedenborg's meaning, which is that an act is done to earn merit, or is considered to have earned merit. we translate variously according to context to make that meaning clear (nn. ( ), ( ), ). as it is what swedenborg has written that is to be translated, the scripture passages which he quotes are translated without an effort to follow the authorized version, which he did not know. this is also done when he refers to the book which stands last in our bibles; the name he knew it by, the apocalypse, is retained. the subject index the rewording in this translation would have necessitated revision of the index long used in editions of _divine providence_, which goes back to an index in french done by m. le boys des guays. the opportunity was seized to compile a subject instead of a word index. it is based on an analysis of the contents of the book, and can serve as a reading guide. it does not usually quote the text, but sends the reader to it. definitions of a number of terms are embodied in it. the appearance that man thinks, wills, speaks and acts all of his own doing is the subject of much of the book, and this the index shows. the "life's love" deserves to be a separate entry, for little of a psychological nature in the book becomes more prominent than the love which forms in the way one actually lives, and which embodies one's actual belief and thought. single words which have been scattered entries in the index long used--usually scripture words of which the correspondential meaning is given--are assembled alphabetically under the entry "correspondences." a signal feature of swedenborg's thought is the unities he perceives. of love and wisdom he says that they can only be perceived as one ( ( )). so good and truth do not exist apart, nor charity and faith, nor affection and thought. these and other pairs of terms are therefore entered in the index; after references on the two together, references follow on each term alone. the index, it is hoped, will do more than introduce the reader to statements made in the book, but will carry him into its stream of thought. wm. f. wunsch angelic wisdom about divine providence divine providence i. divine providence is government by the lord's divine love and wisdom . to understand what divine providence is--namely, government by the lord's divine love and wisdom--one needs to know what was said and shown earlier about divine love and wisdom in the treatise about them: "in the lord divine love is of divine wisdom, and divine wisdom of divine love" (nn. - ); "divine love and wisdom cannot but be in, and be manifested in, all else, created by them" (nn. - ); "all things in the universe were created by them" (nn. , , - ); "all are recipients of that love and wisdom" (nn. - ); "the lord appears before the angels as a sun, the heat proceeding from it being love, and the light wisdom" (nn. - , - , - , - ); "divine love and wisdom, proceeding from the lord, make one" (nn. - ); "the lord from eternity, who is jehovah, created the universe and everything in it from himself, and not from nothing" (nn. - , - ). this is to be found in the treatise entitled _angelic wisdom about divine love and wisdom._ . putting with these propositions the description of creation in that treatise, one may indeed see that what is called divine providence is government by the lord's divine love and wisdom. in that treatise, however, creation was the subject, and not the preservation of the state of things after creation--yet this is the lord's government. we now treat of this, therefore, and in the present chapter, of the preservation of the union of divine love and wisdom or of divine good and truth in what was created, which will be done in the following order: i. the universe, with each and all things in it, was created from divine love by divine wisdom. ii divine love and wisdom proceed as one from the lord. iii. this one is in some image in every created thing. iv. it is of the divine providence that every created thing, as a whole and in part, should be such a one, and if it is not, should become such a one. v. good of love is good only so far as it is united to truth of wisdom, and truth of wisdom truth only so far as it is united to good of love. vi. good of love not united to truth of wisdom is not good in itself but seeming good, and truth of wisdom not united to good of love is not truth in itself but seeming truth. vii. the lord does not suffer anything to be divided; therefore it must be either in good and at the same time in truth, or in evil and at the same time in falsity. viii. that which is in good and at the same time in truth is something; that which is in evil and at the same time in falsity is not anything. ix. the lord's divine providence causes evil and the attendant falsity to serve for equilibrium, contrast, and purification, and so for the conjunction of good and truth in others. . (i) _the universe, with each and all things in it, was created from divine love by divine wisdom._ in the work _divine love and wisdom_ we showed that the lord from eternity, who is jehovah, is in essence divine love and wisdom, and that he created the universe and all things in it from himself. it follows that the universe, with each and all things in it, was created from divine love by means of divine wisdom. we also showed in that treatise that love can do nothing without wisdom, and wisdom nothing without love. for love apart from wisdom, or the will apart from understanding, cannot think anything, indeed cannot see, feel or say anything, so cannot do anything. likewise, wisdom apart from love, or understanding apart from will, cannot think, see, feel, or speak, therefore cannot do, anything. for if love is removed from wisdom or understanding, there is no willing and thus no doing. if this is true of man, for him to do anything, it was much more true of god--who is love itself and wisdom itself--when he created and made the world and all that it contains. [ ] that the universe, with each and all things in it, was created from divine love by divine wisdom may also be established from objects to be seen in the world. take a particular object, examine it with some wisdom, and you will be convinced. take the seed, fruit, flower or leaf of a tree, muster your wisdom, examine the object with a strong microscope, and you will see marvels. even more wonderful are the more interior things which you do not see. note the unfolding order in the growth of a tree from seed to new seed; reflect on the continuous effort in all stages after self-propagation--the end to which it moves is seed in which its reproductive power arises anew. if then you will think spiritually, as you can if you will, will you not see wisdom in all this? furthermore, if you can think spiritually enough, you will see that this energy does not come from the seed, nor from the sun of the world, which is only fire, but is in the seed from god the creator whose wisdom is infinite, and is from him not only at the moment of creation but ever after, too. for maintenance is perpetual creation, as continuance is perpetual coming to be. else it is quite as work ceases when you withdraw will from action, or as utterance fails when you remove thought from speech, or as motion ceases when you remove impetus; in a word, as an effect perishes when you remove the cause. [ ] every created thing is endowed with energy, indeed, but this does nothing of itself but from him who implanted it. examine any other earthly object, like a silkworm, bee or other small creature. view it first naturally, then rationally, and at length spiritually, and if you can think deeply, you will be astounded at all you see. let wisdom speak in you, and you will exclaim in astonishment, "who does not see the divine in such things? they are all of divine wisdom." still more will you exclaim, if you note the uses of all created things, how they mount in regular order even to the human being, and from man to the creator whence they are, and that the connection, and if you will acknowledge it, the preservation also of them all, depend on the conjunction of the creator with man. that divine love created all things, but nothing apart from the divine wisdom, will be seen in what follows. . (ii) _divine love and wisdom proceed as one from the lord._ this, too, is plain from what was shown in the work _divine love and wisdom,_ especially in the propositions: "esse and existere are distinguishably one in the lord" (nn. - ); "infinite things are distinguishably one in him" (nn. - ); "divine love is of divine wisdom, and divine wisdom of divine love" (nn. - ); "love not married to wisdom cannot effect anything" (nn. - ); "love does nothing except in union with wisdom" (nn. , ); "spiritual heat and light, proceeding from the lord as a sun, make one as divine love and wisdom make one in him" (nn. - ). the truth of the present proposition is plain from these propositions, demonstrated in that treatise. but as it is not known how two distinct things can act as one, i wish now to show that there is no "one" apart from form, and that the form itself makes it a unit; then, that a form makes a "one" the more perfectly as the elements entering into it are distinctly different and yet united. [ ] _there is no "one" apart from form, and the form itself makes it a unit._ everyone who brings his mind to bear on the matter can see clearly that there is no "one" apart from form, and if a thing exists at all, it is a form. for what exists at all derives from form what is known as its character and its predicates, its changes of state, also its relevance, and so on. a thing without form has no way of affecting us, and what has no power of affecting, has no reality. it is form which enables to all this. and as all things have a form, then if the form is perfect, all things in it regard each other mutually, as link does link in a chain. it follows that it is form which makes a thing a unit and thus an entity of which character, state, affection or anything else can be predicated; each is predicated of it according to the perfection of the form. [ ] such a unit is every object which meets the eye in the world. such, too, is everything not seen with the eye, whether in interior nature or in the spiritual world. the human being is such a unit, human society is, likewise the church, and in the lord's view the whole angelic heaven, too; in short, all creation in general and in every particular. for each and all things to be forms, he who created all things must be form itself, and all things made must be from that form. this, therefore, was also demonstrated in the work _divine love and wisdom,_ as that "divine love and wisdom are substance and form" (nn. - ); "divine love and wisdom are form itself, thus the one self and the single independent existence" (nn. - ); "divine love and wisdom are one in the lord" (nn. - , - ), "and proceed as one from him" (nn. - , and elsewhere). [ ] _a form makes a one the more perfectly as the elements entering into it are distinctly different and yet united._ this hardly falls into a comprehension not elevated, for the appearance is that a form cannot make a one except as its elements are quite alike. i have spoken with angels often on the subject. they said that this is a secret perceived clearly by their wiser men, obscurely by the less wise. they said it is the truth that a form is the more perfect as its constituents are distinctly different and yet severally united. they established the fact from the societies which in the aggregate constitute the form of heaven, and from the angels of a society, for as these are different and free and love their associates from themselves and from their own affection, the form of the society is more perfect. they also illustrated the fact from the marriage of good and truth, in that the more distinguishably two these are, the more perfectly do they make a one; similarly, of love and wisdom. the indistinguishable is confusion, they said, whence comes imperfection of form. [ ] in various ways they went on to establish the manner in which perfectly distinct things are united and thus make a one, especially by what is in the human body, in which are innumerable things quite distinct and yet united, held distinct by coverings and united by ligaments. it is so with love, they said, and all its things, and wisdom and all its things, for love and wisdom are not perceived except as one. see further on the subject in _divine love and wisdom_ (nn. - ) and in the work _heaven and hell_ (nn. and ). this has been adduced as part of angelic wisdom. . (iii) _this "one" is in some image in every created thing._ it can be seen from what was demonstrated throughout the treatise _divine love and wisdom_ and especially at nn. - , - , - , - , - , - , - , that divine love and wisdom which are one in the lord and proceed as one from him, are in some image in each created thing. it was shown that the divine is in every created thing because god the creator, who is the lord from eternity, produced the sun of the spiritual world from himself, and all things of the universe through that sun. that sun, which is from him and in which he is, is therefore not only the first but the sole substance from which are all things. as this is the one substance, it is in everything made, but with endless variety in accord with uses. [ ] in the lord, then, are divine love and wisdom, and in the sun from him divine fire and radiance, and from the sun spiritual heat and light; and in each instance the two make one. it follows that this oneness is in every created thing. all things in the world are referable, therefore, to good and truth, in fact to the conjunction of them. or, what is the same, they are referable to love and wisdom and to the union of these; for good is of love and truth of wisdom, love calling all its own, "good," and wisdom calling all its own, "truth." it will be seen in what follows that there is a conjunction of these in each created thing. . many avow that there is a single substance which is also the first, from which are all things, but what that substance is, is not known. the belief is that it is so simple nothing is more so, and that it can be likened to a point without dimensions, and that dimensional forms arose out of an infinite number of such points. but this is a fallacy, springing from an idea of space. to such an idea there seems to be such a least thing. the truth is that the simpler and purer a thing is, the more replete it is and the more complete. this is why the more interiorly a thing is examined, the more wonderful, perfect, and well formed are the things seen in it, and in the first substance the most wonderful, perfect and fully formed of all. for the first substance is from the spiritual sun, which, as we said, is from the lord and in which he is. that sun is therefore the sole substance and, not being in space, is all in all, and is in the greatest and least things of the created universe. [ ] as that sun is the first and sole substance from which all things are, it follows that in it are infinitely more things than can possibly appear in substances arising from it, called substantial and lastly material. this infinity cannot appear in derivative substances because these descend from that sun by degrees of two kinds in accord with which perfections decline. for that reason, as we said above, the more interiorly a thing is regarded, the more wonderful, perfect and well formed are the things seen. this has been said to establish the fact that the divine is in some image in every created thing, but is less and less manifest with the descent over degrees, and still less when a lower degree, parted from the higher by being closed, is also choked with earthy matter. these concepts cannot but seem obscure unless one has read and understood what was shown in the treatise _divine love and wisdom_ about the spiritual sun (nn. - ), about degrees (nn. - ) and about the creation of the world (nn. - ). . (iv) _it is of the divine providence that every created thing as a whole and in part should be such a one or should become such a one,_ or that there be in it something of the divine love and wisdom, or what is the same, that there be good and truth in it, or a union of them. (inasmuch as good is of love and truth is of wisdom, as was said above (n. ), in what follows we shall at times say good and truth instead of love and wisdom, and marriage of good and truth instead of union of love and wisdom.) . it is evident from the preceding proposition that divine love and wisdom, which are one in the lord and proceed as one from him, are in some image in everything created by him. something shall be said now specifically of the "one" or the union called the marriage of good and truth. . this marriage is in the lord himself--for, as we said, divine love and wisdom in him are one. . this marriage is from him, for in all that proceeds from him love and wisdom are fully united. the two proceed from him as a sun, divine love as heat, and divine wisdom as light. . these are received as two, indeed, by angels, likewise by men of the church, but are made one in them by the lord. . in view of this influx of love and wisdom as one from the lord with angels of heaven and men of the church, and in view of their reception of it, the lord is spoken of in the word as bridegroom and husband, and heaven and the church are called bride and wife. . an image and a likeness of the lord are therefore to be found in heaven and in the church in general, and in an angel of heaven and a man of the church in particular, so far as they are in that union or in the marriage of good and truth. for good and truth in the lord are one, indeed are the lord. . love and wisdom in heaven and in the church as a whole, and in an angel of heaven and a man of the church, are one when will and understanding, thus when good and truth, make one; or what is still the same, when doctrine from the word and life according to doctrine make one. . how the two make one in man and in all that pertains to him was shown, moreover, in part v of the treatise _divine love and wisdom,_ where the creation of man, and especially the correspondence of will and understanding with heart and lungs, were treated of (nn. - ). . how good and truth, however, make one in what is below or outside man, in both the animal and the vegetable kingdom, shall be told from time to time in what follows. three points are premised. _first,_ in the universe and in each and all things of it as created by the lord, there was a marriage of good and truth. _second,_ after creation this marriage was severed in man. _third,_ it is the work of divine providence to unite what was severed, and so to restore the marriage of good and truth. as all three points were established by many things in the work _divine love and wisdom,_ there is no need to substantiate them further. anyone can see from reason, moreover, that if there was a marriage of good and truth in each created thing and later it was severed, the lord must be working constantly to restore it, and that the restoration of it, and hence the conjunction of the created world with the lord through man, are of divine providence. . (v) _good of love is good only so far as it is united to truth of wisdom, and truth of wisdom is truth only so far as it is united to good of love._ good and truth have this from their origin, the one and the other originating in the lord, who is good itself and truth itself and in whom the two are one. hence in angels in heaven and men on earth, good is not good basically except so far as it is joined to truth, and truth is not truth basically except so far as it is joined to good. granted that all good and truth are from the lord, then inasmuch as good makes one with truth and truth with good in him, good to be good in itself and truth to be truth in itself must make one in the recipient, that is, the angel in heaven or the man on earth. . it is indeed known that all things in the world are referable to good and truth. for by good is meant what universally embraces and involves all things of love; and by truth what universally embraces and involves all things of wisdom. still it is not known that good is nothing except when it is joined to truth, and truth nothing unless it is joined to good. good apart from truth and truth apart from good still seem to be something; yet they are not. for love (to which all that is called good pertains) is the _esse_ of a thing, and wisdom (to which all things called truths pertain) is a thing's _existere_ from that _esse_ (as was shown in the treatise _divine love and wisdom,_ nn. - ). therefore, as _esse_ is nothing apart from _existere,_ or _existere_ apart from _esse,_ good is nothing apart from truth or truth from good. what, again, is good which has no relation to anything? can it be called good if it is without affection and perception? [ ] that which is associated with good, permitting it to affect and to be perceived and felt, is referable to truth, since it has relation to what is in the understanding. tell someone, not that a given thing is good, but simply say "good"--is good anything? it becomes something from what is perceived along with it. this is united with good only in the understanding, and all understanding has relation to truth. it is the same with willing. apart from knowing, perceiving and thinking what one wills, to will is nothing actual; together with them it becomes something. all volition is of love and is referable to good; and all knowing, perceiving and thinking is of the understanding, and is referable to truth. it is clear, then, that to will is nothing actual, but to will this or that means something. [ ] so also with a use, inasmuch as a use is a good. unless a use is addressed to something which makes one with it, it is not a use, and thus not anything. a use derives its something from the understanding, and what is thence conjoined or adjoined to it, has relation to truth. so a use gets its character. [ ] from these few things it is plain that good is nothing apart from truth, nor truth anything apart from good. but if good together with truth and truth together with good are something, evil with falsity and falsity with evil are not, for the latter are opposite to the former and the opposition destroys--that is, destroys the something. but of this in what follows. . marriage of good and truth may, however, be found either in a cause or from the cause in an effect. in a cause the marriage of good and truth is one of will and understanding, or of love and wisdom. such a marriage is in all that a man wills and thinks and in all his ensuing determinations and purposes. this marriage enters into and in fact produces the effect. but in producing the effect, good and truth seem distinct, for then the simultaneous turns successive. when, for example, a man wills and thinks about food, clothing, shelter, business or employment, or about his relationship to others, first he wills and thinks or comes to his conclusions and intentions all at the same time; but when these are determined to effects, truth follows on good, though in will and thought they continue to make one. in the effects the uses pertain to love or good, and the ways of performing the uses pertain to understanding or truth. anyone can confirm these general truths by particular instances provided he perceives what is referable respectively to good of love and to truth of wisdom, and also how differently it is referable in cause and in effect. . we have said often that love constitutes man's life. this does not mean, however, love separate from wisdom or good from truth in the cause, for love separate or good separate is not an actuality. the love which makes man's inmost life--the life he has from the lord--is therefore love and wisdom together; neither is the love which makes his life as a recipient being separate in the cause, but only in the effect. for love cannot be understood except from its quality, which is wisdom; and the quality or wisdom can exist only from its own _esse,_ which is love; thence it is that they are one; it is the same with good and truth. since truth is from good as wisdom is from love, it is the two taken together that are called good or love. for love has wisdom for its form, and good for its form truth, and form is the source, and the one source, of quality. it is plain from all this that good is good only so far as it has become one with its truth, and truth truth only so far as it has become one with its good. . (vi) _good of love not united to truth of wisdom is not good in itself but seeming good; and truth of wisdom not conjoined with good of love is not truth in itself but seeming truth._ the fact is that no good, in itself good, can exist unless joined with its truth, and no truth, in itself truth, can exist unless it has become joined with its good. and yet good separate from truth is possible, and truth separate from good. they are found in hypocrites and flatterers, in evil persons of every sort, and in such as are in natural but not spiritual good. these can all do well by church, country, society, fellow-citizens, the needy, the poor, and widows and orphans. they can also comprehend truths, from understanding think them, and from thought speak and teach them. but the goods and truths are not interiorly such, that is, basically goods and truths, but only outwardly and seemingly such. for such good and truth look to self and the world, not to good itself and truth itself; they are not from good and truth; they are of the mouth and body only, therefore, and not of the heart. [ ] they may be likened to gold or silver which is spread on dross, rotten wood or mire. when uttered the truths may be likened to a breath exhaled and gone, or to a delusive light which dies away, though they appear outwardly like genuine truths. they are seeming truths in those who utter them; to those hearing and assenting, and unaware of this, they may be altogether different. for everyone is affected by what is external according to his internal. a truth, by whomsoever uttered, enters another's hearing and is taken up by his mind in keeping with the state or character of his mind. of those in natural good by inheritance, but in no spiritual good, nearly the same is true as of those described above. the internal of every good or truth is spiritual. the spiritual dispels falsities and evils, but the natural left to itself favors them. to favor evil and falsity does not accord with doing good. . good can be separated from truth, and truth from good, and then still appear as good or truth, for the reason that the human being has a capacity to act which is called liberty, and a capacity of understanding called rationality. by abuse of these powers a man can appear in externals other than he is in internals; an evil man can do good and speak truth, and a devil feign himself an angel of light. but on this see the following propositions in the treatise _divine love and wisdom:_ "the origin of evil is in the abuse of faculties proper to man, called liberty and rationality" (nn. - ); "these two faculties are to be found with the evil as well as with the good" (n. ); "love not married to wisdom, and good not married to truth, can effect nothing" (n. ); "love does nothing except in conjunction with wisdom or understanding, and it brings wisdom or the understanding reciprocally into conjunction with itself" (nn. - ); "from power given it by love, wisdom or understanding can be elevated and can perceive and receive the things of light from heaven" (n. ); "love can be raised similarly to receive the things of heat from heaven if it loves its mate, wisdom, in that degree" (nn. , ); "else love pulls wisdom or the understanding down from its elevation to act at one with itself" (nn. - ); "if the two are elevated, love is purified in the understanding" (nn. - ); "purified by wisdom in the understanding, love becomes spiritual and celestial, but defiled in the understanding it become sensuous and corporeal" (nn. - ); "what is true of love and wisdom and their union is true of charity and faith and their conjunction" (nn. - ). what charity in heaven is, see n. . . (vii) _the lord does not suffer anything to be divided; it must be either in good and at the same time in truth, or in evil and at the same time in falsity._ the lord's divine providence has for its goal, and to this end it labors, that man shall be in good and at the same time in truth. for then he is his own good and love and his own truth and wisdom; thereby the human being is human, for he is then an image of the lord. but while he lives in the world he can be in good and at the same time in falsity, likewise in evil and at the same time in truth, indeed in evil and at the same time in good, and thus be double. as the cleavage destroys the lord's image in him and thus the man, the lord's divine providence takes care in every least act that this division shall not be. and as it is better for man to be in evil and at the same time in falsity than to be in good and at the same time in evil, the lord permits it, not as one willing it, but as one unable to resist because of the end sought, which is salvation. [ ] a man can be simultaneously in evil and in truth and the lord be unable to prevent it in view of the end, which is salvation, for the reason that man's understanding can be raised into the light of wisdom and see truths, or acknowledge them when he hears them, while his love remains below. thus a man can be in heaven as to understanding, while as to his love he is in hell. this is not denied him, because the two faculties of liberty and rationality, by virtue of which he is a human being and distinguished from beasts and by which alone he can be regenerated and thus saved, cannot be taken away. by means of them, he can act according to wisdom and at the same time according to an unwise love. from wisdom above he can view the love below and also the thoughts, intentions and affections, therefore the evils and falsities as well as the goods and truths of his life and doctrine, without a knowledge and recognition of which he cannot be reformed. we spoke of the two faculties before and shall say more in what follows. what has been said explains how man can be simultaneously in good and truth, or in evil and falsity, or in mixtures of them. . in this world a man can hardly come into one or the other conjunction or union, that is, of good and truth or of evil and falsity, for during his life in the world he is kept in a state of reformation or regeneration. after death, however, every man comes into the one union or the other, because he can then no longer be reformed or regenerated. he remains such as his life was in the world, that is, such as his reigning love was. if therefore his was a life of an evil love, all the truth acquired by him in the world from teacher, pulpit or word is taken away. on the removal of it, he absorbs the falsity agreeing with his evil as a sponge does water. on the other hand, if his was the life of a good love, all the falsity is removed which he may have picked up in the world by hearing or from reading but did not confirm in himself, and in its place truth congruous with his good is given him. this is meant by the lord's words: take . . . the talent from him, and give it to him that has ten talents. for to everyone who has, shall be given until he abounds but from him who has not, even what he has shall be taken away (mt : , ; : ; mk : ; lu : ; : - ). . after death everyone must be either in good and at the same time in truth or in evil and at the same time in falsity, for the reason that good and evil cannot be united, nor can good and the falsity of evil, nor evil and the truth of good. for these are opposites, and opposites contend until one destroys the other. those who are at the same time in evil and in good are meant in the apocalypse in these words of the lord to the church of the laodiceans: i know your works, that you are neither cold nor hot; would that you were cold or hot; but because you are lukewarm, i will spue you out of my mouth ( : , ): also in these words of the lord: no man can serve two masters, for either he will hate the one and love the other, or cleave to the one and not heed the other (mt : ). . ( viii) _that which is in good and at the same time in truth is something; that which is in evil and at the same time in falsity is not anything._ see above (n. ) that what is in good and at the same time in truth is something. it follows that what is at once evil and false is not anything. by not being anything is meant that it is without power and without spiritual life. those at once in evil and in falsity (all of whom are in hell) have power indeed among themselves, for an evil man can do evil and does so in a thousand ways. yet he can do evil to the evil only by reason of their evil; he cannot harm the good at all; if, as sometimes happens, he does, it is by conjunction with their evil. [ ] in this way temptations arise; they are infestations by evil spirits who are with a man; so combats ensue by which the good are freed from their evils. since the wicked have no power, all hell in the lord's sight is not only nothing, but nothing at all in point of power, as i have seen proved by much experience. but it is remarkable that the evil all deem themselves powerful, and the good all think themselves powerless. this is because the evil ascribe everything to their own power or shrewdness and malice, and nothing to the lord; whereas the good ascribe nothing to their own prudence, but all to the lord who is almighty. evil and falsity together are not anything for the further reason that they have no spiritual life. the life of the infernals is therefore called death, not life. since life holds everything, death has nothing. . men in evil and at the same time in truths may be likened to eagles flying aloft which, deprived of their wings, fall. for after death, on becoming spirits, men do the like who have understood and spoken and taught truths and yet have not looked to god in their lives. by means of things of the understanding they raise themselves aloft and even enter heaven at times and feign themselves angels of light. but when they are deprived of truths and are cast out, they fall down to hell. eagles also signify rapacious men with intellectual acumen, and wings signify spiritual truths. such, we said, are those who have not looked to god in their lives. to look to god in life means simply to think that a given evil is a sin against god, and for that reason not to commit it. . (ix) _the lord's divine providence causes evil and its falsity to serve for equilibrium, contrast, and purification, and so for the conjunction of good and truth in others._ it is obvious from the preceding that the lord's divine providence continually operates in order that truth may be united in man with good and good with truth, because that union is the church and heaven. for that union is in the lord and in all that proceeds from him. from that union, heaven and the church are called a marriage, and the kingdom of god is likened in the word to a marriage. again, the sabbath signified that union and was the holiest observance in the worship of the israelitish church. from that union also there is a marriage of good and truth in the word and in each and all things of it (on this see _doctrine of the new jerusalem about sacred scripture,_ nn. - ). the marriage of good and truth is from the marriage of the lord with the church, and this in turn from the marriage of love and wisdom in him, for good is of love, and truth of wisdom. it is plain, then, that it is the constant aim of divine providence to unite good to truth and truth to good in a man, for so he is united to the lord. . but many have severed and do sever this marriage, especially by separating faith from charity (for faith is of truth and truth is of faith, and charity is of good and good is of charity), and in so doing they conjoin evil and falsity in themselves and thus come into and continue in the opposite to good and truth. the lord therefore provides that they shall nevertheless serve for uniting good and truth in others, through equilibrium, contrast and purification. . conjunction of good and truth in others is provided by the lord through _equilibrium_ between heaven and hell. from hell evil and at the same time falsity constantly exhale, and from heaven good and at the same time truth. in equilibrium between them, and so in freedom to think, will, speak and act in which he can be reformed, every man is kept while he lives in the world. on the spiritual equilibrium from which the human being has freedom, see the work _heaven and hell,_ nn. - , - . . conjunction of good and truth is provided by the lord through _contrast._ for the nature of good is not known except by contrast with what is less good and by its contrariety to evil. all perceptiveness and sensitivity arise so; their quality is thence. all pleasantness is perceived and felt over against the less pleasant and the unpleasant; all the beautiful by reference to the less beautiful and the unbeautiful; similarly all good of love by reference to lesser good and to evil; all truth of wisdom by a sense of lesser truth and of falsity. everything inevitably varies from greatest to least, and with the same variation in its opposite and with equilibrium between them, there is contrast degree by degree, and the perception and sensation of a thing increase or diminish. but be it known that an opposite may either lower or exalt perceptions and sensitivities. it lowers them when it mingles in and exalts them when it does not mingle in, for which reason the lord separates good and evil with man that they shall not mingle, as exquisitely as he does heaven and hell. . conjunction of good and truth in others is provided by the lord through _purification_ in two ways; one through temptations, and the other through fermentations. _spiritual temptations_ are nothing else than combats against the evils and falsities exhaled from hell and affecting man. by these combats a man is purified from evils and falsities, and good and truth are united in him. _spiritual fermentations_ take place in many ways, and in heaven as well as on earth; but in the world it is not known what they are or how they come about. for evils and their falsities, let into societies, act as ferments do in meal or in must, separating the heterogeneous and conjoining the homogeneous until there is clarity and purity. such fermentations are meant in the lord's words: the kingdom of heaven is like leaven which a woman took and hid in three measures of meal until the whole was leavened (mt : ; lu : ). . the lord provides these uses through the united evil and falsity of those in hell. the lord's kingdom, which extends over hell as well as over heaven, is a kingdom of uses. it is the lord's providence that there shall be no creature and no thing whereby a use is not performed. ii. the lord's divine providence has for its object a heaven from the human race . heaven does not consist of angels created such to begin with, nor does hell come from any devil created an angel of light and cast down from heaven. both heaven and hell are from mankind, heaven consisting of those in the love of good and consequent understanding of truth, and hell of those in the love of evil and consequent understanding of falsity. this has been made known and sure to me by long-continued intercourse with angels and spirits. see what was said on the subject in the work _heaven and hell_ (nn. - ); also in the little work _the last judgment_ (nn. - ), and in _continuation about the last judgment and the spiritual world_ (throughout). [ ] as heaven is from mankind and is an abiding with the lord to eternity, it must have been the lord's purpose in creation; being the purpose in creation, it is the purpose of his providence. the lord created the world not for his own sake but for the sake of those with whom he would be in heaven. spiritual love by nature desires to give its own to another, and so far as it can do so is in its _esse,_ peace, and blessedness. spiritual love derives this from the lord's divine love which is such infinitely. it follows that the divine love and hence divine providence has for its object a heaven consisting of human beings who have become or are becoming angels, on whom the lord can bestow all the blessings and felicities of love and wisdom and do so from himself in men. it must be in this way, for the lord's image and likeness are in men from creation, the image in them wisdom and the likeness love. furthermore, the lord in them is love united to wisdom and wisdom united to love or (what is the same) is good united to truth and truth united to good (this union was treated of in the preceding chapter). [ ] what heaven is in general or with a number, and in particular or with an individual, is not known. nor is it known what heaven is in the spiritual world and what it is in the natural world. yet this knowledge is important, for heaven is the purpose of providence. i therefore desire to set the subject in some light in this order: i. heaven is conjunction with the lord. ii. by creation the human being is such that he can be conjoined more and more closely to the lord. iii. the more closely one is conjoined to the lord the wiser one becomes. iv. the more closely one is conjoined to the lord the happier one becomes. v. the more closely one is conjoined to the lord the more distinctly does he seem to himself to be his own, and the more plainly does he recognize that he is the lord's. . (i) _heaven is conjunction with the lord._ heaven is heaven, not from the angels but from the lord. for the love and wisdom in which angels are and which make heaven are not theirs, but the lord's, indeed are the lord in them. and as love and wisdom are the lord's, and are the lord in heaven, and make the life of angels, it is plain that their life is the lord's, indeed is the lord. the angels themselves avow that they live from the lord. hence it is evident that heaven is conjunction with the lord. but conjunction with him is various and one man's heaven is not another's; therefore heaven is also according to the conjunction with the lord. in the following proposition it will be seen that conjunction is more and more close or more and more remote. [ ] here let something be said about how the conjunction takes place and what the nature of it is. it is a conjunction of the lord with the angels and of the angels with him, therefore is reciprocal. the lord flows into the life's love of the angels, and they receive him in wisdom, thus in turn conjoining themselves with him. it must be said, however, that it seems to the angels that they conjoin themselves to the lord by wisdom; actually the lord conjoins them to himself by their wisdom, for the wisdom is also from the lord. it is the same thing if we say that the lord conjoins himself to the angels by good and they in turn conjoin themselves to the lord by truth, for all good is of love, and truth, of wisdom. [ ] this reciprocal conjunction is an arcanum, however, which few can understand unless it is explained. i want therefore to unfold it so far as it can be done by things within one's grasp. we showed in the treatise _divine love and wisdom_ (nn. , ) how love unites itself with wisdom, namely, through affection for knowing from which comes an affection for truth, through affection for understanding from which comes perception of truth, and through affection for seeing what is known and understood, from which comes thought. into all these affections the lord flows, for they are all derivatives of one's life's love, and the angels receive the influx in perception of truth and in thought, for in these the influx becomes apparent to them, but not in the affections. [ ] as the perceptions and thoughts appear to the angels to be their own, although they arise from affections which are from the lord, the appearance is that the angels reciprocally conjoin themselves to the lord, when nevertheless the lord conjoins them to himself. the affection itself produces the perceptions and thoughts, for the affection, which is of love, is their soul. apart from affection no one can perceive or think anything, and every one perceives and thinks according to his affection. it is evident that the reciprocal conjunction of the angels with the lord is not from them, but as it were from them. such, too, is the conjunction of the lord with the church and of the church with him, a union called celestial and spiritual marriage. . all conjunction in the spiritual world is effected by intent regard. when anyone there thinks of another with a desire to speak with him, the other is at once present, and the two come face to face. likewise, when one thinks of another from an affection of love; by this affection, however, there is conjunction, but by the other only presence. this is peculiar to the spiritual world; for there all are spiritual beings. it is otherwise in the natural world where all are physical beings. in the natural world something similar takes place in the affections and thoughts of the spirit; but as there is space here, while in the spiritual world space is appearance only, what takes place here in one's spirit occurs outwardly there. [ ] we have said so much to make known how conjunction of the lord with angels and their seemingly reciprocal conjunction with him is effected. all angels turn the face to the lord; he regards them in the forehead, and they regard him with the eyes. the reason is that the forehead corresponds to love and its affections, and the eyes correspond to wisdom and its perceptions. still the angels do not of themselves turn the face to the lord, but he faces them toward himself, doing so by influx into their life's love, by this entering the perceptions and thoughts, and so turning the angels to him. [ ] there is such a circuit from love to thoughts and under love's impulse from thoughts to love in all the mind's activity. it may be called the circling of life. on these subjects see some things also in the treatise _divine love and wisdom:_ as that "angels constantly turn the face to the lord as a sun" (nn. - ); "all the interiors of both the mind and the bodies of the angels are likewise turned to the lord as a sun" (nn. - ); "every spirit, whatever his character, turns himself likewise to his ruling love" (nn. - ); "love conjoins itself to wisdom and causes wisdom to be conjoined reciprocally with it" (nn. - ); "angels are in the lord and he in them; and as the angels are only recipients, the lord alone is heaven" (nn. - ). . the lord's heaven in the natural world is called the church; an angel of this heaven is a man of the church who is conjoined to the lord; on departure from this world he also becomes an angel of the spiritual heaven. what was said of the angelic heaven is evidently to be understood, then, of the human heaven also which is called the church. the reciprocal conjunction with the lord which makes heaven in the human being is revealed by the lord in these words in john: abide in me, and i in you; ... he who abides in me, and i in him, bears much fruit; for without me ye can do nothing ( : , , ). . it is plain from this that the lord is heaven not only in general with all in heaven, but in particular with each one there. for each angel is a heaven in least form; of as many heavens as there are angels, does heaven in general consist. in substantiation see _heaven and hell_ (nn. - ). since this is so, let no one cherish the mistaken idea, which first visits the thought of so many, that the lord dwells in heaven among the angels or is among them like a king in his kingdom. to the sight he is above them in the sun there; he is in them in their life of love and wisdom. . (ii) _by creation the human being is such that he can be conjoined more and more closely to the lord._ this becomes evident from what was shown about degrees in the treatise _divine love and wisdom,_ part iii, especially in the propositions: "by creation there are three discrete degrees or degrees of height in the human being" (nn. - ); "these three degrees are in man from birth, and as they are opened, the man is in the lord, and the lord in him" (nn. - ); "all perfection increases and mounts with and according to the degrees" (nn. - ). evidently, then, man is such by creation that he can be conjoined with the lord more and more closely according to these degrees. [ ] but one must know well what degrees are and that there are two kinds --discrete degrees or degrees of height, and continuous degrees or degrees of breadth; also how they differ. it must be known, too, that every human being has by creation and hence from birth three discrete degrees or degrees of height, and that he comes at birth into the first degree, called natural, and can grow in this degree continuously until he becomes rational. he comes into the second degree, called spiritual, if he lives according to spiritual laws of order, which are divine truths. he can also come into the third degree, called celestial, if he lives according to the celestial laws of order, which are divine goods. [ ] these degrees are opened in a person by the lord according to his life and actually opened in the world, but not perceptibly and sensibly until after his departure from the world. as they are opened and later perfected a man is conjoined to the lord more and more closely. this conjunction can grow to eternity in nearness to god and does so with the angels. and yet no angel can attain or touch the first degree of the lord's love and wisdom, for the lord is infinite and an angel is finite, and between infinite and finite no ratio obtains. man's state and the state of his elevation and nearness to the lord cannot be understood without a knowledge of these degrees; they have been specifically treated of, therefore, in the treatise divine _love and wisdom,_ nn. - , which see. . we shall say briefly how man can be more and more closely conjoined to the lord, and then how the conjunction seems closer and closer. _how man is more and more closely conjoined to the lord:_ this is effected not by knowledge alone, nor by intelligence alone, nor even by wisdom alone, but by a life conjoined to them. a man's life is his love, and love is manifold. in general there are love of good and love of evil. love of evil is love of committing adultery, taking revenge, defrauding, blaspheming, depriving others of their possessions. in thinking and doing such things the love of evil finds its pleasure and joy. of this love there are as many derivatives, which are affections, as there are evils in which it can find expression. and there are as many perceptions and thoughts of this love as there are falsities favoring and confirming such evils. the falsities make one with the evils as understanding makes one with will; they are mutually inseparable; the one is of the other. [ ] inasmuch as the lord flows into one's life's love and by its affections into the perceptions and thoughts, and not the other way about, as we said above, it follows that the lord can conjoin himself more closely to a man only as the love of evil is removed along with its affections, which are lusts. these lusts reside in the natural man. what a man does from the natural man he feels that he does of himself. for his part, therefore, a man should remove the evils of that love; so far as he does, the lord comes nearer and conjoins himself to him. anyone can see from reason that lusts with their pleasures block and close the door to the lord and cannot be cast out by the lord as long as the man himself keeps the door shut and presses and pushes from outside to keep it from being opened. it is plain from the lord's words in the apocalypse that a man must himself open the door: behold, i stand at the door and knock; if anyone hears my voice and opens the door, i will come in to him, and sup with him, and he with me ( : ). [ ] plainly, then, so far as one shuns evils as diabolical and as obstacles to the lord's entrance, he is more and more closely conjoined to the lord, and he the most closely who abhors them as so many dusky and fiery devils. for evil and the devil are one and the same, and the falsity of evil and satan are one and the same. as the lord's influx is into the love of good and into its affections and by these into the perceptions and thoughts, which have it from the good in which a man is that they are truths, so the influx of the devil, that is of hell, is into the love of evil and its affections, which are lusts, and by these into the perceptions and thoughts, which have it from the evil in which the man is that they are falsities. [ ] _how the conjunction seems closer and closer._ the more the evils in the natural man are removed by shunning and turning away from them, the more closely a man is conjoined to the lord. love and wisdom, which are the lord himself, are not in space, as affection which is of love, and thought which is of wisdom, have nothing in common with space. in the measure of the conjunction by love and wisdom, therefore, the lord seems nearer; and, contrariwise, in the measure of the rejection of love and wisdom, more distant. there is no space in the spiritual world; distance and presence there are appearances according to similarity or dissimilarity of the affections. for, as we said, affections which are of love, and thoughts which are of wisdom, in themselves spiritual, are not in space (on this see what was shown in the treatise _divine love and wisdom,_ nn. - , - , and elsewhere). [ ] the lord's conjunction with a man in whom evils have been put away is meant by the lord's words: the pure in heart shall see god (mt : ); and by the words: he who has my commandments and does them . . . with him will i make an abode (jn : , ). "to have the commandments" is to know and "to do them" is to love, for it is also said: "he who does my commandments, he it is that loves me." . (iii) _the more closely one is conjoined to the lord the wiser one becomes._ as there are three degrees of life in man by creation and so from birth (see just above, n. ), there are specifically three degrees of wisdom in him. these degrees it is that are opened in man according to conjunction, that is, according to love, for love is conjunction itself. love's ascent by degrees, however, is only obscurely perceived by man; but wisdom's ascent is clearly perceived by those who know and see what wisdom is. the degrees of wisdom are perceived because love by its affections enters the perceptions and thoughts, and these present themselves to the internal mental sight, which corresponds to the external bodily sight. thus wisdom appears, but not the affection of love which produces it. it is the same with all a man's deeds; he is aware how the body does them, but not how the soul does them. so he perceives how he meditates, perceives and thinks, but not how the soul of these mental activities, which is an affection of good and truth, produces them. [ ] there are three degrees of wisdom: natural, spiritual, and celestial. man is in the natural degree of wisdom during his life in the world. this degree can be perfected in him to its height, but even so cannot pass into the spiritual degree, for the latter is not continuous with it, but conjoined to it by correspondences. after death man is in the spiritual degree of wisdom. this degree also is such that it can be perfected to its height, and yet cannot pass into the celestial degree of wisdom, because neither is this continuous with the spiritual but conjoined to it by correspondences. plainly, then, wisdom can be raised threefold, and in each degree can be perfected but only to its peak. [ ] one who understands the elevation and perfecting of these degrees can see to an extent why angelic wisdom is said to be ineffable. so ineffable, indeed, is it, that a thousand ideas in the thought of angels in their wisdom can present only a single idea in the thought of men in their wisdom, the other nine hundred and ninety-nine ideas being unutterable, because they are supernatural. many a time have i been given to know this by living experience. but, as was said, no one can enter into the ineffable wisdom of the angels except by and according to conjunction with the lord, for he alone opens spiritual and celestial degrees, and only in those who are wise from him. those are wise from the lord who cast the devil, that is, evil, out of themselves. . but let no one believe that he has wisdom because he knows many things, perceives them in some light, and is able to talk intelligently about them, unless his wisdom is conjoined to love. for it is love that through its affections produces wisdom. not conjoined to love, wisdom is like a meteor vanishing in the air and like a falling star. wisdom united to love is like the abiding light of the sun and like a fixed star. a man has the love of wisdom when he is averse to the diabolical crew, that is, to the lusts of evil and falsity. . wisdom that comes to perception is perception of truth from being affected by it, especially perception of spiritual truth. for there is civil, moral, and spiritual truth. those who have some perception of spiritual truth from affection by it also have perceptions of moral and civil truth, for the affection of spiritual truth is the soul of those perceptions. i have spoken with angels at times about wisdom who said that wisdom is conjunction with the lord because he is wisdom itself, and that the man who rejects hell comes into this conjunction and comes into it so far as he rejects hell. they said that they picture wisdom to themselves as a magnificent and highly ornate palace into which one mounts by twelve steps. no one arrives at even the first step, they said, except from the lord by conjunction with him; and according to the measure of conjunction one ascends; also as one ascends, one perceives that no man is wise from himself but from the lord. furthermore, they said that the things in which one is wise are to those in which one is not wise like a few drops of water to a large lake. by the twelve steps into the palace of wisdom are meant goods united to truths and truths united to goods. . (iv) _the more closely one is conjoined to the lord the happier one becomes._ the like can be said of degrees of happiness as was said (nn. and ) of degrees of life and of wisdom according to conjunction with the lord. happiness, that is, blessedness and joy, also are heightened as the higher degrees of the mind, called spiritual and celestial, are opened with man. after his life in the world these degrees grow to eternity. . no one who is in the pleasures of the lusts of evil can know anything of the joys of the affections of good in which the angelic heaven is. these pleasures and joys are opposites in internals and hence inwardly in externals, though superficially they may differ little. every love has its enjoyments; the love of evil with those in lusts also has, such as the love of committing adultery, of taking revenge, of defrauding, of stealing, of acting cruelly, indeed, in the worst men, of blaspheming the holy things of the church and of inveighing against god. the fountainhead of those enjoyments is the love of ruling from self-love. they come of lusts which obsess the interiors of the mind, from these flow into the body, and excite uncleannesses there which titillate the fibers. the physical pleasure springs from the pleasure which the mind takes in lusts. [ ] after death everyone comes to know in the spiritual world what the uncleannesses are which titillate the body's fibers in such persons and comes to know the nature of them. in general they are things cadaverous, excrementitious, filthy, malodorous, and urinous; for their hells teem with such uncleannesses. these are correspondences, as may be seen in the treatise _divine love and wisdom_ (nn. - ). after one has entered hell, however, these filthy delights are turned into wretchedness. this has been told in order that it may be understood what heaven's felicity is and its nature, of which we are now to speak; for a thing is known from its opposite. . it is impossible to describe in words the blessedness, satisfaction, joy and pleasure, in short, the felicity of heaven, so sensibly perceived there. what is perceived solely by feeling, cannot be described, for it does not fall into ideas of thought nor, therefore, into words. for the understanding sees only and sees what is of wisdom or truth, but not what is of love or good. those felicities are therefore inexpressible, but still they ascend in like degree with wisdom. they are infinitely various, and each is ineffable. i have heard this, also perceived it. [ ] these felicities enter when a man, of himself and yet from the lord, casts out the lusts of the love of evil and falsity. for these felicities are the happinesses of the affections of good and truth, the opposites of the lusts of the love of evil and falsity. those happinesses begin from the lord, thus from the inmost, diffuse themselves thence into things lower even to lowermost things, and thus fill the angel, making him a body of delight. such happinesses are to be found in infinite variety in every affection of good and truth, and eminently in the affection of wisdom. . there is no comparing the joys of the lusts of evil and the joys of the affections of good. inwardly in the former is the devil, in the latter the lord. if comparisons are to be ventured, the pleasures of the lusts of evil can only be compared to the lewd pleasures of frogs in stagnant ponds or to those of snakes in filth, while the pleasures of the affections of good must be likened to the delights which the mind takes in gardens and flower beds. for things like those which affect frogs and snakes affect those in the hells who are in lusts of evil; and things like those which affect the mind in gardens and flower beds affect those in the heavens who are in affections of good. for, as was said above, corresponding uncleannesses affect the evil, and corresponding cleannesses the good. . plainly, then, the more closely one is conjoined with the lord the happier one is. this happiness rarely shows itself in the world, however; for man is then in a natural state, and the natural does not communicate with the spiritual by continuity, but by correspondence. the communication is felt only in a certain repose and peace of mind, especially after struggles against evil. but when a person puts off the natural state and enters the spiritual state, as he does on leaving the world, the happiness described above gradually manifests itself. . (v) _the more closely one is conjoined to the lord the more distinctly does he seem to himself to be his own, and the more plainly does he recognize that he is the lord's._ the appearance is that the more closely one is conjoined to the lord the less one is one's own. this appearance prevails with all the evil. it also prevails with those who from religion believe that they are not under the yoke of the law and that no one can of himself do good. all these inevitably think that to be free only to do good and not to think and will evil is not to be one's own. inasmuch as a man who is conjoined to the lord does not will and cannot think or will evil, they conclude from the look that this is not to be one's own. yet that is the opposite of the truth. . there is infernal freedom, and there is heavenly freedom. thinking and willing evil and also speaking and doing it so far as civil and moral laws do not prevent, is from infernal freedom. but thinking and willing good and speaking and doing it so far as opportunity offers, is from heavenly freedom. a man perceives as his own what he thinks, wills, speaks and does in freedom. the freedom anyone has always comes from his love. the man in an evil love cannot but deem infernal freedom to be real freedom, and a man in love of the good perceives that heavenly freedom is real freedom; consequently each regards the opposite of his freedom as bondage. no one can deny that one or the other must be freedom, for two kinds of freedom opposed to each other cannot both be freedom. furthermore it cannot be denied that to be led by good is freedom and to be led by evil is bondage. for to be led by good is to be led by the lord, but to be led by evil is to be led by the devil. [ ] inasmuch as all he does in freedom appears to a man to be his own, coming as it does from what he loves, and to act from one's love, as was said, is to act freely, it follows that conjunction with the lord causes a man to seem free and also his own, and the more closely he is conjoined to the lord, to seem so much freer and so much more his own. he seems the more distinctly his own because it is the nature of the divine love to want its own to be another's, that is, to be the angel's or the man's. all spiritual love is such, preeminently the lord's. the lord, moreover, never coerces anyone. for nothing to which one is coerced seems one's own, and what seems not one's own cannot be done from one's love or be appropriated to one as one's own. man is always led in freedom by the lord, therefore, and reformed and regenerated in freedom. on this much more will be said in what follows; also see some things above, n. . . the reason why the more distinctly a man seems to be his own the more plainly he sees that he is the lord's, is that the more closely he is conjoined to the lord the wiser he becomes (as was shown, nn. - ), and wisdom teaches and recognizes this. the angels of the third heaven, as the wisest angels, perceive this and call it freedom itself; but to be led by themselves they call bondage. they give as the reason for this that the lord does not flow immediately into the perceptions and thoughts of wisdom, but into the affections of the love of good and by these into the former, and this influx they perceive in the affection by which they have wisdom. hence, they say, all that they think from wisdom seems to be from themselves, thus seemingly their own, and this gives reciprocal conjunction. . as the lord's divine providence has for its object a heaven from mankind, it has for its object the conjunction of the human race with him (see nn. - ). it also has for its object that man should be more and more closely conjoined to him (nn. , ); for thus man possesses a more interior heaven. further, it has for its object that by the conjunction man should become wiser (nn. - ) and happier (nn. - ), for he has heaven by and according to wisdom, and happiness by wisdom, too. finally, providence has for its object that man shall seem more distinctly his own, yet recognize the more clearly that he is the lord's (nn. - ). all these are of the lord's divine providence, for all are heaven and heaven is its object. iii. in all that it does the lord's divine providence looks to what is infinite and eternal . christendom knows that god is infinite and eternal. the doctrine of the trinity which is named for athanasius says that god the father is infinite, eternal and omnipotent, so also god the son, and god the holy spirit, and that nevertheless there are not three who are infinite, eternal and omnipotent, but one. as god is infinite and eternal, only what is infinite and eternal can be predicated of him. what infinite and eternal are, finite man cannot comprehend and yet can comprehend. he cannot comprehend them because the finite is incapable of what is infinite; he can comprehend them because there are abstract ideas by which one can see _that_ things are, though not _what_ they are. of the infinite such ideas are possible as that god or the divine, being infinite, is _esse_ itself, is essence and substance itself, wisdom and love themselves or good and truth themselves, thus is the one self, indeed is veritable man; there is such an idea, too, in speaking of the infinite as "all," as that infinite wisdom is _omniscience_ and infinite power _omnipotence._ [ ] still these ideas turn obscure to thought and may meet denial for not being comprehended, unless what one's thought gets from nature is removed from the idea, especially what it gets from the two properties of nature, space and time. for these are bound to restrict the ideas and to make abstract ideas seem to be nothing. but if such things can be removed in a man, as they are in an angel, what is infinite can be comprehended by the means just mentioned. then also it will be grasped that the human being is something because he was created by infinite god who is all; also that he is a finite substance, having been created by infinite god who is substance itself; further that man is wisdom inasmuch as he was created by infinite god who is wisdom itself; and so on. for were infinite god not all, and were he not substance and wisdom themselves, man would not be anything actual, thus would either be nothing or exist only in idea, as those visionaries think who are called idealists. [ ] it is plain from what was shown in the treatise _divine love and wisdom_ that the divine essence is love and wisdom (nn. - ); that divine love and wisdom are substance itself and form itself, the one self and the sole underived being (nn. - ); and that god created the universe and its contents from himself, and not from nothing (nn. - ). it follows that every creature and above all the human being and the love and wisdom in him, are real, and do not exist only in idea. for were god not infinite, the finite would not be; were the infinite not all, no particular thing would be; and had not god created all things from himself, nothing whatever would be. in a word, we are because god is. . we are considering divine providence and at this point how it regards what is infinite and eternal in all that it does. this can be clearly told only in some order. let this be the order: i. the infinite and eternal in itself is the same as the divine. ii. what is infinite and eternal in itself cannot but look to what is infinite and eternal from itself in finite things. iii. divine providence looks to the infinite and eternal from itself in all that it does, especially in saving mankind. iv. an image of the infinite and eternal offers in an angelic heaven formed from a redeemed mankind. v. the heart of divine providence is to look to what is infinite and eternal by fashioning an angelic heaven, for it to be like one human being before the lord, an image of him. . (i) _the infinite and eternal in itself is the same as the divine._ this is plain from what was shown in many places in the work _divine love and wisdom._ the concept comes from the angelic idea. by the infinite, angels understand nothing else than the divine _esse_ and by the eternal the divine _existere._ but men can see and cannot see that what is infinite and eternal in itself is the divine. those can see this who do not think of the infinite from space and of the eternal from time; those cannot see it who think of infinite and eternal in terms of space and time. those, therefore, can see it who think at some elevation, that is, inwardly in the rational mind; those cannot who think in a lower, that is, more external way. [ ] those by whom it can be seen reflect that a spatial infinite is an impossibility, so likewise a temporal eternity or an eternity from which the world has been. the infinite has no first or final limit or boundaries. they also reflect that there cannot be another infinite from it, for "from it" implies a boundary or beginning, or a prior source. they therefore think that it is meaningless to speak of an infinite and eternal from itself, for that is like talking of an _esse_ from itself, which is a contradiction. an infinite from itself could only be an infinite from an infinite, and _esse_ from itself only _esse_ from _esse._ such an infinite or _esse_ would either be the same with the infinite or be finite. from these and like considerations, inwardly seen in the rational mind, it is plain that there is what is infinite in itself and eternal in itself, and that they are the divine whence are all things. . i know that many will say to themselves, "how can anybody grasp anything inwardly and rationally apart from space and time, and think that it not only exists, but is also the all and the self from which are all things?" but think deeply whether love or any affection of love, or wisdom or any perception of wisdom, yes, whether thought is in space and time, and you will grasp the fact that they are not. the divine, therefore, being love itself and wisdom itself, cannot be conceived of in space and time; neither, then, can the infinite. to see this more clearly ponder whether thought is in time and space. suppose thought is sustained for ten or twelve hours; may not the length of time seem like one or two hours? may it not seem like one or two days? the seeming duration is according to the state of affection from which the thought springs. if the affection is a joyous one, in which time is not noticed, thought over ten or twelve hours seems as though it were one or two hours. the contrary is true if the affection is a sorrowful one, in which one watches the passage of time. it is evident from this that time is only an appearance according to the state of affection from which the thought springs. the same is true of one's thought of the distance on a walk or a journey. . since angels and spirits are affections of love and thoughts thence they are not in space or time, either, but only in an appearance of them. space and time appear to them in keeping with the states of their affections and their thoughts thence. when one of them, therefore, thinks with affection of another, intently desiring to see or speak with him, the other is at once present. [ ] hence, too, present with every man are spirits who are in an affection like his--evil spirits with a man in an affection of similar evil, and good spirits with the man in an affection of similar good. they are as fully present as though he was one of their society. space and time have nothing to do with their presence, for affection and thought therefrom are not in space and time, and spirits and angels are affections and thoughts therefrom. [ ] i have been given to know this by living experience over many years. for i have spoken with many on their death, some in different kingdoms of europe, and some in different kingdoms of asia and africa, and all were near me. if space and time existed for them, a journey and time to make it would have intervened. [ ] indeed, every man knows this by some instinct in him or in his mind, as has been verified to me by the fact that nobody has thought of distances when i have reported that i had spoken with some person who died in asia, africa or europe, for example with calvin, luther, or melancthon, or with some king, governor or priest in a far region. the thought occurred to no one, "how could he speak with those who had lived there, and how could they come and be present with him, when lands and seas lay between?" so it was plain to me that in thinking of those in the spiritual world a man does not think of space and time. for those there, however, there is an appearance of time and space; see the work _heaven and hell,_ nn. - , - . . from these considerations it may now be plain that the infinite and eternal, thus the lord, are to be thought of apart from space and time and can be so thought of; plain, likewise, that they are so thought of by those who think interiorly and rationally; and plain that the infinite and eternal are identical with the divine. so think angels and spirits. in thought withdrawn from space and time, divine omnipresence is comprehended, and divine omnipotence, also the divine from eternity, but these are not at all grasped by thought to which an idea of space and time adheres. plain it is, then, that one can conceive of god from eternity, but never of nature from eternity. so one can think of the creation of the world by god, but never of its creation from nature, for space and time are proper to nature, but the divine is apart from them. that the divine is apart from space and time may be seen in the treatise _divine love and wisdom_ (nn. - , - , - , and other places). . (ii) _what is infinite and eternal in itself cannot but look to what is infinite and eternal from itself in finite things._ by what is infinite and eternal in itself the divine itself is meant, as was shown in the preceding section. by finite things are meant all things created by the lord, especially men, spirits, and angels. by looking to the infinite and eternal from itself is meant to look to the divine, that is to himself, in these, as a person beholds his image in a mirror. this was shown in several places in the treatise _divine love and wisdom,_ particularly where it was demonstrated that in the created universe there is an image of the human being and that this is an image of the infinite and eternal (nn. , ), that is, of god the creator, namely, the lord from eternity. but be it known that the divine-in-itself is in the lord; whereas the divine-from-itself is the divine from the lord in things created. . but for better comprehension let this be illustrated. the divine can look only to the divine, and can do so only in what has been created by it. this is evident from the fact that no one can regard another except from what is his own in himself. one who loves another regards him from his own love; a wise man regards another from his own wisdom. he can note whether the other loves him or not, is wise or not; but this he does from the love and wisdom in himself. therefore he unites himself with the other so far as the other loves him as he loves the other, or so far as the other is wise as he is wise; for thus they make one. [ ] it is the same with the divine-in-itself. for the divine cannot look to itself from another, that is, from man, spirit, or angel. for there is nothing in them of the divine-in-itself from which are all things, and to look to the divine from another in whom there is nothing of the divine would be to look to the divine from what is not divine, which is an impossibility. hence the lord is so conjoined to man, spirit, or angel that all which is referable to the divine is not from them but from the lord. for it is known that all good and truth which anyone has are not from him but from the lord; indeed that no one can name the lord or speak his names jesus and christ except from him. [ ] consequently the infinite and eternal, which is the same as the divine, looks to all things in finite beings infinitely and conjoins itself with them in the degree in which they receive love and wisdom. in a word, the lord can have his abode and dwell with man and angel only in his own, and not in what is solely theirs, for this is evil; if it is good, it is still finite, which in and of itself is incapable of the infinite. plainly, the finite cannot possibly look to what is infinite, but the infinite can look to the infinite-from-itself in finite beings. . it seems as if the infinite could not be conjoined to the finite because no ratio is possible between them and because the finite cannot compass the infinite. conjunction is possible, nevertheless, both because the infinite created all things from himself (as was shown in the work _divine love and wisdom,_ nn. - ), and because the infinite cannot but look in things finite to what is infinite from him, and this infinite-from-him in finite beings can appear as if it were in them. thereby a ratio is possible between finite and infinite, not from the finite, indeed, but from the infinite in the finite. thereby, too, the finite is capable of the infinite, not the finite being in himself, but as if in himself from the infinite-from-itself in him. but of this more in what follows. . (iii) _divine providence looks to the infinite and eternal from itself in all that it does, especially in saving mankind._ the infinite and eternal in itself is the divine itself, or the lord in himself; the infinite and eternal _from_ itself is the proceeding divine or the lord in others created by him, thus in men and angels. this divine is identical with divine providence, for by the divine from himself the lord provides that all things shall be held together in the order in which and into which they were created. this the divine in the act of proceeding accomplishes and consequently all this is divine providence. . that divine providence in all that it does looks to what is infinite and eternal from itself is evident from the fact that every created thing proceeds from a first, which is the infinite and eternal, to things last, and from things last to the first whence it is (as was shown in the work _divine love and wisdom,_ in the part in which the creation of the world is treated of). but the first whence anything is, is inmostly in all the progression, and therefore the proceeding divine or divine providence in all that it does has in view some image of the infinite and eternal. it does so in all things, in some obviously so that it is perceptible, in others not. it makes that image evident to perception in the variety, and in the fructification and multiplication, of all things. [ ] _an image of the infinite and eternal is apparent in the variety of all things,_ in that no one thing is the same as another nor can be to eternity. the eye beholds this in the variety of human faces ever since creation; in the variety of minds, of which faces are types; and in the variety of affections, perceptions and thoughts, for of these the mind consists. in all heaven, therefore, no two angels or spirits are the same, nor can be to eternity. the same is true of every object to be seen in either the natural or the spiritual world. plainly, the variety is infinite and eternal. [ ] _an image of the infinite and eternal is manifest in the fructification and multiplication of all things,_ in the vegetable kingdom in the capacity implanted in seeds, and in the animal kingdom in reproduction, especially in the family of fishes. were the seeds to bear fruit and the animals to multiply in the measure of ability, they would fill all the world, even the universe, in a generation. obviously there is latent in that ability an endeavor after self-propagation to infinity. and as fructification and multiplication have not failed from the beginning of creation and never will, plainly there is in that ability an endeavor after self-propagation to eternity also. . the like is true of human beings as to their affections, which are of love, and their perceptions, which are of wisdom. the variety of either is infinite and eternal; so, too, is their fructification and multiplication, which is spiritual. no person enjoys an affection and perception so like another's as to be identical with it, nor ever will. affections, moreover, may be fructified and perceptions multiplied without end. knowledge, it is well known, is inexhaustible. this capacity of fructification and multiplication without end or to infinity and eternity exists in natural things with men, in spiritual with the spiritual angels, and in celestial with the celestial angels. affections, perceptions and knowledges have this endless capacity not only in general, but in every least particular. they have it because they exist from the infinite and eternal in itself through what is infinite and eternal from itself. but as the finite has in it nothing of the divine, nothing of the kind, not the least, is in the human being as his own. man or angel is finite and only a receptacle, by itself dead. whatever is living in him is from the proceeding divine, joined to him by contact, and appearing in him as if it were his. the truth of this will be seen in what follows. . divine providence regards what is infinite and eternal from itself especially in saving mankind because its object is a heaven from mankind (as was shown, nn. - ), and therefore it is man's reformation and regeneration or salvation to which it especially looks, since heaven consists of the saved or regenerate. to regenerate man, moreover, is to unite good and truth or love and wisdom in him, as they are united in the lord's proceeding divine; to this especially, therefore, providence looks in saving the race. the image of the infinite and eternal is not to be found elsewhere in man than in the marriage of good and truth. this marriage the proceeding divine effects. men filled by the proceeding divine, which is called the holy spirit, have prophesied, as we know from the word; men enlightened by it see divine truths in heaven's light; above all, angels sensibly perceive the presence, influx and conjunction, though they are aware that the conjunction is no more than can be termed adjunction. . it has not been known that divine providence in all its procedure with man looks to his eternal state. it can look to nothing else because the divine is infinite and eternal, and the infinite and eternal or the divine is not in time; therefore all future things are present to it. it follows that there is eternity in all that the divine does. but those who think from time and space perceive this with difficulty, not only because they love temporal things, but also because they think from what is on hand in the world and not from what is at hand in heaven; this is as remote to them as the ends of the earth. those, however, who are in the divine, inasmuch as they think from the lord, think from what is eternal as well as from what is at present, asking themselves, "what is that which is not eternal? is not the temporal relatively nothing and does it not become nothing when it is past?" the eternal is not so; it alone _is;_ its _esse_ has no end. to think thus is to think both from the present and the eternal, and when a man not only thinks so but lives so, the proceeding divine with him or divine providence looks in all its procedure to the state of his eternal life in heaven and guides to it. in what follows it will be seen that the divine looks to the eternal in everybody, in an evil as well as in a good person. . (iv) _an image of the infinite and eternal offers in an angelic heaven._ among things we need to know about is the angelic heaven. everyone who has any religion thinks about heaven and wishes to go there. yet heaven is granted only to those who know the way to it and walk in that way. we can know the way to an extent by knowing the character of those who constitute heaven and by knowing that no one becomes an angel or comes into heaven unless he brings with him from the world what is angelic. in what is angelic there is a knowledge of the way from walking in it, and a walking in the way through a knowledge of it. in the spiritual world, moreover, there are actually ways leading to every society of heaven or of hell. each sees his own way as if for himself. he does so because a way is there for every love; the love discloses the way and takes a man to his fellows. no one sees other ways than the way of his love. plain it is from this that angels are nothing but heavenly loves; otherwise they would not have seen the ways tending to heaven. this will be plainer still when heaven is described. . every man's spirit is affection and thought therefrom. and as all affection is of love, and thought is of the understanding, every spirit is his own love and his own understanding therefrom. when a man is thinking solely from his own spirit, therefore, as he does in private meditation at home, he thinks from the affection belonging to his love. it is clear, then, that when a man becomes a spirit, as he does after death, he is the affection of his own love and has no other thought than that of his affection. if his love has been one of evil, he is an evil affection, which is a lust; if his love has been one of good, he is a good affection. everyone has a good affection so far as he has shunned evils as sins, and an evil affection so far as he has not shunned evils as sins. as all spirits and angels, then, are affections, the whole angelic heaven is nothing but the love of all the affections of good and the attendant wisdom of all the perceptions of truth. since all good and truth are from the lord and he is love itself, the angelic heaven is an image of him. furthermore, as divine love and wisdom are human in form, it also follows that the angelic heaven must be in that form. of this we shall say more in the following section. . the angelic heaven is an image of the infinite and eternal, then, because it is an image of the lord, who is infinite and eternal. the image of his infinity and eternity is manifest in heaven's being constituted of myriads and myriads of angels, and in its consisting of as many societies as there are general affections of heavenly love; manifest, again, in every angel's being distinctly his own affection; manifest further in that the form of heaven--a unit in the divine sight just as man is a unit--is assembled from so many affections, general and particular; also manifest in that this form is perfected to eternity with the increase in numbers, the greater the number of those entering into the form of the divine love which is the form of forms, the more perfect the resulting unity. it is plain from all this that the angelic heaven presents an image of the infinite and eternal. . from the knowledge of heaven to be had from this brief description it is evident that it is an affection of the love of good that makes heaven in a man. but who knows this today? who knows even what an affection of the love of good is, or that these affections are innumerable, in fact, infinite? for, as was said, each angel is his own particular affection; and the form of heaven is the form of all the affections of the divine love there. only one being can combine all affections into this form--only he who is love and wisdom itself and who is at once infinite and eternal. for throughout that form is what is infinite and eternal; the infinite is in its unity and the eternal in its perpetuity; were they removed the form would instantly collapse. who else can combine affections into a form? who else can bring about this unity? the unity can be accomplished only in an idea of the total, and the total realized only in thought for each single part. myriads on myriads compose that form; annually myriads enter it and will do so to eternity. all infants enter it and all adults who are affections of the love of good. again from all this the image of the infinite and eternal in the angelic heaven is to be seen. . (v) _the heart of divine providence is to look to what is infinite and eternal by fashioning an angelic heaven for it to be like one human being before the lord, an image of him._ see in the work _heaven and hell_ (nn. - ) that heaven as a whole is like one man in the lord's sight; that each society of heaven also is; that as a result each angel is a human being in perfect form; and that this is because god the creator, who is the lord from eternity, is man; also (nn. - ) that as a result there is a correspondence of all things of heaven with all things in the human being. the entire heaven as one man has not been seen by me, for only the lord can so behold it; but that an entire society, whether large or small, can appear as one man, i have seen. i was then told that the largest society of all, which is heaven in its entirety, so appears, but to the lord alone; and that this causes every angel to be in full form a human being. . as all heaven is like one man in the lord's view, it is divided into as many general societies as there are organs, viscera and members in man, and each general society into as many less general or particular societies as there are larger divisions in each of the viscera and organs. this makes evident what heaven is. because the lord is very man and heaven is his image, to be in heaven is called "being in the lord." see in the work _divine love and wisdom_ that the lord is very man (nn. - , - ). . from all this the arcanum, well called angelic, can in a measure be seen, that each affection of good and at the same time of truth is human in form. for whatever proceeds from the lord gets from his divine love that it is an affection of good and from his divine wisdom that it is an affection of truth. an affection of truth proceeding from the lord appears in angel and man as perception and consequent thought of truth. for we are aware of perception and thought, but little aware of the affection whence they are, although all come as one from the lord. . man, then, is by creation a heaven in least form and hence an image of the lord; heaven consists of as many affections as there are angels; and each affection in its form is man. it must then be the constant striving of divine providence that a man may become a heaven in form and an image of the lord, and as this is effected by means of an affection of the good and true, that he may become such an affection. this is therefore the unceasing effort of divine providence. but its inmost aim is that a man may be here or there in heaven or in the divine heavenly man, for so he is in the lord. but this is accomplished with those whom the lord can lead to heaven. as he foresees who can be led he also provides continually that a man may become amenable; for thus everyone who suffers himself to be led to heaven is prepared for his own place there. . we have said that heaven is divided into as many societies as there are organs, viscera and members in man; and in these no part can be in any place but its own. as angels are the parts in the divine heavenly man, and none become angels who were not men in the world, the man who suffers himself to be led to heaven is continually prepared by the lord for his own place there. this is done by the affection of good and truth which corresponds with that place. to this place every angel-man is also assigned on his departure from the world. this is the inmost of divine providence touching heaven. . on the other hand, a man who does not permit himself to be led to heaven and allotted a place there is prepared for his own place in hell. of himself a man tends constantly to the depths of hell but is continually withheld by the lord. he who cannot be withheld is prepared for a given place in hell, to which he is assigned on departure from the world. this place is opposite one in heaven; for hell is the opposite of heaven. so, as the angel-man according to his affection of good and truth is allotted his place in heaven, the devil-man according to his affection of evil and falsity is allotted his in hell. the two opposites, set exactly over against each other, are kept in connection. this is the inmost of divine providence touching hell. iv. there are laws of providence that are unknown to men . men know there is divine providence, but not what its nature is. this is not known because its laws are arcana, hitherto hidden in the wisdom of angels. these laws are to be revealed now in order that what belongs to the lord may be ascribed to him, and nothing ascribed to man that is not man's. for very many in the world attribute everything to themselves and their prudence, and what they cannot so attribute they call fortuitous and accidental, not knowing that human prudence is nothing and that "fortuitous" and "accidental" are idle words. [ ] we say that the laws of divine providence are arcana "hidden until now in the wisdom of the angels." they have been hidden because the understanding has been closed in christendom in religion's name on divine things, and has been rendered so dull and averse in these matters that man has not been able because he has not been willing, or has not been willing because he has not been able, to understand anything about providence beyond the mere fact that it exists, or to do more than argue whether it exists or not, also whether it is only general or also detailed. closed up on divine things in the name of religion, understanding could advance no further. [ ] but it is acknowledged in the church that man cannot of himself do good which is in itself good or of himself think truth which is in itself truth. this acknowledgment is at one with divine providence; these are interdependent beliefs. lest therefore one be affirmed and the other denied and both fail, what divine providence is must by all means be revealed. it cannot be revealed unless the laws by which the lord oversees and governs the volitions and thoughts of the human being are disclosed. the laws enable one to know the nature of providence, and only one who knows its nature can acknowledge providence, for then he beholds it. the laws of divine providence, hitherto hidden with angels in their wisdom, are therefore to be revealed now. v. it is a law of divine providence that man shall act from freedom according to reason . as is known, man is free to think and will as he wishes, but not to speak whatever he thinks or to do whatever he wills. the freedom meant here, therefore, is spiritual freedom and natural freedom only as they make one; for thinking and willing are spiritual, and speaking and acting are natural. the two are readily distinguishable in man, for he can think what he does not utter and will what he does not do; plainly, spiritual and natural are discriminated in him. he can pass from the former to the latter therefore only on a decision to do so--a decision which can be likened to a door that must first be unfastened and opened. this door, it is true, stands open, as it were, in those who think and will from reason in accord with the civil laws of the land and the moral laws of society, for they speak what they think and do what they will to do. but in those who think and will contrary to those laws, the door stands shut, as it were. one who watches his volitions and subsequent deeds knows that such a decision intervenes, sometimes more than once in a single utterance or action. this we have premised for it to be understood that by acting from freedom according to reason is meant to think and will freely _and_ thence to speak and do freely what is according to reason. . since few know, however, that the law above can be a law of divine providence, principally because a man is also free then to think evil and falsity (still divine providence is continually leading him to think and will what is good and true), for clearer perception we must proceed step by step and shall do so in this order: i. the human being has reason and freedom or rationality and liberty, and has these two faculties from the lord. ii. whatever a man does in freedom, whether with reason or not, provided it is according to his reason, seems to him to be his. iii. whatever a man does in freedom according to his thought, is appropriated to him as his and remains. iv. a man is reformed and regenerated by the lord by means of the two faculties and cannot be reformed and regenerated without them. v. a man can be reformed and regenerated by means of the two faculties so far as he can be led by them to acknowledge that all truth and good which he thinks and does are from the lord and not from himself. vi. the conjunction of the lord with man, and man's reciprocal conjunction with the lord, is effected by means of these two faculties. vii. in all the procedure of his divine providence the lord safeguards the two faculties in man unimpaired and as sacred. viii. it is therefore of the divine providence that man shall act in freedom according to reason. . (i) _the human being has reason and freedom or rationality and liberty, and has these two faculties from the lord._ man has a faculty of understanding, which is rationality, and a faculty of thinking, willing, speaking and doing what he understands, which is liberty; and he has these two faculties from the lord (see the work _divine love and wisdom,_ nn. - , , and above, nn. , ). but many doubts may arise about either of the two faculties when thought is given to them; therefore i want to say something at this point just about man's freedom to act according to reason. [ ] first, it should be known that all freedom is of love, so much so that love and freedom are one. as love is man's life, freedom is of his life, too. for man's every enjoyment is from some love of his and has no other source, and to act from the enjoyment of one's love is to act in freedom. enjoyment leads a man as the current bears an object along on a stream. but loves are many, some harmonious, others not; therefore freedoms are many. in general there are three: natural, rational, and spiritual freedom. [ ] _natural freedom_ is man's by heredity. in it he loves only himself and the world: his first life is nothing else. from these two loves, moreover, all evils arise and thus attach to love. hence to think and will evil is man's natural freedom, and when he has also confirmed evils in himself by reasonings, he does them in freedom according to his reason. doing them is from his faculty called liberty, and confirming them from his faculty called rationality. [ ] for example, it is from the love into which he is born that he desires to commit adultery, to defraud, to blaspheme, to take revenge. confirming these evils in himself and by this making them allowable, he then, from his love's enjoyment in them, thinks and wills them freely and as if according to reason, and so far as civil laws do not hinder, speaks and does them. it is of the lord's divine providence that man is allowed to do so, for freedom or liberty is his. this natural freedom is man's by nature because by heredity, and those are in this freedom who have confirmed it in themselves by reasonings from enjoyment in self-love and love of the world. [ ] _rational freedom_ is from the love of good repute for the sake of standing or gain. the delight of this love is to seem outwardly a moral person. loving this reputation, the man does not defraud, commit adultery, take revenge, or blaspheme; and making this his reasoned course, he also does in freedom according to reason what is sincere, just, chaste, and friendly; indeed from reason can advocate such conduct. but if his rational is only natural and not spiritual, his freedom is only external and not internal. he does not love these goods inwardly at all, but only outwardly for reputation's sake, as we said. the good deeds he does are therefore not in themselves good. he can also say that they should be done for the sake of the general welfare, but he speaks out of no love for that welfare, but from love of his own standing or gain. his freedom therefore derives nothing from love of the public good, nor does his reason, which complies with his love. this rational freedom, therefore, is inwardly natural freedom. the lord's divine providence leaves everyone this freedom too. [ ] _spiritual freedom_ is from love of eternal life. into this love and its enjoyment only he comes who regards evils as sins and therefore does not will them, and who also looks to the lord. once a man does this he is in this freedom. one can refuse to will and do evils for the reason that they are sins, only from an interior or higher freedom, belonging to his interior or higher love. this freedom does not seem at first to be freedom, yet it is. later it does seem freedom, and the man acts in real freedom according to true reason, thinking, willing, speaking and doing the good and the true. this freedom grows as natural freedom decreases and serves it; and it unites with rational freedom and purifies it. [ ] anyone can come into this freedom if he is willing to think that there is a life eternal, and that the joy and bliss of life in time and for a time is like a passing shadow to the joy and bliss of life in eternity and for eternity. a man can think so if he will, for he has rationality and liberty, and the lord, from whom he has the two faculties, constantly enables him to do so. . (ii) _whatever a man does in freedom, whether with reason or not, provided it is according to his reason, seems to him to be his._ nothing makes so clear what rationality and liberty are, which are proper to the human being, as to compare man and beast. beasts do not have any rationality or faculty of understanding, or any liberty or faculty of willing freely. they do not have understanding or will, therefore, but instead of understanding they have knowledge and instead of will affection, both of these natural. not having the two faculties, animals do not have thought, but instead an internal sight which makes one with their external sight by correspondence. [ ] every affection has its mate, its consort, so to speak. an affection of natural love has knowledge, one of spiritual love has intelligence, and one of celestial love, wisdom. without its mate or consort an affection is nothing, but is like esse apart from existere or substance without form, of which nothing can be predicated. hence there is in every created thing something referable to the marriage of good and truth, as we have shown several times. in beasts it is a marriage of affection and knowledge; the affection is one of natural good, and the knowledge is knowledge of natural truth. [ ] affection and knowledge in beasts act altogether as one. their affection cannot be raised above their knowledge, nor the knowledge above the affection; if they are raised, they are raised together. nor have animals a spiritual mind into which, or into the heat and light of which, they can be raised. thus they have no faculty of understanding or rationality, or faculty of freely willing or liberty, and nothing more than natural affection with its knowledge. their natural affection is that of finding food and shelter, of propagating, of avoiding and guarding against injury, together with the knowledge needed for this. as this is their kind of existence, they cannot think, "i will this but not that," or "i know this but not that," still less, "i understand this" or "i love that." they are borne along by affection and its knowledge without rationality and liberty. it is not from the natural world that they are borne along so, but from the spiritual world. nothing can exist in the natural world that does not have its connection with the spiritual world: thence is every cause that accomplishes an effect. on this see also some things below (n. ). . it is otherwise with man, who has affections not only of natural love, but also of spiritual and celestial loves. for man's mind is of three degrees, as was shown in part iii of the treatise _divine love and wisdom._ man can be raised therefore from natural knowledge into spiritual intelligence and on into celestial wisdom. from the two, intelligence and wisdom, he can look to the lord, be conjoined with him, and thereby live to eternity. this elevation as to affection would not be possible did he not from rationality have the power to raise the understanding, and from liberty the power to will this. [ ] by means of the two faculties man can think in himself about what he perceives outside him through the senses, and can also think on high about what he thinks below. anyone can say, "i have thought and i think so and so," "i have willed and i will so and so," "i understand that this is a fact," "i love this for what it is," and so on. obviously, man thinks above his thought, and sees it, as it were, below him. this comes to him from rationality and liberty; from rationality he can think on high, and from liberty he can will so to think. unless he had liberty to think so, he would not have the will, nor the thought from it. [ ] those, therefore, who will to understand only what is of the world and nature and not what moral and spiritual good and truth are, cannot be raised from knowledge into intelligence, still less into wisdom, for they have stifled those faculties. they render themselves no longer men except that they can understand if they wish, and can also will, by virtue of the implanted rationality and liberty; from the two capacities it is that one can think and from thought speak. in other respects, they are not men but beasts, and some, in their abuse of those faculties, are worse than beasts. . from an unclouded rationality anyone can see or grasp that without the appearance that it is his own a man cannot be in any affection to know or to understand. every joy and pleasure, thus everything of the will, is from an affection of some love. who can wish to know or to understand anything except that an affection of his takes pleasure in it? who can feel this pleasure unless what he is affected by seems to be his? were it not his, but another's altogether, that is, if another from his affection should infuse something into his mind when he himself felt no affection for knowing or grasping it, would he receive it? indeed, could he receive it? would he not be like one called a dullard or a clod? [ ] it should be manifest then that although everything that a man perceives, thinks, knows and, according to perception, wills and does, flows into him, nevertheless it is of the lord's divine providence that it seems to be the man's. otherwise, as we said, a man would not receive anything and so could be given no intelligence or wisdom. it is known that all good and truth are the lord's and not man's, and yet appear to be man's. as good and truth so appear, so do all things of the church and of heaven, and all things of love and wisdom, and all things of charity and faith; yet none of them is man's. no one can receive them from the lord unless it seems to him that he perceives them for himself. plainly, the truth of the matter is that whatever a man does in freedom, whether with reason or not, provided only that it accords with his reason, seems to him to be his. . who cannot from his faculty called rationality understand that a given good is serviceable to society, and a given evil harmful to society? that, for example, justice, sincerity, the chastity of marriage are serviceable to it, and injustice, insincerity, and misconduct with the wives of others, harmful? consequently that these evils are in themselves injuries, and those goods in themselves benefits? who then cannot make this a matter of his reason if only he will? he has rationality and he has liberty; the two faculties are bared, show, take charge and enable him to perceive and do in the measure that he avoids those evils because they are evils. so far as a man does this he looks on those goods as a friend looks on friends. [ ] by his faculty called rationality a man can conclude from this what goods are useful to society in the spiritual world and what evils are hurtful there, if instead of evils he sees sins and instead of goods works of charity. this he can also make a matter of his reason if he will, since he has liberty and rationality. his rationality and liberty emerge, become manifest, take charge and give him perception and power so far as he shuns evils as sins. so far as he does this he regards the goods of charity as neighbor regards neighbor in mutual love. [ ] for the sake of reception and union the lord wills that whatever a man does freely according to reason shall seem to him to be his; this agrees with reason itself. it follows that a man can from his reason will something on the ground that it means his eternal happiness and can perform it by the lord's divine power, implored by him. . (iii) _whatever a man does in freedom according to his thought is appropriated to him as his and remains._ the reason is that a man's own and his freedom make one. his proprium is of his life, and what he does from his life he does in freedom. his proprium is also of his love, for love is one's life, and what he does from his life's love he does in freedom. we speak of his acting in freedom "according to his thought" because what is of his life or love he also thinks and confirms by thought, and what is so confirmed he does in freedom then according to thought. what a man does, he does from the will by the understanding; freedom is of the will and thought is of the understanding. [ ] a man can also act freely contrary to reason, likewise not freely in accord with reason: then nothing is appropriated to him--what he does is only of the mouth and body, not of the spirit or heart; only what is of the spirit and heart, when it is also of the mouth and body, is appropriated. the truth of this can be illustrated by many things, but this is not the place. [ ] by being appropriated to man is meant entering his life and becoming part of it, consequently becoming his own. it will be seen in what follows that there is nothing, however, which is man's very own; it only seems to him as if it were. only this now: all the good a man does in freedom according to reason is appropriated to him as if it were his because it seems to be his in that he thinks, wills, speaks and does it. good is not man's, however, but the lord's with man (above, n. ). how evil is appropriated to man will appear in a section of its own. . we said that what a man does in freedom in accord with his thought also remains. for nothing that a man has appropriated to himself can be eradicated; it has been made part of his love and at the same time of his reason, or of his will and at the same time of his understanding, and so of his life. it can be put aside indeed, but not cast out; put aside, it is borne from center to periphery, where it stays; this is what we mean by its remaining. [ ] if, for example, in boyhood or youth, a man appropriated an evil to himself by doing it with enjoyment from love of it--a fraud, blasphemy, revenge, or fornication--having done it freely with the assent of thought, he made it his; but if later he repents, shuns it and considers it a sin to be averse from, and so desists from it freely according to reason, then the opposite good is appropriated to him. good then takes the center and removes evil to the periphery, farther according to his aversion and abhorrence for it. still the evil cannot be so thrust out that one can say it is extirpated; it may indeed in that removal seem extirpated. what occurs is that the man is withheld from the evil by the lord and held in good. this can happen with all inherited evil and all a man's actual evil. [ ] i have seen this verified by the experience of some in heaven who thought they were without evil, being held in good as they were by the lord. lest they should believe that the good in which they were was their own, they were let down from heaven and let into their evils until they acknowledged that of themselves they were in evil, and in good only from the lord. upon this acknowledgment they were returned to heaven. [ ] be it known, therefore, that goods are appropriated to man only in that they are constantly with him from the lord, and that as a man acknowledges this the lord grants that good shall seem to be the man's, that is, that it shall seem to him that he loves the neighbor or has charity, believes or has faith, does good and understands truth, thus is wise, of himself. from this an enlightened person may see the nature and the strength of the appearance in which the lord wills man to be. the lord wills it for salvation's sake, for without that appearance no one can be saved. also see what was shown above on the subject (nn. - ). . nothing that a person only thinks, not even what he thinks to will, is appropriated to him unless he also wills it so that he does it when opportunity offers. for when a man then does it, he does it from the will by the understanding or from affection of the will by thought of the understanding. if it is something thought only, it cannot be appropriated, for the understanding does not conjoin itself to the will, or the thought of the understanding to the affection of the will, but the latter with the former, as we have shown many times in the treatise _divine love and wisdom,_ part v. this is meant by the lord's words, not that which enters the mouth renders a man unclean, but that which goes forth from the heart by the mouth renders a man unclean ( mt : , , , ). in the spiritual sense thought is meant by "mouth," for thought is spoken by it; affection which is of love is meant by "heart"; if the man thinks and speaks from this he makes himself unclean. in luke : also by "heart" an affection of love or of the will is meant, and by "mouth" the thought of the understanding. . evils which a man believes are allowable, though he does not do them, are also appropriated to him, for the licitness in thought is from the will, as there is assent. when a man deems an evil allowable he loosens the internal bond on it and is kept from doing it only by external bonds, which are fears. as his spirit favors the evil, he commits it when external bonds are removed as allowable, and meanwhile is committing it in spirit. but on this see _doctrine of life for the new jerusalem,_ nn. - . . (iv) _a man is reformed and regenerated by the lord by means of the two faculties and cannot be reformed or regenerated without them._ the lord teaches that, unless one is born anew, he cannot see the kingdom of god (jn : , , ). few know what it is to be born anew or regenerated. for most do not know what love and charity are, therefore what faith is, either. one who does not know what love and charity are cannot know what faith is because charity and faith make one as good and truth do, and as affection which is of the will, and thought which is of the understanding, do. on this union see the treatise _divine love and wisdom,_ nn. - ; also _doctrine for the new jerusalem,_ nn. - ; and above, nn. - . . no one can enter the kingdom of god unless he has been born anew for the reason that by heredity from his parents he is born into evils of every kind, with the capacity of becoming spiritual through removal of the evils; unless he becomes spiritual, then, he cannot enter heaven. to become spiritual from being natural is to be born again or regenerated. three things need to be considered if one is to know how man is regenerated: the nature of his first state, which is one of damnation; the nature of his second state, which is one of reformation; and the nature of his third state, which is one of regeneration. [ ] man's first state, which is one of damnation, is every one's state by heredity from his parents. for man is born thereby into self-love and love of the world, and from these as fountains into evils of every kind. by the enjoyments of those loves he is led, and they keep him from knowing that he is in evil, for the enjoyment of any love is felt to be good. unless he is regenerated, therefore, a man knows no otherwise than that to love himself and the world above all things is good itself, and to rule over others and possess their riches is the supreme good. so comes all evil. for only oneself is regarded with love. if another is regarded with love it is as devil loves devil or thief thief when they are in league. [ ] those who confirm these loves with themselves and the evils flowing from them, from enjoyment in them, remain natural and become sensuous-corporeal, and in their own thinking, which is that of their spirit, are insane. and yet, as long as they are in the world they can speak and act rationally and wisely, for they are human beings and so have rationality and liberty, though they still do this from self-love and love of the world. after death and on becoming spirits, they can enjoy nothing that they did not enjoy in the world. their enjoyment is that of an infernal love and is turned into the unpleasant, sorrowful and dreadful, meant in the word by torment and hell-fire. plain it is, then, that man's first state is one of damnation and that they are in it who do not suffer themselves to be regenerated. [ ] man's second state--of reformation--is his state when he begins to think of heaven for the joy there, thus of god from whom he has heaven's joy. but at first the thought comes from the enjoyment of self-love; to him heaven's joy is that enjoyment. while the enjoyments of that love and of the evils flowing from it rule, moreover, he cannot but think that to gain heaven is to pour out prayers, hear sermons, observe the supper, give to the poor, help the needy, make offerings to churches, contribute to hospitals, and the like. in this state a man is persuaded that merely to think about what religion teaches, whether this is called faith or called faith and charity, is to be saved. he is so minded because he gives no thought to the evils in the enjoyments of which he is. while those enjoyments remain, the evils do. the enjoyments of the evils are from the lust for them which continually inspires them and, when no fear restrains, brings them to pass. [ ] while evils remain in the lusts of love for them and so in one's enjoyments, there is no faith, piety, charity or worship except in externals, which seem real in the world's sight, but are not. they may be likened to waters flowing from an impure fountain, which one cannot drink. while a man is such that he thinks about heaven and god from religion but gives no thought to evils as sins, he is still in the first state. he comes into the second state, which is one of reformation, when he begins to think that there is such a thing as sin and still more when he thinks that a given evil is a sin, explores it somewhat in himself, and does not will it. [ ] man's third state, which is one of regeneration, sets in and continues from the former. it begins when a man desists from evils as sins, progresses as he shuns them, and is perfected as he battles against them. then as he conquers from the lord he is regenerated. the order of his life is changed; from natural he becomes spiritual; the natural separated from the spiritual is in disorder and the spiritual is in order. the regenerated man acts from charity and makes what is of his faith a part of his charity. but he becomes spiritual only in the measure in which he is in truths. everyone is regenerated by means of truths and of a life in accord with them; by truths he knows life and by his life he does the truths. so he unites good and truth, which is the spiritual marriage in which heaven is. .* man is reformed and regenerated by means of the two faculties called rationality and liberty, and cannot be reformed or regenerated without them, because it is by means of rationality that he can understand and know what is evil and what is good, and hence what is false and true, and by means of liberty that he can will what he understands and knows. but while the enjoyment of an evil love rules him he cannot will good and truth freely or make them a matter of his reason, and therefore cannot appropriate them to him. for, as was shown above, what a man does in freedom from reason is appropriated to him as his, and unless it is so appropriated, he is not reformed and regenerated. he acts from the enjoyment of a love of good and truth for the first time when the enjoyment of love for the evil and false has been removed. two opposite kinds of enjoyments of love at one and the same time are impossible. to act from the enjoyment of love is to act freely and is also to act according to reason, inasmuch as the reason favors the love. * this number must be kept though there is no number ; long established references to swedenborg's books make it necessary to keep the numbering in the latin original. . because an evil man as well as a good man has rationality and liberty, the evil man as well as the good can understand truth and do good. the evil man cannot do this in freedom according to reason, while a good man can; for the evil man is in the enjoyment of a love of evil, the good man in the enjoyment of a love of good. the truth which an evil man understands and the good he does are therefore not appropriated to him, as they are to the good man, and aside from appropriation there is no reformation or regeneration. with the evil man evils with their falsities occupy the center, as it were, and goods with their truths the circumference, but goods with their truths the center with the good man and evils with their falsities the periphery. in each case what is at the center is diffused to the circumference, as heat is from a fiery center and cold from an icy one. thus with the wicked the good at the circumference is defiled by evils at the center, and with the good evils at the circumference grow mild from the good at the center. for this reason evils do not condemn a regenerating man, nor do goods save the unregenerate. . (v) _a man can be reformed and regenerated by means of the two faculties so far as he can be led by them to acknowledge that all truth and good which he thinks and does are from the lord and not from himself._ what reformation and regeneration are has been told just above, likewise that man is reformed and regenerated by means of the two faculties of rationality and liberty. because it is done by those faculties, something more is to be said of them. from rationality a man can understand and from liberty he can will, doing each as of himself. yet he does not have the ability to will good in freedom and to do it in accord with reason unless he is regenerated. an evil man can will only evil in freedom and do it according to his thinking, which by confirmations he has made to be his reasoning. for evil can be confirmed as well as good, but is confirmed by fallacies and appearances which then become falsities; evil so confirmed seems to accord with reason. . anyone thinking from interior understanding can see that the power to will and the power to understand are not from man, but from him who has power itself, that is, power in its essence. only think whence power is. is it not from him who has it in its full might, that is, who possesses it in and from himself? power in itself, therefore, is divine. all power must have a supply on which to draw and direction from an interior or higher self. of itself the eye cannot see, nor the ear hear, nor the mouth speak, nor the hand do; there must be supply and direction from the mind. nor can the mind of itself think or will this or that unless something more interior or higher determines the mind to it. the same is true of the power to understand and the power to will. these are possible only from him who has in himself the power of willing and understanding. [ ] it is plain, then, that the two faculties called rationality and liberty are from the lord and not from man. man can therefore will or understand something only as if of himself, and not of himself. anyone can confirm the truth of this for himself who knows and believes that the will to good and the understanding of truth are wholly from the lord, and not from man. the word teaches that man can take nothing of himself and do nothing of himself (jn : ; : ). . as all willing is from love and all understanding is from wisdom, the ability to will is from divine love, and the ability to understand is from divine wisdom; thus both are from the lord who is divine love itself and divine wisdom itself. hence to act in freedom according to reason has no other source. everyone acts in freedom because, like love, freedom cannot be separated from willing. but there is interior and exterior willing, and a man can act upon the exterior without acting at the same time on the interior willing; so hypocrite and flatterer act. exterior willing, however, is still from freedom, being from a love of appearing other than one is, or from love of an evil which the person intends in the love of his inner will. an evil man, however, as has been said, cannot in freedom according to reason do anything but evil; he cannot do good in freedom according to reason; he can do good, to be sure, but not in the inner freedom which is his own, from which the outer freedom has its character of not being good. . a person can be reformed and regenerated, we have said, in the measure in which he is led by the two faculties to acknowledge that all good and truth which he thinks and does are from the lord and not from himself. a man can make this acknowledgment only by means of the two faculties, because they are from the lord and are the lord's in him, as is plain from what has been said. man can make this acknowledgment, therefore, only from the lord and not from himself; he can make it as if of himself; this the lord gives everyone to do. he may believe that it is of himself, but when wiser acknowledge that it is not of himself. otherwise the truth he thinks and the good he does are not in themselves truth and good, for the man and not the lord is in them. good in which the man is and which is done by him for salvation's sake is self-righteous, but not that in which the lord is. . few can grasp with understanding that acknowledgment of the lord, and acknowledgment that all good and truth are from him, cause one to be reformed and regenerated. for a person may think, "what does the acknowledgment effect when the lord is omnipotent and wills the salvation of all? this he wills and can accomplish if only he is moved to mercy." one is not thinking then from the lord, nor from the interior sight of the understanding, that is, from enlightenment. let me say briefly what the acknowledgment accomplishes. [ ] in the spiritual world where space is appearance only, wisdom brings about presence and love union, or the contrary happens. one can acknowledge the lord from wisdom, and one can acknowledge him from love. the acknowledgment of him from wisdom (viewed in itself this is only knowledge) is made by doctrine; acknowledgment from love is made in a life according to doctrine. this effects union, the other, presence. those, therefore, who reject instruction about the lord remove themselves from him, and as they also refuse life they part from him. those who do not reject instruction, but do refuse life, are present but still separated--like friends who converse but do not love each other, or like two one of whom speaks as a friend with the other, although as his enemy he hates him. [ ] the truth of this is commonly recognized in the idea that one who teaches and lives well is saved but not one who teaches well but lives wickedly, and in the idea that one who does not acknowledge god cannot be saved. this makes plain what kind of religion it is only to think about the lord from faith, so called, and not to do something from charity. therefore the lord says, why do you call me lord, lord, and do not do what i say? everyone who comes to me and hears my words and does them .. . is like a house-builder who has placed the foundation on a rock, but the man who hears and does not do, is like a man building a house on the ground without a foundation (lu : - ). . (vi) _the conjunction of the lord with man and man's reciprocal conjunction with the lord is effected by these two faculties._ conjunction with the lord and regeneration are one and the same thing, for a man is regenerated in the measure that he is conjoined with the lord. all that we have said above about regeneration can be said therefore of the conjunction, and all we said about conjunction can be said about regeneration. the lord himself teaches in john that there is a conjunction of the lord with man and a reciprocal conjunction of man with the lord. abide in me, and i in you. . . . he that abides in me and i in him, brings forth much fruit ( : , ). in that day you will know that you are in me and i in you ( : ). [ ] from reason alone anyone can see that there is no conjunction of minds unless it is reciprocal, and that what is reciprocal conjoins. if one loves another without being loved in return, then as he approaches, the other withdraws; but if he is loved in return, as he approaches, the other does also, and there is conjunction. love also wills to be loved; this is implanted in it; and so far as it is loved in return it is in itself and in its delight. thence it is plain that if the lord loves man and is not in turn loved by man, the lord advances but man withdraws; thus the lord would be constantly willing to meet with man and enter him, but man would be turning back and departing. so it is with those in hell, but with those in heaven there is mutual conjunction. [ ] since the lord wills conjunction with man for salvation's sake, he also provides something reciprocal with man. this consists in the fact that the good a man wills and does in freedom and the truth he thinks and speaks from the will according to reason seem to be from himself, and that the good in his will and the truth in his understanding seem to be his--indeed they seem to the man to be from himself and to be as completely his as though they really were; there is no difference; does anyone perceive otherwise by any sense? see above (nn. - ) on the appearance as of self, and (nn. - ) on appropriation as of oneself. the only difference is the acknowledgment which a man ought to make, that he does good and thinks truth not of himself but from the lord, and hence that the good he does and the truth he thinks are not his. so to think from some love of the will because it is the truth makes conjunction; for then a man looks to the lord and the lord looks on the man. . i have been granted both to hear and see in the spiritual world what the difference is between those who believe that all good is from the lord and those who believe that good is from themselves. those who believe that good is from the lord turn their faces to him and receive the enjoyment and blessedness of good. those who think that good is from themselves look to themselves and think they have merit. looking to themselves, they perceive only the enjoyment of their own good which is the enjoyment not of good but of evil, for man's own is evil, and enjoyment of evil perceived as good is hell. those who have done good but believed it was of themselves, and who after death do not receive the truth that all good is from the lord, mingle with infernal spirits and finally join them. those who receive that truth, however, are reformed, though no others receive it than those who have looked to god in their life. to look to god in one's life is nothing else than to shun evils as sins. . the lord's conjunction with man and man's reciprocal conjunction with the lord is effected by loving the neighbor as one's self and the lord above all. to love the neighbor as one's self consists simply in not acting insincerely or unjustly with him, not hating him or avenging one's self on him, not cursing and defaming him, not committing adultery with his wife, and not doing other like things to him. who cannot see that those who do such things do not love the neighbor as themselves? those, however, who do not do such things because they are evils to the neighbor and at the same time sins against the lord, deal sincerely, justly, amicably and faithfully by the neighbor; as the lord does likewise, reciprocal conjunction takes place. and when conjunction is reciprocal, whatever a man does to the neighbor he does from the lord, and what he does from the lord is good. the neighbor to him then is not the person, but the good in the person. to love the lord above all is to do no evil to the word, for the lord is in the word, or to the holy things of the church, for he is in these, too, and to do no evil to the soul of another, for everyone's soul is in the lord's hand. those who shun these evils as monstrous sins against the lord love him above all else. none can do this except those who love the neighbor as themselves, for the two loves are conjoined. . in view of the fact that there is a conjunction of the lord with man and of man with the lord, there are two tables of the law, one for the lord and the other for man. so far as man as of himself keeps the laws of his table, the lord enables him to observe the laws of the lord's table. a man, however, who does not keep the laws of his table, which are all referable to love for the neighbor, cannot do the laws of the lord's table, which are all referable to love for the lord. how can a murderer, thief, adulterer, or false witness love god? does reason not insist that to be any of these and to love god is a contradiction? is not the devil such? must he not hate god? but a man can love god when he abhors murder, adultery, theft and false witness, for then he turns his face away from the devil to the lord; turning his face to the lord he is given love and wisdom--these enter him by the face, and not by the back of the neck. as conjunction is accomplished only so, the two tables are called a covenant, and a covenant exists between two. . (vii) _in all the procedure of his divine providence the lord safeguards the two faculties in man unimpaired and as sacred._ the reasons are that without those two faculties man would not have understanding and will and thus would not be human; likewise that without them he could not be conjoined to the lord and so be reformed and regenerated; and because without them he would not have immortality and eternal life. the truth of this can be seen from what has been said about the two faculties, liberty and rationality, but not clearly seen unless the reasons just given are brought forward as conclusions. they are, therefore to be clarified. [ ] _without those two faculties man would not have understanding and will and thus would not be human._ man has will only in that he can will freely as of himself, and to will freely as of oneself is from the faculty called liberty, steadily imparted by the lord. man has understanding only in that he can understand as of himself whether a thing is of reason or not, and so to understand is from the other faculty, called rationality, steadily imparted to him by the lord. these faculties unite in man as will and understanding do, for because a man can will, he can also understand; willing is impossible without understanding; understanding is its partner and mate apart from which it cannot exist. with the faculty called liberty there is therefore given the faculty called rationality. if, too, you take willing away from understanding, you understand nothing. [ ] in the measure that you will, you can understand provided the helps, called knowledges, are present or available, for these are like tools to a workman. we say, in the measure you will you can understand, meaning, so far as you love to understand, for will and love act as one. this seems like a paradox, but it appears so to those who do not love or hence will to understand. they say they cannot understand, but in the following section we shall tell who cannot understand, and who can hardly understand. [ ] it is plain without confirmation that unless man had will from the faculty called liberty, and understanding from the faculty called rationality, he would not be human. beasts do not have these faculties. beasts seem to be able to will and to understand, but cannot do so. they are led and moved to do what they do solely by a natural affection, in itself desire, which has knowledge for its mate. something civil and moral there is in their knowledge, but it does not transcend the knowledge, for they have nothing spiritual enabling them to perceive or to think analytically of what is moral. they can indeed be taught to do something, but this is natural only, is assimilated to their knowledge and at the same time to their affection, and reproduced through sight or hearing, but never becomes with them anything of thought, still less of reason. on this see some things above, n. . [ ] _without those two faculties man could not be con-joined to the lord or reformed and regenerated._ this has been shown above. the lord resides with men, whether evil or good, in these two faculties and conjoins himself by them to every man. hence an evil man as well as a good man can understand and has the will of good and the understanding of truth potentially--that he does not possess them actually is owing to abuse of those faculties. the lord resides in those faculties in everyone by the influx of his will, namely, to be received by man and to have an abode with him, and to give him the felicities of eternal life; all this is of the lord's will, being of his divine love. it is this will of the lord which causes what a man thinks, speaks, wills and does, to seem to be his own. [ ] that the influx of the lord's will effects this can be confirmed by much in the spiritual world. sometimes the lord fills an angel with his divine so that the angel does not know but that he is the lord. thus inspired were the angels who appeared to abraham, hagar, and gideon, and who therefore spoke of themselves as jehovah; of whom the word tells. so also one spirit may be filled by another so that he does not know but that he is the other; i have seen this often. in heaven it is general knowledge that the lord operates all things by willing, and that what he wills takes place. from all this it is plain that it is by those two faculties that the lord conjoins himself to man and causes the man to be reciprocally conjoined. we told above and shall say more below about how man is reciprocally conjoined by the two faculties and how, consequently, he is reformed and regenerated by means of them. [ ] _without those two faculties man would not have immortality or eternal life._ this follows from what has been said: that by the two faculties there is conjunction with the lord and also reformation and regeneration. by conjunction man has immortality, and through reformation and regeneration he has eternal life. as every man, evil as well as good, is conjoined to the lord by the two faculties every man has immortality. eternal life, or the life of heaven, however, only that man has with whom there is reciprocal conjunction from inmosts to outmosts. the reasons may now be clear why the lord, in all the procedure of his divine providence, safeguards the two faculties in man unimpaired and as sacred. . ( viii) _it is therefore [a law] of divine providence that man shall act in freedom from reason._ to act in freedom according to reason, to act from liberty and rationality, and to act from will and understanding, are the same. but it is one thing to act in freedom according to reason, or from liberty and rationality, and another thing to act from freedom itself according to reason itself or from liberty and rationality themselves. the man who does evil from love of evil and confirms it in himself acts indeed from freedom according to reason, but his freedom is not in itself freedom or very freedom, but an infernal freedom which in itself is bondage, and his reason is not in itself reason, but is either spurious or false or plausible through confirmations. still, either is of divine providence. for if freedom to will evil and do it as of the reason through confirmation of it were taken from the natural man, liberty and rationality and at the same time will and understanding would perish, and he could not be withdrawn any longer from evils, be reformed or united with the lord, and live to eternity. the lord therefore guards man's freedom as a man does the apple of his eye. through that freedom the lord steadily withdraws man from evils and so far as he can do this implants goods, thus gradually putting heavenly freedom in place of infernal freedom. . we said above that every man has the faculty of volition called liberty and the faculty of understanding called rationality. those faculties, moreover, it should be known, are as it were inherent in man, for humanness itself is in them. but as was just said, it is one thing to act from freedom in accord with reason, and another thing to act from freedom itself and according to reason itself. only those do the latter who have suffered themselves to be regenerated by the lord; others act in freedom according to thought which they make seem like reason. unless he was born foolish or supremely stupid, every person can attain to reason itself and by it to liberty itself. many reasons why all do not do so will be disclosed in what follows. here we shall only tell to whom freedom itself or liberty itself, and at the same time reason itself or rationality itself cannot be given and to whom they can hardly be given. [ ] true liberty and rationality cannot be given to those foolish from birth or to those who become foolish later, while they remain so. nor can they be given to those born stupid and dull or to any made so by the torpor of idleness, or by a disease which perverts or entirely closes the interiors of the mind, or by love of a bestial life. [ ] genuine liberty and rationality cannot be given to those in christendom who utterly deny the divine of the lord and the holiness of the word, and have kept that denial confirmed to life's close. for this is meant by the sin against the holy spirit which is not forgiven in this world or in the world to come (mt : , ). [ ] liberty itself and rationality itself cannot be given to those who ascribe all things to nature and nothing to the divine, and have made this a conviction by reasonings from visible things; for these are atheists. [ ] true liberty and rationality can hardly be given to those who have confirmed themselves much in falsities of religion; for a confirmer of falsity is a denier of truth. but they can be given to those, in whatever religion, who have not so confirmed themselves. on this see what is adduced in _doctrine for the new jerusalem about sacred scripture,_ nn. - . [ ] infants and children cannot attain to essential liberty and rationality before they grow up. for the interiors of the mind of man are opened gradually, and meanwhile are like seeds in unripe fruit, without ground in which to sprout. . we have said that true liberty and rationality cannot be given to those who have denied the divine of the lord and the holiness of the word; to those who have confirmed themselves in favor of nature and against the divine; and hardly to those who have strongly confirmed themselves in falsities of religion; still none of these have destroyed the faculties themselves. i have heard atheists, who had become devils and satans, understand arcana of wisdom quite as well as angels, but only while they heard them from others; on returning into their own thought, they did not understand them, for the reason that they did not will to do so. they were shown that they could also will this, did not the love and enjoyment of evil turn them away. this they understood, too, when they heard it. indeed they asserted that they could but did not will to be able to do so, for then they could not will what they did will, namely, evil from enjoyment in the lust of it. i have often heard such astonishing things in the spiritual world. i am fully persuaded therefore that every man has liberty and rationality, and that every man can attain true liberty and rationality if he shuns evils as sins. but the adult who has not come into true liberty and rationality in the world can never do so after death, for the state of his life remains to eternity what it was in the world. vi. it is a law of divine providence that man shall remove evils as sins in the external man of himself, and only so can the lord remove the evils in the internal man and at the same time in the external . anyone can see from reason alone that the lord who is good itself and truth itself cannot enter man unless the evils and falsities in him are removed. for evil is opposed to good, and falsity to truth, and two opposites cannot mingle, but as one approaches the other, combat arises which lasts until one gives way to the other; what gives way departs and the other takes its place. heaven and hell, or the lord and the devil, are in such opposition. can anyone reasonably think that the lord can enter where the devil reigns, or heaven be where hell is? by the rationality with which every sane person is endowed, who cannot see that for the lord to enter, the devil must be cast out, or for heaven to enter, hell must be removed? [ ] this opposition is meant by abraham's words from heaven to the rich man in hell: between us and you a great gulf is fixed, so that those who would cross from us to you cannot, nor those over there cross to us (lu : ). evil is itself hell, and good is itself heaven, or what is the same, evil is itself the devil, and good itself the lord. a person in whom evil reigns is a hell in least form, and one in whom good reigns is a heaven in least form. how, then, can heaven enter hell when a gulf is fixed between them so great that there is no crossing from one to the other? it follows that hell must by all means be removed for the lord to enter with heaven. . but many, especially those who have confirmed themselves in faith severed from charity, do not know that they are in hell when they are in evils. in fact, they do not know what evils are, giving them no thought. they say that they are not under the yoke of the law and so the law does not condemn them; likewise, that as they cannot contribute to their salvation, they cannot remove any evil of themselves and furthermore cannot do any good of themselves. it is these who neglect to give some thought to evil and therefore keep on in evil. they are meant by the lord under "goats" in matthew : , ; - , as may be seen in _doctrine of the new jerusalem on faith,_ nn. - ; to them it is said in verse , "depart from me, you accursed, into everlasting fire prepared for the devil and his angels." [ ] persons who give no thought to the evils in them, and who do not examine themselves and then desist from the evils, cannot but be ignorant what evil is, and cannot but love it then from delighting in it. for one who is ignorant of it loves it, and one who fails to give it thought, goes on in it, blind to it. thought sees good and evil as the eye sees beauty and ugliness. one who thinks and wills evil is in evil, and so is a person who thinks that it does not come to god's sight, or if it does is forgiven by him; he supposes then that he is without evil. if such persons refrain from doing evil, they do so not because it is a sin against god, but for fear of the law and for their reputation's sake. in spirit they still do evil, for it is man's spirit that thinks and wills. as a result, what a man thinks in his spirit in the world, he commits when he becomes a spirit on his departure from the world. [ ] in the spiritual world, into which everyone comes after death, the question is not asked what your belief has been or your doctrine, but what your life has been. was it such or such? for, as is known, such as one's life is, such is one's belief, yes, one's doctrine. for life fashions a doctrine and a belief for itself. . from all this it is plain that it is a law of divine providence that evils be removed by man, for without the removal of them the lord cannot be conjoined to man and from himself lead man to heaven. but it is not known that man ought to remove evils in the external man as of himself and that unless he does so the lord cannot remove the evils in his internal man. this is to be presented, therefore, to the reason in light of its own in this order: i. every man has an external and an internal of thought. ii. his external of thought is in itself such as his internal is. iii. the internal cannot be purified from the lusts of evil as long as the evils in the external man have not been removed, for these impede. iv. only with the man's participation can evils in the external man be removed by the lord. v. therefore a man ought to remove evils from the external man as of himself. vi. the lord then purifies him from the lusts of evil in the internal man and from the evils themselves in the external. vii. the continuous effort of the lord in his divine providence is to unite man to himself and himself to man, in order to be able to bestow the felicities of eternal life on him, which can be done only so far as evils, along with their lusts, are removed. . (i) _every man has an external and an internal of thought._ by external and internal of thought the same is meant here as by external and internal man, and by this nothing else is meant than external and internal of will and understanding, for will and understanding constitute man, and as they both manifest themselves in thoughts, we speak of external and internal of thought. and as it is man's spirit and not his body which wills and understands and consequently thinks, external and internal are external and internal of his spirit. the body's activity in speech or deed is only an effect from the external and internal of man's spirit, for the body is so much obedience. . as he grows older, every person has an external and an internal of thought, or an external and an internal of will and understanding or of his spirit, identical with external and internal man. this is evident to anyone who observes another's thoughts and intentions as they are revealed in speech or deed, or who observes his own when he is in company and when he is by himself. for from the external thought one can talk amicably with another and yet in internal thought be hostile. from external thought and from its affection, too, a man can talk about love for the neighbor and for god when in his internal thought he cares nothing for the neighbor and does not fear god. from external thought together with its affection he can talk about the justice of civil laws, the virtues of the moral life, and matters of doctrine and the spiritual life, and yet in private and from his internal thought and its affection speak against the civil laws, the moral virtues, and matters of doctrine and spiritual life. so those do who are in lusts of evil but want to appear to the world not to be in them. [ ] many also, as they listen to others, think to themselves, "do those speaking think inwardly in themselves as they think in utterance? are they to be believed or not? what do they intend?" flatterers and hypocrites notoriously possess a twofold thought. they can be self-restrained and guard against the interior thought's being disclosed, and some can hide it more and more deeply and bar the door against its appearing. that a man possesses external and internal thought is also plain in that from his interior thought he can behold the exterior thought, can reflect on it, too, and judge whether or not it is evil. the human mind is such because of the two faculties, called liberty and rationality, which one has from the lord. unless he possessed internal and external of thought from these faculties, a man could not perceive and see an evil in himself and be reformed. in fact, he could not speak but only make sounds like a beast. . the internal of thought comes out of the life's love, its affections and the perceptions from them. the external of thought is from what is in the memory, serving the life's love for confirmation and as means to its end. from childhood to early manhood a person is in the external of thought from an affection for knowledge, which is then his internal; from the life's love born in one from parents something of lust and hence of disposition issues, too. later, however, his life's love is as he lives, and its affections and the perceptions from them make the internal of his thought. from his life's love comes a love of means; the enjoyments of these means and the information drawn thereby from the memory make his external of thought. . (ii) _man's external of thought is in itself such as his internal is._ we showed earlier that from head to foot a man is what his life's love is. something must be said about his life's love, for until this is done nothing can be said about the affections which together with perceptions make the internal of man, or about the enjoyments of the affections together with thoughts which make his external. loves are many, but two--heavenly love and infernal love--are like lords or kings. heavenly love is love to the lord and the neighbor; infernal love is love of self and the world. these are opposite to each other as heaven and hell are. for a man in love of self and the world wishes well only to himself; a man in love to the lord and the neighbor wishes well to all. these two are the loves of man's life, though with much variety. heavenly love is the life's love of those whom the lord leads, and infernal love the life's love of those whom the devil leads. [ ] no one's life's love can be without derivatives, called affections. the derivatives of infernal love are affections of evil and falsity --lusts, properly speaking; and those of heavenly love are affections of good and truth--loves, strictly. affections, or strictly lusts, of infernal love are as numerous as evils are, and affections, or properly loves, of heavenly love are as many as there are goods. love dwells in its affections like a lord in his domain and a king in his realm; its domain or realm is over the things of the mind, that is, of the will and understanding and thence of the body. by its affections and the perceptions from them and by its enjoyments and the thoughts therefrom, the life's love of man rules him completely, the internal of the mind by the affections and perceptions from them, and the external by the enjoyments of the affections and of the thoughts from them. . the manner of this rule may be seen to some extent from comparisons. heavenly love with its affections of good and truth and the perceptions from them, together with the enjoyments of such affections and the thoughts from these, may be compared to a tree, notable for its branches, leaves and fruit. the life's love is the tree; the branches with their leaves are the affections of good and truth with their perceptions; and the fruits are the enjoyments of the affections with their thoughts. infernal love, however, with its affections or lusts of evil and falsity, together with the enjoyments of the lusts and the thinking from those enjoyments, may be compared to a spider and the web spun about it. the love itself is the spider; the lusts of evil and falsity together with their subtle cunning are the net of threads nearest the spider's post; and the enjoyments of the lusts together with their crafty schemes are the more remote threads where flies are snared on the wing, enveloped and eaten. . these comparisons may help one to see the connection of all things of the will and understanding or of man's mind with his life's love, and yet not to see it rationally. rationally it may be seen in this way. everywhere there are three which make one, called end, cause and effect. here the life's love is end; the affections with their perceptions are cause; and the enjoyments of the affections and consequent thoughts are effect. for as an end passes into effect through a cause, love passes by its affections to its enjoyments and by its perceptions to its thoughts. the effects are in the enjoyments of the mind and the thoughts thence when the enjoyments are from the will and the thoughts from the attendant understanding, that is, when all fully agree. the effects are then part of man's spirit and although they do not come into bodily act are still a deed there when there is this agreement. at the same time they are in the body, dwelling there with man's life's love and longing for the deed, which occurs when nothing hinders. the same is true of lusts of evil and evil deeds with those who make evils allowable in spirit. [ ] as an end unites itself with a cause and by the cause with an effect, the life's love unites itself with the internal of thought and by this with its external. it is plain then that man's external of thought is in itself what his internal is, for an end imparts all of itself to the cause and through the cause to the effect. nothing essential is present in an effect which is not in the cause and through the cause in the end, and as the end is what essentially enters cause and effect, these are called "mediate end" and "final end" respectively. . sometimes the external of thought seems to be different in itself from the internal. this is because the life's love with its internals about it sets a vicar under it called the love of means, and directs it to watch and guard against anything of its lusts appearing. this vicar, with the cunning of its chief, the life's love, therefore speaks and acts in accordance with the laws of a kingdom, the ethical demands of reason, and the spiritual requirements of the church, so cunningly, too, and cleverly that no one sees that persons are other than they say and act, and finally the persons themselves, so disguised, scarcely know otherwise. such are all hypocrites. such are priests, also, who at heart care nothing for the neighbor and do not fear god, yet preach about love of the neighbor and of god. such are judges who judge by gifts and friendships while affecting zeal for justice and speaking with reason about judgment. such are traders who at heart are insincere and fraudulent while dealing honestly for the sake of profit. such are adulterers when, from the rationality every man possesses, they talk about the chastity of marriage; and so on. [ ] the same persons, when they strip the love of means, the vicar of their life's love, of the purple and linen which they have thrown around it and put its house dress on it, then think exactly the contrary, and exchanging thought with their best friends who are in a similar life's love, they speak so. it may be believed that when they have spoken so justly, honestly and piously from the love of means, the character of the internal of thought was not in the external of their thought; yet it was; hypocrisy is in them, and love of self and the world is in them, the cunning of which aims to capture a reputation for the sake of standing or gain through just the outward appearance. this, the nature of the internal, is in the external of their thought when they speak and act so. . with those in a heavenly love, however, internal and external of thought or internal and external man make one when they speak, and they are aware of no difference. their life's love, with its affections of good and the perceptions of truth from these, is like a soul in what they think and then say and do. if they are priests, they preach out of love to the neighbor and to the lord; if judges, they judge from justice itself; if tradesmen, they deal with honesty; if they are husbands, they love the partner with true chastity; and so on. their life's love also has a love of the means for vicar, which it teaches and leads to act with prudence and clothes with garments of a zeal for both truths of doctrine and goods of life. . ( iii) _the internal cannot be purified from the lusts of evil as long as evils in the external man are not removed, for these impede._ this follows from what has been said above, that the external of man's thought is in itself what the internal of his thought is and that they cohere as what is not only in the other but also from the other; one cannot be removed, therefore, unless the other is at the same time. this is true of any external which is from an internal, and of anything subsequent from what is prior, and of every effect from a cause. [ ] as lusts together with slynesses make the internal of thought with evil persons, and the enjoyments of the lusts together with scheming make the external of thought in them, and the two are joined into one, it follows that the internal cannot be purified from the lusts as long as the evils in the external man are not removed. it should be known that man's internal will is in the lusts; his internal understanding in the slynesses; his external will in the enjoyments of the lusts; and his external understanding in the sly scheming. anyone can see that lusts and their enjoyments make one, that slynesses and scheming also do, and that the four are one series and as it were make a single bundle. from this again it is evident that the internal, consisting of lusts, cannot be cast out except on the removal of the external, consisting of evils. lusts produce evils by their enjoyments, and when evils are deemed allowable, as they are when will and understanding agree on it, the enjoyments and the evils make one. it is well known that assent is deed; this is also what the lord said: if anyone looks on the woman of another to lust after her, he has already committed adultery with her in his heart (mt : ).* the same is true of all other evils. * the greek is simply "on a woman" and does not have the word here rendered "of another." though swedenborg quotes the verse several times in his works he seems not to have checked as he usually did beyond the rendering of the schmidius latin bible which he used. . from this it may now be evident that for a person to be purified from the lusts of evil, evils must by all means be removed from the external man, for the lusts have no way out before. if no outlet exists, they remain within and breathe out enjoyments and so incite man to consent, thus to deed. lusts enter the body by the external of thought; when there is consent, therefore, in the external of thought they are instantly in the body; the enjoyment felt is bodily. see in the treatise _divine love and wisdom_ (nn. - ) that the body, thus the whole man, is what the mind is. this can be illustrated by comparisons, and by examples. [ ] by _comparisons:_ lusts with their enjoyments can be compared to a fire which blazes the more, the more it is nursed; the freer its way the more widely it spreads until in a city it consumes houses and in a woods the trees. in the word, moreover, lusts are compared to fire, and the evils from them to a conflagration. the lusts of evil with their enjoyments also appear as fires in the spiritual world; hellfire is nothing else. lusts may also be compared to floods and inundations as dikes or dams give way. they may also be likened to gangrene and abscesses which bring death to the body as they run their course or are not healed. [ ] by _examples:_ it is obvious that when evils are not removed in the external man, the lusts with their enjoyments grow and flourish. the more he steals the more a thief lusts to steal until he cannot stop; so with a defrauder, the more he defrauds; it is the same with hatred and vengeance, luxury and intemperance, whoredom and blasphemy. it is notorious that the love of ruling from the love of self increases when left unbridled; so also the love of possessing things from love of the world; they seem to have no limit or end. plain it is then that so far as evils are not removed in the external man, lusts for them intensify; also that in the degree that evils are given free rein, the lusts increase. . a person does not see the lusts of his evil; he sees their enjoyments, to be sure, but still he reflects little on them, for they divert thought and drive off reflection. unless he learned from elsewhere that they are evils he would call them goods and give them expression freely according to his thought's reasoning; doing so, he appropriates them to himself. so far as he confirms them as allowable he enlarges the court of his ruling love, which is his life's love. lusts constitute its court, being its ministers and retinue, as it were, by which it governs the exteriors of its realm. but such as is the king, such are the ministers and retinue, and such is the kingdom. if the king is diabolic, his ministers and the retinue are insanities, and the people of his realm are falsities of every kind. the ministers (who are called wise although they are insane) cause these falsities to appear as truths by reasonings from fallacies and by fantasies and cause them to be acknowledged as truths. can such a state in a man be changed except by the evils being removed in the external man? then the lusts which cling to the evils are also removed. otherwise no outlet offers for the lusts; they are shut in like a besieged city or like an indurated ulcer. . (iv) _only with man's participation can evils in the external man be removed by the lord._ in all christian churches it is an accepted point of doctrine that before coming to the holy communion a person should examine himself, see and confess his sins, and do penitence, desisting from his sins and rejecting them because they are from the devil; and that otherwise the sins are not forgiven him and he is damned. the english, despite the fact that they are in the doctrine of faith alone, nevertheless in the exhortation to the holy communion openly teach self-examination, acknowledgment, confession of sins, penitence and renewal of life, and warn those who do not do these things with the words that otherwise the devil will enter into them as he did into judas, fill them with all iniquity, and destroy both body and soul. germans, swedes and danes, who are also in the doctrine of faith alone, teach the same in the exhortation to the holy communion, also warning that otherwise the communicants will make themselves liable to infernal punishments and eternal damnation for mixing sacred and profane together. these words are read out by the priest in a deep voice to all who are about to observe the holy supper, and are listened to by them in full acknowledgment that they are true. [ ] nevertheless, after hearing a sermon on the same day about faith alone and to the effect that the law does not condemn them because the lord has fulfilled it for them, and that of themselves they cannot do any good which is not self-righteous and thus that one's works have nothing saving in them, only faith alone has, these same persons return home completely forgetting their earlier confession and rejecting it so far as they think along the lines of the sermon. but which is true, the latter or the former? contrary to each other, both cannot be true. which is? that there can be no forgiveness of sins, thus no salvation but only eternal damnation, apart from self-examination, the knowledge and acknowledgment, confession and breaking off of sins, that is, apart from repentance? or that such things effect nothing towards salvation inasmuch as full satisfaction for all the sins of men has been made by the lord through the passion of the cross for those who have faith, and that those in faith alone with trust that it is so and with confidence in the imputation of the lord's merit, are sinless and appear before god like men with shining faces for having washed? [ ] it is plain from this that the religion common to all churches in christendom is that one shall examine himself, see and acknowledge his sins and then desist from them, and that otherwise there is no salvation, but damnation. this, moreover, is divine truth itself, as is plain from passages in the word in which man is bidden to do penitence, as from the following: john said, do . . . fruits worthy of repentance . . . this moment the axe is at the root of the tree; every tree not giving good fruit will be cut down and cast into the fire (lu : , ). jesus said, unless you do repentance, you shall all . . . perish (lu : , ). jesus preached the gospel of the kingdom of god; . . . do repentance, and believe the gospel (mk : , ). jesus sent out the disciples who on going out were to preach that men should repent (mk : ). jesus told the apostles that they were to preach repentance and the remission of sins to all peoples (lu : ). john preached the baptism of repentance for the remission of sins (mk : ; lu : ). think about this also with some degree of understanding; if you have religion, you will see that repentance of one's sins is the way to heaven, that faith apart from repentance is not faith, and that those in no faith for lack of repenting are in the way to hell. . those in faith severed from charity who have confirmed themselves in it by paul's saying to the romans that a man is justified by faith without the works of the law ( : ) worship that saying quite like men who worship the sun. they become like those who fix their gaze steadily on the sun with the result that the blurred vision sees nothing in normal light. for they fail to see what is meant in the passage by "works of the law," namely, the rituals described by moses in his books, called "law" in them everywhere, and not the precepts of the decalog. lest it be thought these are meant, paul explains, saying at that point, do we not then make the law void through faith? far from it, rather we establish the law (verse of the same chapter). those who have confirmed themselves by that saying in faith severed from charity, looking on it as on the sun, do not see the passages in which paul lists the laws of faith and that these are the very works of charity. what indeed is faith without its laws? nor do they see the passages in which he lists evil works, declaring that those who do them cannot enter heaven. what blindness has been brought about by this one passage badly understood! . evils in the external man cannot be removed without man's cooperation for the reason that it is by divine providence that whatever a man hears, sees, thinks, wills, speaks and does shall seem to him to be his own doing. apart from that appearance (as was shown above, nn. - ff.) there would be no reception of divine truth on man's part, nor determination to do what is good, nor any appropriation of love and wisdom or of charity and faith, hence no conjunction with the lord, no reformation therefore or regeneration, and thus no salvation. without that appearance, repentance for sins would clearly be impossible and in fact faith would; without that appearance, likewise, man is not man but is devoid of rational life like the beasts. let him who will, consult his reason whether it appears otherwise than that man thinks from himself about good and truth, spiritual as well as moral and civil; then accept the doctrine that all good and truth are from the lord and none from man. must he not then acknowledge as a consequence that man is to do good and think truth of himself, yet always acknowledge that these are from the lord? and acknowledge further that man is to remove evils of himself, but still acknowledge that he does so from the lord? . many are unaware that they are in evils since they do not do them outwardly, fearing the civil law and the loss of reputation. thus by custom and habit they practice to avoid evils as detrimental to their standing and interests. but if they do not shun evils on religious principle, because they are sins and against god, the lusts of evil with their enjoyments remain in them like impure waters stopped up or stagnant. let them probe their thoughts and intentions and they will come on the lusts provided they know what sins are. [ ] many such, who have confirmed themselves in faith separated from charity and who believe that the law does not condemn, pay no attention to sins. some doubt there are sins, or if so, that they exist in god's sight, having been pardoned. such also are natural moralists, who believe that civil and moral life with its prudence accomplishes all things and divine providence nothing. such are those, also, who strive with great care after a reputation and a name for honesty and sincerity for the sake of standing and preferment. but those who are such and who at the same time have spurned religion become lustful spirits after death, appearing to themselves like men indeed, but to others at a distance like _priapi;_ and they see in the dark and not at all in the light, like night-owls. . proposition v, that _a man ought to remove evils from the external man of himself,_ is substantiated then. further explanation may be seen in _doctrine of life for the new jerusalem_ under three propositions: . no one can flee evils as sins so as to be averse to them inwardly except by combats against them (nn. - ); . a man ought to shun evils as sins and fight against them as of himself (nn. - ); and . if he shuns evils for any other reason than that they are sins, he does not shun them, but only keeps them from appearing to the world. . (vi) _the lord then purifies man from the lusts of evil in the internal man and from the evils themselves in the external._ the lord purifies man from the lusts of evil only when man as of himself removes the evils because he cannot do so before. for the evils are in the external man and the lusts in the internal man, and they cling together like roots and a trunk. unless the evils are removed, therefore, no outlet offers; they block the way and shut the door, which the lord can open only with a man's participation, as was shown just above. when the man as of himself opens the door, the lord then roots out the lusts. [ ] a second reason why the lord cannot do so sooner is that he acts upon man's inmost and by that on all that follows even to outmosts where man himself is. while outmosts, therefore, are kept closed by man, no purification can take place, but only that activity of the lord in interiors which is his activity in hell, of which the man who is in lusts and at the same time in evils is a form--an activity which is solely provision lest one thing destroy another and lest good and truth be violated. it is plain from words of the lord in the apocalypse that he constantly urges and prompts man to open the door to him: behold, i stand at the door, and knock; if anyone hears my voice and opens the door, i will come in to him, and sup with him, and he with me ( : ). . man knows nothing at all of the interior state of his mind or internal man, yet infinite things are there, not one of which comes to his knowledge. his internal of thought or internal man is his very spirit, and in it are things as infinite and innumerable as there are in his body, in fact, more numerous. for his spirit is man in its form, and all things in it correspond to all things of his body. now, just as man knows nothing by any sensation about how his mind or soul operates on all things of the body as a whole or severally, so he does not know, either, how the lord works on all things of his mind or soul, that is, of his spirit. the divine activity is unceasing; man has no part in it; still the lord cannot purify a man from any lust of evil in his spirit or internal man as long as the man keeps the external closed. man keeps his external closed by evils, each of which seems to him to be a single entity, although in each are infinite things. when a man removes what seems a single thing, the lord removes infinite things in it. so much is implied in the lord's purifying man from the lusts of evil in the internal man and from the evils themselves in the external. . many believe that a person is purified from evils merely by believing what the church teaches; some, by doing good; others by knowing, speaking and teaching what is of the church; others by reading the word and books of devotion; others by going to church, hearing sermons and especially by observing the holy supper; still others, by renouncing the world and devoting oneself to piety; others still by confessing oneself guilty of all sins; and so on. and yet none of these things purifies man at all unless he examines himself, sees his sins, acknowledges them, condemns himself on account of them, and repents by desisting from them, and does all this as of himself, yet with the acknowledgment in heart that he does so from the lord. [ ] until this is done, the things mentioned above do not avail, being either self-righteous or hypocritical. such persons appear to the angels in heaven either like pretty courtesans smelling badly of their corruption, or like unsightly women painted to appear handsome, or like masked clowns and mimics in the theater, or like apes in men's clothes. but when evils have been removed, then all that has just been mentioned becomes the expression of love in such persons, and they appear as beautiful human beings to the sight of the angels in heaven and as partners and companions of theirs. . but it should be rightly known that in repenting a man ought to look to the lord alone. he cannot be purified if he looks to god the father alone, or to the father for the sake of the son, or to the son as a man only. for there is one god and the lord is he, for his divine and human is one person, as we have shown in _doctrine of the new jerusalem about the lord._ in order that the intending penitent may look to him alone, the lord instituted the holy supper, which confirms the remission of sins in those who repent, and does so because everyone is kept looking to the lord alone in it. . (vii) _the perpetual effort of the lord in his divine providence is to conjoin man with himself and himself with man, in order to be able to bestow the felicities of eternal life on him, which can be done only so far as evils with their lusts have been removed._ it was shown above (nn. - ) that it is the unceasing effort of the lord in his divine providence to conjoin man to himself and himself to man; that this conjunction is what is called reformation and regeneration; and that by it man has salvation. who does not see that conjunction with god is life eternal and salvation? everyone sees this who believes that men by creation are images and likenesses of god (ge : , ) and who knows what an image and likeness of god is. [ ] what man of sound reason, thinking from his rationality and wanting to think in freedom, can believe that there are three gods equal in essence and that divine being or essence can be divided? one can conceive and comprehend a trine in the one god, however, just as soul, body and outgoing life in angel and man are comprehensible. as this trine in one exists only in the lord, conjunction must be with him. use your power of reason together with your liberty of thought, and you will see this truth in its own light; but admit first that god is, and heaven, and eternal life. [ ] as, then, god is one, and the human being was made by creation an image and likeness of him, and inasmuch as by infernal love and its lusts and enjoyments man has come into a love of all evils and thus destroyed the image and likeness of god in him, it follows that it is the continuous effort of the lord's divine providence to conjoin man to himself and himself to man and thus make him an image of himself. it also follows that this is to the end that the lord may be able to bestow on him the felicities of eternal life, for such is divine love. [ ] he cannot bestow them, however, nor make man an image of himself, unless man removes sins in the external man as of himself, because the lord is not only divine love but also divine wisdom, and divine love does nothing except by its divine wisdom and in consonance with it. it is according to divine wisdom that man cannot be conjoined to the lord and thus reformed, regenerated and saved unless he is allowed to act in freedom according to reason, for so man is man. whatever is according to the lord's divine wisdom is also of his divine providence. . to this let me append two arcana of angelic wisdom showing further what divine providence is like. one is that the lord never acts on one thing by itself in man, but on all things at the same time, and the other is that he acts at once from inmosts and outmosts. he never acts on some one thing by itself but on all things together because all things in man are in such connection and from this in such form that they act not as a number but as one. we know that there is such connectedness and by it such organization in man's body. the human mind is in similar form as a result of the connection of all things, for the mind is the spiritual man and truly the man. hence man's spirit or the mind in the body in its entire form is man. consequently man is man after death equally as he was in the world with the sole difference that he has thrown off the clothing which made up his body in the world. [ ] as the human form, then, is such that all its parts form a community which acts as a whole, some one thing cannot be moved out of place or altered in state except with adaptation of the rest, for if it were, the form which acts as a whole would suffer. hence it is plain that the lord never acts on any one thing without acting on all. so he acts on the total angelic heaven since in his view it is like one man; so he acts on each angel, for each angel is heaven in least form; so he acts also on each man, most nearly on all things of man's mind and by these on all things of his body; for man's mind is his spirit and in the measure of conjunction with the lord is an angel, and the body is obedience. [ ] it is to be well noted, however, that the lord does act on each particular thing in man singly, singularly so, when acting on all things in man's organization; even so he does not alter the state of any part or of any one thing except suitably to the whole form. but more will be said of this in following numbers where we shall show that divine providence is general because it extends to particulars, and particular because it is general. [ ] the lord acts from inmosts and outmosts at the same time because only in this way are all things held in connection, for the intermediate things depend one upon another from inmosts to outmosts and are assembled in outmosts (it was shown in part iii of the treatise _divine love and wisdom_ that all things from the inmost onward are present simultaneously in what is outmost ). for this reason the lord from eternity or jehovah came into the world and assumed and bore human nature in outmosts. he could thus be at once from firsts in lasts, and from firsts by lasts govern the whole world and so save whom he could save according to the laws of his divine providence, which are also the laws of his divine wisdom. for it is true, as christendom knows, that no mortal could have been saved had the lord not come into the world (see _doctrine for the new jerusalem on faith,_ n. ). for the same reason the lord is called "the first and the last." . these angelic arcana have been premised in order that it may be comprehended how the lord's divine providence operates to unite man to him and himself to man. it does not act upon a particular thing by itself in man, but on all things together and from man's inmost and outmosts simultaneously. man's inmost is his life's love; the outmosts are in the external of thought; what is intermediate is in the internal of thought (what external and internal are like with the wicked was shown earlier); from which it is plain again that the lord cannot act by inmosts and outmosts simultaneously except together with man, for in the outmosts man and the lord are together. wherefore, as the man acts in outmosts, which are in his determination, being within the range of his freedom, so the lord acts from man's inmosts and in what follows from them to the outmosts. man does not know at all what is in the inmosts and in what follows to the outmosts, therefore is unaware of how the lord acts there or what he effects there. but as all these things cohere as one with the outmosts, man does not need to know more than that he should shun evils as sins and look to the lord. only so can his life's love, which by birth is infernal, be removed by the lord and a heavenly life's love be implanted in its place. . when a heavenly life's love has been implanted by the lord in place of an infernal life's love, affections of good and truth are implanted in place of lusts of evil and falsity; enjoyments of affections of good are implanted instead of enjoyments of lusts of evil and falsity, and goods of heavenly love in place of evils of infernal love; prudence is implanted in place of cunning, wise thinking in place of malevolent. so a man is born again and becomes a new man. what goods replace evils you may see in _doctrine of life for the new jerusalem,_ nn. - , - , - , - ; likewise that so far as man shuns and is averse to evils as sins so far he loves truths of wisdom, nn. - , and has faith and is spiritual, nn. - . . from the exhortations read aloud in all christian churches before holy communion we showed that it is the common religion of all christendom that a man should examine himself, see his sins, avow them, confess them before god, and desist from them; and that this is repentance, remission of sins and hence salvation. this is also evident from the creed named after athanasius and received throughout christendom which concludes with the words: the lord will come to judge the living and the dead; at whose coming those who have done good will enter into life eternal, and those who have done evil, into everlasting fire. . who does not know from the word that everyone is allotted a life after death according to his deeds? open the word, read it, and you will see this clearly, but the while remove the thoughts from faith and justification by faith alone. the few passages following are testimony that the lord teaches so everywhere in his word: every tree which does not yield good fruit shall be cut down and cast into the fire. by their fruits therefore shall you know them (mt : , ). many will say to me in that day, lord . . . have we not prophesied in your name, . . . and in your name done many mighty things? but i shall confess to them then, i know you not, depart from me, you who work iniquity (mt : , ). everyone who hears my words and does them i shall liken to a prudent man who built a house on a rock: . . . but everyone who hears my words but does not do them shall be likened to a foolish man who built his house on the ground without a foundation (mt : , ; lu : - ). [ ] the son of man will come in the glory of his father .. . and render then to everyone according to his deeds (mt : ). the kingdom of god shall be taken away from you, and given to a people bringing forth its fruits (mt : ). jesus said, these are my mother and brothers who hear the word of god and do it (lu : ). then shall you begin to stand . . . and knock at the door, saying, lord, . . . open to us, but replying he will say to them, i know not whence you are; depart from me, all you workers of iniquity (lu : - ). those who have done good shall go out into the resurrection of life, but those who have done evil into the resurrection of judgment (jn : ). [ ] we know . . . that god does not hear sinners, but if a man worships god and does his will, him he hears (jn : ). if you know these things, blessed are you if you do them ( : ). he who has my commandments and does them, he it is who loves me, ... and i will love him, . . . and i will come to him, and make an abode with him ( : , - ). you are my friends, if you do whatsoever i command you... . i have chosen you . . . that you may bear fruit and that your fruit may remain ( : , ). [ ] the lord said to john, write to the angel of the ephesian church, i know your works: . . . i have against you that you have left an earlier charity; . . . repent, and do the former works; else . . . i shall remove your candlestick from its place (apoc : , , , ). to the angel of the church of the smyrneans write, i know your works ( : , ). to the angel of the church in pergamos write, . . . i know your works, repent ( : , , ). to the angel of the church in thyatira write, . . . i know your works and charity, . . . and your later works are more than the first ( : , ). to the angel of the church in sardis write, . . . i know your works, that you have a name that you are alive, but you are dead; . . . i have not found your works perfect before god; . . . repent ( : - ). to the angel of the church in philadelphia write, i know your works ( : , ). to the angel of the church of the laodiceans write, i know your works; . . . repent ( : , , ). i heard a voice from heaven saying, write, blessed are the dead who die in the lord from now on; ... their works follow them ( : ). a book was opened, which is the book of life, and the dead were judged, ... all according to their works ( : , ). lo, i come quickly, and my reward is with me, to give to everyone according to his work ( : ). these are passages in the new testament; [ ] there are still more in the old, from which i shall quote only this one: stand in the gate . . . of jehovah, and proclaim this word there: thus says jehovah zebaoth the god of israel, make your ways good, and your works; . . . put not your trust in lying words, saying, the temple, the temple, the temple of jehovah is this. . . . thieving and killing and committing adultery and swearing falsely . . . will you then come to stand before me in this house which is called by my name and say, we are delivered? when you do those abominable things? has not this house been made a den of robbers? even i, lo, i have seen it, is the word of jehovah (je : - , - ). vii. it is a law of divine providence that man shall not be compelled by external means to think and will, thus to believe and love what pertains to religion, but bring himself and at times compel himself to do so . this law of divine providence follows from the preceding two, namely: man is to act in freedom according to reason (nn. - ); and is to do this of himself and yet from the lord, thus as of himself (nn. - ). inasmuch as being compelled is not to act in freedom according to reason and also not to act of oneself, but to act from what is not freedom and from someone else, this law of divine providence follows in due order on the first two. everyone knows that no one can be forced to think what he is unwilling to think or to will what he decides not to will, thus to believe what he does not believe, least of all what he wills not to believe, or to love what he does not love and still less what he wills not to love. for the spirit or mind of man enjoys complete freedom in thinking, willing, believing and loving. it does so by influx which is not coercive from the spiritual world (for the human spirit or mind is in that world); and not by influx from the natural world, received only when the two agree. [ ] a man can be driven to say that he thinks and wills, believes and loves what is religious, but if this is not a matter of his affection and reasoning or does not become so, he does not think, will, believe or love it. a man may also be compelled to speak in favor of religion and to act according to it, but he cannot be compelled to think in its favor from any faith or to will in its favor out of love for it. in countries in which justice and judgment are guarded, one is indeed compelled not to speak or act against religion, but still no one can be compelled to think and will in its favor. for everyone has freedom to think and to will along with, and in favor of, hell or along with, and in favor of, heaven. reason, however, teaches what either course is like and what lot awaits it, and by reason the will has the choice and decision. [ ] plainly, then, what is external cannot coerce what is internal; nevertheless it happens sometimes, but that it works harm will be shown in this order: i. no one is reformed by miracles and signs, for they coerce. ii. no one is reformed by visions and communication with the dead, for they coerce. iii. no one is reformed by threats and penalties, as these coerce. iv. no one is reformed in states of no rationality or no freedom. v. self-compulsion is not contrary to rationality and freedom. vi. the external man is to be reformed through the internal, and not the other way about. . (i) _no one is reformed by miracles and signs, for they coerce._ we have shown above that man has an internal and an external of thought, and that the lord acts into the external by the internal in man and so teaches and leads him; also that it is of the lord's divine providence that man is to act in freedom according to reason. either action would perish in man if miracles were done and he were driven by them to believe. that this is so can be seen rationally in this way: undeniably miracles induce belief and powerfully persuade a person that what the miracle-doer says and teaches is true, and at first this engages man's external of thought, virtually holding it spellbound. but one is deprived by this of the two faculties called rationality and liberty, thus cannot act in freedom according to reason, nor can the lord then inflow into the external of man's thought through the internal save only to leave man to confirm from his rationality what has been made a matter of his belief by the miracle. [ ] the state of man's thought is such that from the internal of thought he can see a piece in the external of his thought as in a mirror--for as was said above, one can behold one's own thought, which is possible only from more interior thought. beholding the item as in a mirror he can turn it this way and that and shape it to look attractive to him. if there is truth in it, it may be likened to an attractive and animated maiden or youth. but if a man cannot turn it this way and that and shape it, but only believe it persuaded of it by a miracle, then if there is truth in it, it may be likened to a maiden or youth carved in stone or wood, in which is nothing alive. it may also be compared to an object which is constantly in view and looked at alone, keeps one from seeing what is to either side and behind it. it can also be compared to a continual sound in the ear, which does away with perceiving the harmony of many sounds. such are the blindness and deafness induced on the mind by miracles. it is the same with anything confirmed but not regarded from rationality before it is confirmed. . plain it is from this that a faith induced by miracles is not faith, but persuasion. for it has nothing rational in it, still less anything spiritual, as it is only external without an internal. this is true of everything a man does from such persuasive faith, whether he is acknowledging god, worshiping him at home or in church, or doing good deeds. when only a miracle leads a person to acknowledgment of god and to adoration and piety, he acts from the natural and not the spiritual man. for a miracle infuses belief by an external and not an internal way, thus from the world and not from heaven. the lord enters man by an internal way, by the word and by doctrine and preaching from it. as miracles close this way, no miracles are done today. . that miracles are of this nature can be clearly established from those performed in the presence of the people of judah and israel. although they beheld many miracles in the land of egypt and later at the red sea and others in the wilderness and particularly on mt. sinai when the law was promulgated, nevertheless, in a month's time while moses tarried on that mountain, they made themselves a golden calf and hailed it as jehovah who had led them out of the land of egypt (ex : - ). again, it is plain from the miracles done later in the land of canaan; nevertheless the people fell away time and again from the prescribed worship. it is equally plain from the miracles which the lord did before their eyes when he was in the world; yet they crucified him. [ ] miracles were done among the jews and israelites because they were altogether external men and had been brought into the land of canaan merely to represent a church and its eternal verities by the externalities of worship--something a bad man as well as a good man can do. for the externals are rituals which with that people signified spiritual and celestial things. indeed aaron, although he made the golden calf and ordered worship of it (ex : - , ), could still represent the lord and his work of salvation. as the people could not be brought by the internal things of worship to represent them, they were brought to do so by miracles--in fact, were driven and forced to it. [ ] they could not be led by internals of worship because they did not acknowledge the lord although the entire word which they had treats of him alone. one who does not acknowledge the lord cannot receive anything internal in worship. but miracles ceased after the lord had manifested himself and was received and acknowledged as eternal god in the churches. . the effect of miracles on the good and on the evil differs, however. the good do not desire miracles, but believe those in the word. if they hear of some miracle, they regard it only as a slight indication confirming their faith; for they draw their thought from the word and thus from the lord, and not from a miracle. it is different with the evil. they can be driven and compelled, of course, to belief, to worship, too, and to piety, but only for a little while. for their evils are enclosed, and the lusts of those evils and the enjoyments of the lusts continually press against the outward worship and piety; and in order that the evils may come out of their confinement and burst forth, the wicked ponder the miracle, finally call it ridiculous and a ruse or a natural phenomenon, and so return to their evils. one who returns to his evils after having worshiped profanes the truths and goods of worship, and the lot of profaners after death is the worst of all fates. they are meant by the lord's words in matthew ( : - ) about those whose last state is worse than the first. besides, if miracles were to be done for those who have no faith from the miracles in the word, they would have to be done constantly and before their eyes. it may be plain from all this why miracles are not done at this day. . (ii) no one is reformed by visions or by communication with the dead, for they coerce. visions are of two kinds, divine and diabolic. divine visions are effected by representations in heaven; diabolic by magic in hell. there are also phantasmal visions, which are illusions of an estranged mind. divine visions, produced as we said by representative things in heaven, are such as the prophets had who at the time were not in the body but in the spirit, for visions cannot appear to anyone in bodily wakefulness. when these came to the prophets, therefore, it is remarked that they were "in the spirit," as is plain from the following: ezekiel said, the spirit picked me up and carried me to chaldea to the captivity in a vision of god, in the spirit of god; so the vision rose over me which i saw ( : , ). again that the spirit bore him between earth and heaven and brought him to jerusalem in visions of god ( : , ). he was likewise in visions of god or in the spirit when he saw four beasts which were cherubim ( and ). so, too, when he saw a new temple and a new earth, and an angel measuring them ( - ). that he was in "visions of god" then, he says at : , , and that he was "in the spirit" at : . [ ] zechariah was in a similar state when he saw a horseman among myrtle trees ( : ff) four horns ( : ) and a man with a measuring line in his hand ( : - ff ) a candlestick and two olive trees ( : ff) a flying roll and an ephah ( : , ) four chariots coming out between two mountains, and horses ( : ff). in a like state was daniel when he saw four beasts coming up from the sea ( : ff ) a combat between a ram and a he-goat ( : ff). that he saw these things "in the vision of his spirit" is stated at : , , , ; : ; : , , , and that the angel gabriel was seen by him in a "vision" at : . [ ] john was also in the vision of the spirit when he beheld what he has described in the apocalypse, as when he saw seven candlesticks and the son of man in the midst of them ( : - ) a throne in heaven, and one sitting on the throne, and around it four beasts, which were cherubim ( ) the book of life taken by the lamb ( ) horses coming out from the book ( ) seven angels with trumpets ( ) the pit of the abyss opened, and locusts coming out a dragon, and its battle with michael ( ) two beasts, rising, one from the sea and the other from the land ( ) a woman seated on a scarlet beast ( ) babylon destroyed ( ) a white horse, and one seated on it ( ) a new heaven and a new earth, and the holy jerusalem descending from heaven ( ) the river of the water of life ( ). that he saw these "in the vision of the spirit" is said : ; : ; : ; : ; : , . [ ] such were the visions which appeared from heaven to the sight of the spirit of these men, but not to their bodily sight. such visions do not occur at this day because if they did, they would not be understood inasmuch as they are produced by representations the details of which signify internal things of the church and arcana of heaven. daniel also foretold ( : ) that they would cease when the lord came into the world. diabolic visions, however, have occurred at times, incited by fanatical and visionary spirits who in their delirium called themselves the holy spirit. but those spirits have now been gathered together by the lord and cast into a hell separate from the hells of others. there are also phantasmal visions which are merely the illusions of an estranged mind. all this makes clear that no one can be reformed by any visions other than those in the word. r. the fact that no one is reformed by communication with the dead is plain from the lord's words about the rich man in hell and lazarus in abraham's bosom. for the rich man said, i ask you, father abraham, to send lazarus to my father's house, for i have five brothers, to testify to them lest they also come into this place of torment. abraham said to him, they have moses and the prophets; let them hear them. but he said, no, father abraham, but if some one will go to them from the dead, they will repent. he replied, if they do not hear moses and the prophets, they will not be persuaded either if one should arise from the dead (lu : - ). communication with the dead would have the same result as miracles (of which just above), namely, that a man would be influenced and driven into worship for a short time. but as this deprives a man of rationality and at the same time shuts his evils in, as was said above, the captivation or the inward bond is undone, and the imprisoned evils break out, with blasphemy and profanation; this last occurs, however, only when spirits introduce something dogmatic from religion, which is never done by a good spirit, still less by an angel of heaven. . nevertheless, speech with spirits--rarely with angels of heaven--is possible and has been granted to many for ages. when it is granted, spirits speak with a man in his native tongue and briefly. and those who speak with the lord's permission never say anything that takes away the freedom of the reason, nor do they instruct, for the lord alone teaches man, doing so by means of the word to the man's enlightenment (of this in numbers to come). i have been given to know this in my own experience. i have spoken with spirits and angels for many years now. no spirit has dared and no angel has wished to tell me, still less to instruct me, about things in the word or about any of its doctrine. the lord alone has taught me, who revealed himself to me and afterwards continued to appear to me as he does now, as the sun in which he is, as he appears to the angels, and he has enlightened me. . (iii) _no one is reformed by threats or penalties, as these coerce._ it is known that the external cannot compel the internal, but the internal can compel the external; also that the internal refuses to be coerced by the external and turns away. it is likewise known that external enjoyments entice the assent and love of the internal; and it may also be known that there is a forced internal and a free internal. but all this, though known, needs to be lighted up, for much on being heard is perceived at once to be so, because it is truth and hence is affirmed, but if it is not confirmed by reasons, it can be weakened by arguments from fallacies and finally denied. what we have said is known, is therefore to be taken up afresh and established rationally. [ ] first: _the external cannot compel the internal, but the internal can compel the external._ who can be forced to believe or love? one can no more be compelled to believe than he can be compelled to think that something is so when he thinks it is not so, or to love than to will something that he does not will; belief attaches to thought, and love to the will. the internal can be compelled, however, by what is external not to speak improperly against the laws of a kingdom, the morals of life or the sanctities of the church. the internal can be compelled to this by threats and penalties and is compelled and should be. but this is not the specifically human internal, but one which the human being shares with beasts; they can also be compelled. the human internal resides above this animal internal. here the human internal which cannot be coerced is meant. [ ] second: _the internal refuses to be coerced by the external and turns away._ the reason is that the internal wills to be in freedom and loves freedom. for, as was shown, freedom attaches to man's love and life. when the internal feels it is being subjected to compulsion, therefore, it withdraws as it were into itself, averts itself, and regards the compulsion as its enemy. for the love which makes man's life is irritated and causes him to think that he is then not himself and has no life of his own. the internal of the human being is of this nature by the law of the lord's divine providence that he shall act from freedom in accord with reason. [ ] plainly, then, it does harm to compel men to divine worship by threats and penalties. some permit themselves to be forced to religion, some do not. many who do are adherents of catholicism; but this is the case with those in whom there is nothing internal in worship, but all is external. among those who do not allow themselves to be coerced are many of the english nation, and as a result there is what is internal in their worship and what is external is from the internal. their interiors in respect to religion appear in the light of the spiritual world like bright clouds, but those of the former like dark clouds. the one and the other appearance is to be seen in that world, and one who wishes may see it when he enters that world on death. furthermore, enforced worship shuts one's evils in, which are hidden then like fire in wood under ashes which keeps stirring and spreading until it bursts into flame. but worship, not enforced but spontaneous, does not shut evils in; these are therefore like a fire that flares up and goes out. thence it is plain that the internal refuses to be forced by the external and turns away. the internal can compel the external because it is like a master and the external like a servant. [ ] third: _external enjoyments entice assent and love from the internal._ enjoyments are of two kinds, of the understanding or of the will. enjoyments of the understanding are also enjoyments of wisdom, and those of the will also enjoyments of love; for wisdom belongs to the understanding and love to the will. enjoyments of the body or of the senses, which are external pleasures, act as one with the internal enjoyments, which are enjoyments of the understanding and the will. therefore, just as the internal is so averse to compulsion by the external as to turn away, it looks so kindly on enjoyment in the external that it turns to it. assent follows on the part of the understanding, and love on the part of the will. [ ] in the spiritual world all children are introduced by the lord into angelic wisdom and through this into heavenly love by delightful and charming means, first by pretty things in the home and the charms of a garden; then by representations of spiritual things affecting the interiors of their minds with pleasure; and finally by truths of wisdom and goods of love. thus they are steadily led by enjoyments in due order, first by the enjoyments of a love of the understanding and of its wisdom, and then by the enjoyments of the love of the will which is their life's love, to which all else that has entered through enjoyment is kept subordinate. [ ] this is done because the will and understanding must all be formed by what is external before they are formed by what is internal, for they are formed first by what enters by the physical senses, chiefly the sight and the hearing; then when a first will and understanding have been formed, the internal of thought regards them as the externals of its thinking, and either joins itself to them or separates itself from them, as they are or are not enjoyable to it. [ ] it should be well understood, however, that the internal of the understanding does not unite itself to the internal of the will, but it is the latter that unites itself to the former and causes reciprocal union. this is done by the internal of the will, not at all by the internal of the understanding. hence it is that man cannot be reformed by faith alone, but by the love of the will which makes a faith for itself. [ ] fourth: _there is a forced internal and a free one._ a forced internal is found in those who are in external worship only and in none that is internal. their internal consists of thinking and willing what the external is coerced to. such are persons who worship living or dead men or idols, or who rest their faith on miracles. no internal is possible with them which is not at the same time external. and yet a forced internal is possible with persons in internal worship; it may be forced by fear or compelled by love. that forced by fear is found in those who worship for fear of the torment and fire of hell. this internal is not the internal of thought of which we have treated, however, but an external of thought called internal here because it partakes of thought. the internal of thought of which we have treated cannot be forced by any fear; it can be compelled by love and by fear of failing to love. in the true sense fear of god is nothing else. to be compelled by love and by the fear of failing in it is self-compulsion, and self-compulsion, it will be seen in what follows, is not contrary to freedom and rationality. . it is plain then what forced worship and unforced worship are like. forced worship is corporeal, inanimate, obscure and sad--corporeal because it is of the body and not of the mind; inanimate because it has no life in it; obscure for lack of understanding in it; and sad because it does not have the joy of heaven in it. but worship not forced and real is spiritual, living, seeing and joyful--spiritual, because spirit from the lord is in it; living, because life from him is in it; seeing because wisdom from him is in it; and joyful because heaven from him is in it. . (iv) _no one is reformed in states of no liberty or rationality._ we showed above that only what a man does in freedom according to reason is made his. this is because freedom belongs to the will and reason to the understanding; acting in freedom in accord with reason a man acts from the will by the understanding and what is done in the union of the two is appropriated. now, since the lord wills that a man be reformed and regenerated in order that eternal life or the life of heaven may be his, and none can be reformed or regenerated unless good is appropriated to his will and truth to his understanding as if they were his, and only that can be appropriated which is done in freedom of the will and in accord with the reason of the understanding, no one is reformed in states of no freedom or rationality. there are many such states, but they may be summarized as states of fear, misfortune, mental illness, physical disease, ignorance, and intellectual blindness. something will be said of each. . no one is reformed in a _state of fear_ because fear takes away freedom and reason or liberty and rationality. love opens the mind's interiors but fear closes them, and when they are closed man thinks little and only what comes to the lower mind or to the senses. all fears that assail the lower mind have this effect. [ ] we showed above that man has an internal and an external of thought. fear can never invade the internal of thought; this is always in freedom, being in a man's life-love. but it can invade the external of thought. when it does, the internal of thought is closed and thereupon man can no longer act in freedom in accord with his reason, nor be reformed. [ ] the fear which invades the external of thought and closes the internal is chiefly fear of losing standing or profit. fear of civil penalties or of outward ecclesiastical penalties does not close the internal, for the laws respecting them pronounce penalties only on those who speak and act contrary to the civil requirements of the kingdom and the spiritual of the church, but not on those who think contrary to them. [ ] fear of infernal punishment invades the external of thought, to be sure, but only for some moments, hours or days; it is soon restored to its freedom by the internal of thought, which is man's spirit and life-love and is called thought of the heart. [ ] fear of losing one's standing or wealth, however, does invade man's external of thought, and when it does, closes the internal of thought above to influx from heaven and makes it impossible for man to be reformed. this is because everyone's life-love from birth is love of self and the world, and self-love is at one with the love of position, and love of the world with the love of wealth. when a man has position or wealth, therefore, for fear of losing them he strengthens the means at hand--whether civil or churchly and in either case means to power--which serve him for position and wealth. the man who does not yet have standing or wealth but aspires to them, does the same, but for fear he will lose the reputation they give. [ ] it was said that this fear seizes on the external of thought and closes the internal above to heaven's inflowing. the internal is said to be closed when it makes one completely with the external, as it is then not in itself but in the external. [ ] but as the loves of self and the world are infernal loves and the fountain-heads of all evils, it is plain what the internal of thought in itself is like with men in whom those loves reign and are their life's loves, namely, that it is full of lusts of evils of every kind. [ ] this men do not know who fear loss of place and opulence and are strongly persuaded of their special religion, most particularly if this promises that they may be worshiped as holy and also as governors of hell; they can blaze, as it were, with zeal for the salvation of souls and yet this is from infernal fire. as this fear especially takes away rationality itself and liberty itself, which have a heavenly origin, plainly it makes against the possibility that a man may be reformed. . no one is reformed in a _state of misfortune_ if he thinks about god and implores help only then, for it is a coerced state; wherefore, on coming into a free state he returns to his former state when he thought little if at all about god. it is different with those who feared god in a state of freedom previously. for by "fearing god" is meant fearing to offend him, and by "offending him" to sin, and this comes not from fear but from love. does not one who loves another fear to hurt him? and the more he loves him, the more he fears hurting him? lacking this fear, love is insipid and superficial, of the mind only and not of the will. by states of misfortune states of despair in danger are meant, in battles, for example, duels, shipwreck, falls, fires, threatening or unexpected loss of property, also of office or standing, and similar mishaps. to think about god only then is not to think from god but from self. for then the mind is as it were imprisoned in the body, so is not in freedom nor possessed then of rationality, and without these reformation is impossible. . no one is reformed in _a state of mental illness_ because such illness takes away rationality and thus the liberty of acting in accord with reason. the whole mind is sick and not sane; the sane mind is rational, but not a sick one. such disorders are melancholy, a spurious or a false conscience, fantasies of different kinds, mental grief over misfortune, anxiety and anguish of the mind over a bodily defect. sometimes these are regarded as temptations, but they are not. genuine temptations have spiritual objects in view and in them the mind is wise, but these states are concerned with natural objects and in them the mind is disordered. . no one is reformed in _a state of bodily sickness_ because his reason is not then in a state of freedom; the state of the mind depends on that of the body. when the body is sick, the mind is also, if for no other reason because it is withdrawn from the world. withdrawn from the world it thinks indeed about god but not from him, for it is not possessed of freedom of the reason. man has this freedom in being midway between heaven and the world, thus can think from heaven and from the world, likewise from heaven about the world and from the world about heaven. so when he is ill and thinks about death and the state of his soul after death, he is not in the world but is withdrawn in spirit. in this state by itself no one can be reformed, but he can be strengthened in it if he was reforming before he fell ill. [ ] it is similar with those who renounce the world and all occupation in it and give themselves only to thoughts about god, heaven and salvation; on this further elsewhere. if those of whom we were speaking have not been reformed before their illness, then if they die they become such as they were before their illness. it is vain, therefore, to suppose that one can repent or receive some faith in illness; for no deed accompanies the repentance, and there is no charity in the faith; each is oral only and not at all from the heart. . no one is reformed in _a state of ignorance,_ for all reformation is by truths and a life according to them. therefore those who do not know truths cannot be reformed, but if they long for them with affection for them, after they die they undergo reformation in the spiritual world. . nor can one be reformed in _a state of blindness of the understanding._ these also have no knowledge of truths or consequently of life, for the understanding must teach truths and the will must do them; when the will does what the understanding teaches, a man has life in accord with truths. when the understanding is blind, however, the will also is indifferent and acts in freedom according to one's reason only to do the evil confirmed in the understanding, and the confirmation is falsity. besides ignorance, a religion which teaches a blind faith also blinds the understanding; so does a false doctrine. for just as truths open the understanding, falsities close it. they close it above and open it below, and opened only below, the understanding cannot see truths but only confirm what a man wills, falsity especially. the understanding is also blinded by lusts of evil. as long as the will is in these, it moves the understanding to confirm them, and so far as they are confirmed, the will cannot be in affections of good, from these see truths, and so be reformed. [ ] take, for instance, one who is in the lust of adultery: his will, which is in the enjoyment of his love, moves his understanding to confirm it, saying, "what is adultery? is there any evil in it? does not the like occur between husband and wife? cannot offspring be born of it, too? cannot a woman receive more than one without harm? how does anything spiritual enter into this?" so thinks the understanding which is then the courtesan of the will. so stupid is it made by debauchery with the will that it is unable to see that marital love is spiritual and heavenly love itself, a reflection of the love between the lord and the church from which it is derived; is in itself sacred and chastity itself, purity and innocence; causes men to be forms of love, since partners can love each other from inmosts and so form themselves into loves; nor can it see that adultery destroys this form and with it the lord's image; and what is abhorrent, that the adulterer mingles his life with that of the husband in the wife, for a man's life is in the seed. [ ] because this is profane, hell is called adultery, and heaven on the other hand is called marriage. furthermore, the love of adultery communicates with the lowest hell, but true marital love with the inmost heaven; the reproductive organs of both sexes also correspond to societies of the inmost heaven. these things are adduced so that it may be known how blinded the understanding is when the will is in the lust of evil, and that no one can be reformed in a state of blindness of the understanding. . (v) _self-compulsion is not contrary to rationality and liberty._ we have shown that man has an internal and an external of thought; that they are distinguishable as prior and subsequent or higher and lower; and that being so distinct they can act separately and also jointly. they act separately when a man speaks and acts from the external of his thought otherwise than he thinks and wills inwardly; they act jointly when he speaks and acts as he thinks and wills. the latter is common with the sincere, the former with the insincere. [ ] inasmuch as the internal and the external of the mind are so distinct, the internal can even fight with the external and by combat drive it to compliance. conflict arises when the man deems evils to be sins and resolves to desist from them. when he desists, a door is opened and the lusts of evil which have occupied the internal of thought are cast out by the lord and affections of good are implanted in their place. this occurs in the internal of thought. but the enjoyments of evil lust which occupy the external of thought cannot be cast out at the same time; conflict arises therefore between the internal and the external of thought. the internal wants to cast out those enjoyments because they are enjoyments of evil and do not agree with the affections of good in which the internal now is, and wants to introduce in their place enjoyments of good which do agree. these are what are called goods of charity. from the disagreement comes the conflict which, if it grows severe, is called temptation. [ ] now as man is man by virtue of the internal of his thought, for this is his very spirit, obviously he compels himself when he compels the external of his thought to comply or to receive the enjoyments of his affections or the goods of charity. plainly this is not contrary to rationality and liberty but in accord with them; rationality starts the combat and liberty follows it up; liberty itself resides with rationality in the internal man and from that in the external. [ ] accordingly, when the internal conquers, which it does when it has reduced the external to compliance and obedience, man is given liberty itself and rationality itself by the lord, for he is delivered by the lord then from infernal freedom which in itself is enslavement, is brought into heavenly freedom which is freedom in itself, and is given association with angels. the lord himself teaches ( john : - ) that those who are in sins are enslaved and that he delivers those who receive truth from him through the word. . let an example serve for illustration. a man who has taken pleasure in defrauding and deceiving sees and inwardly acknowledges it to be sin and resolves to desist from it; with this a battle begins of his internal with the external. the internal man is in an affection for honesty, but the external still in the enjoyment of defrauding. this enjoyment, utterly opposed to enjoyment in honesty, does not give way unless forced to do so and can be forced to do so only by combat with it. when the fight is won, the external man comes into the enjoyment of a love of honesty, which is charity. then the pleasure of defrauding gradually turns unpleasant to him. it is the same with all other sins, with adultery and whoredom, revenge and hatred, blasphemy and lying. the most difficult battle of all is with the love of ruling from self-love. a person who subdues this love, easily subdues all other evil loves, for this is their summit. . let it be told briefly how the lord casts out lusts of evil occupying the internal man from birth and in their place bestows affections of good when a man on his part removes the evils as sins. it was shown earlier that man possesses a natural, a spiritual and a celestial mind, that he is only in the natural mind as long as he is in lusts of evil and their enjoyments, and that during this time the spiritual mind is closed. but as soon as a man on self-examination confesses evils to be sins against god because they are contrary to divine laws and accordingly resolves to desist from them, the lord opens the spiritual mind, enters the natural by affections of truth and good, enters the reason, and by the reason puts into order what is disordered below in the natural. it is this that strikes the man as a battle, and strikes those who have indulged much in enjoyments of evil as temptation, for when the order of its thinking is inverted the lower mind suffers pain. inasmuch as the battle is against what is in the man himself and what he feels to be his, and no one can fight against himself except from a more interior self and from freedom in it, it follows that the internal man fights against the external and does so from freedom, and compels the external to obey. this, then, is compelling oneself, and, clearly, it is not contrary to liberty and rationality, but in accord with them. . everyone desires to be free, moreover, and to be rid of the unfree or servitude. the boy under a master wishes to be his own master and thus free; so every man-servant under his master or maid under her mistress. every girl wishes to leave the paternal home and marry, to do freely in a home of her own; and every boy who desires to work, enter business, or hold some position wishes to be released from his subordination to others and to be at his own disposal. all of these who serve willingly in order to be free compel themselves, and in doing so act from freedom according to reason but from an inner freedom, by which outward freedom is regarded as servant. we add this to confirm the fact that self-compulsion is not contrary to rationality and liberty. . one reason why man does not wish in like manner to come out of spiritual servitude into spiritual freedom is that he does not know what either is; he does not have the truths to teach this, and without them spiritual servitude is believed to be freedom and spiritual freedom to be servitude. a second reason is that the religion of christendom has closed the understanding, and "faith alone" has sealed it shut. each has built an iron wall around itself in the dogma that theological matters transcend and cannot be approached by the reason, but are for the blind and not the seeing. so truths that would teach what spiritual liberty is have been hidden. a third reason is that few examine themselves and see their sins, and one who does not see and quit them is in the freedom that sins have, which is infernal freedom, in itself enslavement. to view heavenly freedom, which is genuine freedom, from that freedom is like trying to see daylight in pitch darkness or sunshine from under a black cloud. so it happens that it is not known what heavenly freedom is, or that the difference between it and infernal freedom is like the difference between what is living and what is dead. . (vi) the external man is to be reformed by the internal, and not the other way about. by internal and external man the same is meant as by external and internal of thought, of which frequently before. the external must be reformed by the internal because the internal flows into the external and not the reverse. the learned world knows that what is spiritual flows into what is natural and not the reverse, for reason dictates it; the church knows that the internal man must first be cleansed and made new and the external by it then, because the lord teaches it. he does so in the words: woe to you . . . hypocrites, for you make the outside of the cup and platter clean, but the inside is full of extortion and excess. blind pharisee, cleanse first the inside of the cup and platter that the outside may also be made clean (mt : , ). we have shown in a number of places in the treatise _divine love and wisdom_ that reason dictates this. for what the lord teaches he grants man to see rationally. this a man does in two ways: in one, he sees in himself that something is so upon hearing it; in the other, he grasps it by reasons for it. seeing in oneself takes place in the internal man, and understanding through reasoning in the external man. who does not perceive it within himself when he hears that the internal man is to be purified first and the external by it? but one who does not receive the general idea of this by influx from heaven may go astray when he consults the external of this thought; from it alone no one sees but that outward works of charity and piety are saving apart from the internal. it is so in other things, as that sight and hearing flow into thought, and smell and taste into perception, that is, that the external flows into the internal, when the contrary is true. the appearance that what is seen and heard flows into the thought is a fallacy, for the understanding does the seeing in the eye and the hearing in the ear, and not the other way about. so it is in all else. . but something should be said here on how the internal man is reformed and by it the external. the internal man is not reformed solely by knowing, understanding and being wise, consequently not by thinking only; but by willing what these teach. when a person knows, understands and has the wisdom to see that heaven and hell exist and that all evil is from hell and all good from heaven, and if he then does not will evil because it is from hell but good because it is from heaven, he has taken the first step in reformation and is on the threshold from hell to heaven. when he advances farther and resolves to desist from evils, he is at the second step in reformation and is out of hell but not yet in heaven; this he beholds above him. there must be this internal for man to be reformed, but he is not reformed unless the external is reformed as well as the internal. the external is reformed by the internal when the external desists from the evils which the internal sets its will against because they are infernal, and still further reformed when the external shuns and fights against the evils. thus the internal provides the will, the external the deed. for unless a man does the deed he wills, inwardly he does not will it, and finally he wills not to do it. [ ] one can see from these few considerations how the external man is reformed by the internal. this is also meant by the lord's words to peter: jesus said, if i do not wash you, you have no part with me. peter said to him, not my feet only but my hands and head. jesus said to him, he who has been washed has no need except to have his feet washed, and is entirely clean (jn : - ). by "washing" spiritual washing is meant, which is purification from evils; by "washing head and hands" purifying the internal man is meant, and by "washing the feet" purifying the external. that when the internal man has been purified, the external must be, is meant by this: "he who has been washed has no need except to have his feet washed." that all purification from evils is the lord's doing, is meant by this, "if i do not wash you, you have no part with me." we have shown in many places in _arcana caelestia_ that with the jews washing represented purification from evils, that this is signified by "washing" in the word, and that purification of the natural or external man is signified by the "washing of feet." . since man has an internal and an external and each must be reformed for the man to be reformed, and since no one can be reformed unless he examines himself, sees and admits his evils, and then quits them, not only the external is to be examined, but the internal as well. if a man examines only the external he sees only what he has committed to deed, and that he has not murdered or committed adultery or stolen or borne false witness, and so on. he examines bodily evils and not those in his spirit; yet evils of the spirit are to be examined if one is to be capable of reformation. man lives as a spirit after death and all the evils in his spirit persist. the spirit is examined only when a man attends to his thoughts, above all to his intentions, for these are thoughts from the will. there the evils exist at their source and roots, that is, in their lusts and enjoyments. unless they are seen and acknowledged, a man is still in evils though he may not have committed them outwardly. that to think with intention is to will and do, is plain from the lord's words: if any one has looked on another's woman to lust after her, he has already committed adultery with her in his heart (mt : ).* * see footnote at n. . such self-examination is of the internal man, and from it the external man is truly examined. . i have often marveled that although all christendom knows that evils must be shunned as sins and otherwise are not forgiven, and that if they are not forgiven there is no salvation, yet scarcely one person among thousands understands this. inquiry was made about this in the spiritual world, and it was found to be so. anyone in christendom knows it from the exhortations, read out to those who attend the holy supper, in which it is publicly stated; and yet when asked whether they know it, they reply that they do not know it and have not known it. the reason is that they have paid no attention to it, and most say they have thought only about faith and salvation by faith alone. i have also marveled that "faith alone" has closed their eyes so that those who have confirmed themselves in it do not see anything in the word when they read it about love, charity and works. it is as though they spread "faith" all over the word, as red lead is spread over writing so that nothing underneath shows; if anything does show, it is absorbed by faith and declared to be faith. viii. it is a law of divine providence that man shall be led and taught by the lord out of heaven by means of the word and doctrine and preaching from it, and this to all appearance as of himself . the appearance is that man is led and taught by himself; in reality he is led and taught by the lord alone. those who confirm the appearance in themselves and not the reality at the same time are unable to remove evils from themselves as sins, but those who confirm the appearance and at the same time the reality can do so; for evils are removed as sins apparently by the man, but really by the lord. the latter can be reformed, but the former cannot. [ ] all who confirm the appearance in themselves and not the reality also, are idolaters inwardly, for they are worshipers of self and the world. if they have no religion they become worshipers of nature and thus atheists; if they have some religion they become worshipers of men and of images. such are meant now in the first commandment of the decalog under those who worship other gods. those, however, who confirm in themselves the appearance and also the reality become worshipers of the lord, for he raises them out of what is their own, in which the appearance is, conducts them into the light in which the reality is and which is the reality, and gives them to perceive inwardly that they are not led and taught by themselves but by him. [ ] the rational capacity of the two may seem much the same to many, but it differs. in those who are at once in the appearance and the reality, it is a spiritual reasoning ability, but in those in the appearance but not at the same time in the reality it is a natural reasoning ability; this can be likened to a garden in winter light, and the spiritual reasoning capacity to a garden in springtime light. but if these things more in what follows, in this order: i. man is led and taught by the lord alone. ii. he is led and taught by the lord alone through and from the angelic heaven. iii. he is led by the lord through influx and taught through enlightenment. iv. man is taught by the lord through the word and doctrine and preaching from it, thus immediately by him alone. v. man is led and taught in externals by the lord to all appearance as of himself. . (i) _man is led and taught by the lord alone._ this flows as a general consequence from all that was demonstrated in the treatise _divine love and wisdom;_ from what was said in part i about the lord's divine love and wisdom; in part ii about the sun of the spiritual world and the sun of the natural world; in part iii about degrees; in part iv about the creation of the universe; and in part v about the creation of the human being. . man is led and taught by the lord alone in that he lives from the lord alone; for his life's will is led, and his life's understanding is taught. but this is contrary to the appearance, for it seems to man that he lives of himself, and yet the truth is that he lives from the lord and not from himself. man cannot, however, be given a sense-perception of this while he is in the world (the appearance that he lives of himself is not taken away, for without it man is not man). this must be established by reasons, therefore, which are then to be confirmed from experience and finally from the word. . that the human being has life from the lord alone and not of himself is established by these considerations: . there is an only essence, substance and form from which all the essences, substances, and forms exist that have been created. . the one essence, substance and form is divine love and wisdom from which is all that is referable to love and wisdom in man. . it is also good itself and truth itself to which all things are referable. . likewise it is life, from which is the life of all and all things of life. . again the only one and very self is omnipresent, omniscient and omnipotent. . this only one and very self is the lord-from-eternity or jehovah. [ ] . _there is an only essence, substance and form from which all the essences, substances, and forms exist that have been created._ this was demonstrated in the treatise _divine love and wisdom_ (nn. - ). in part ii it was shown that the sun of the angelic heaven, which is from the lord and in which he is, is the one sole substance and form from which all that has been created exists, also that nothing can exist or come into existence except from it. in part iii it was shown that all things arise from that sun by derivations according to degrees. [ ] who does not perceive by the reason and acknowledge that there is some one essence from which is all essence, or one being from which is all being? what can exist apart from being, and what can being be from which is all other being except being itself? being itself is also unique and is being in itself. since this is so (and anyone perceives and acknowledges it by reason, or if not, can do so), what else follows than that this being, the divine itself, jehovah, is all in all in what is or comes to be? [ ] it is the same if we say there is an only substance from which all things are, and as there is no substance without form there is a single form from which all things are. we have shown in the treatise mentioned above that the sun of the angelic heaven is that substance and form, also shown how that essence, substance and form is varied in things created. [ ] . _the one essence, substance and form is divine love and wisdom from which is all that is referable to love and wisdom in man._ this also was fully demonstrated in the treatise _divine love and wisdom._ whatever appears to live in man is referable to will and understanding in him; any-one can perceive by the reason and acknowledge that these two constitute his life. what else is "this i will," or "this i understand," or "i love this," or "i think this"? and as man wills what he loves, and thinks what he understands, all things of the will relate to love and those of the understanding to wisdom. as no one has love or wisdom from himself but only from him who is love itself and wisdom itself, they are from the lord-from-eternity or jehovah. if they were not, man would be love itself and wisdom itself, thus god-from-eternity, at which the human reason itself is horrified. can anything exist except from a prior self? or the prior self exist except from one prior to it? and finally from a first or from underived being? [ ] . _it is also good itself and truth itself, to which all things are referable._ everyone possessed of reason agrees and acknowledges that god is good itself and truth itself, likewise that all good and truth are from him, therefore that any good and truth can come only from good itself and truth itself. all this is acknowledged by every rational person when he first hears it. when it is said, then, that everything of the will and understanding, of love and wisdom, or of affection and thought in a man who is led by the lord relates to good and truth, it follows that all that such a man wills and understands or loves and has for his wisdom, or is affected by and thinks, is from the lord. hence anyone in the church knows that whatever good and truth a man has in himself is not good and truth except as it is from the lord. since this is true, all that such a man wills and thinks is from the lord. it will be seen in following numbers that an evil man can will and think from no other source. [ ] . _the one essence, substance and form is likewise life, from which is the life of all and all things of life._ this we have shown in many places in the treatise _divine love and wisdom._ at the first hearing the human reason also agrees and acknowledges that all man's life is that of the will and understanding, for if these are taken away he ceases to live, or what is the same, that all his life is one of love and thought, for if these are taken away he does not live. inasmuch as all of the will and understanding or all of love and thought in man is from the lord, all of his life, as we said above, is from him. [ ] . _this only one and very self is omnipresent, omniscient and omnipotent._ this also every christian acknowledges from his doctrine and every gentile from his religion. in consequence, wherever he is, a man thinks that god is there and that he prays to god at hand; thinking and praying so, men cannot but think that god is everywhere, that is, omnipresent; likewise omniscient and omnipotent. everyone praying to god, therefore, implores him from the heart to lead him because he can lead him; thus he acknowledges the divine omnipresence, omniscience and omnipotence, doing so in turning his face to the lord; thereupon the truth flows in from the lord. [ ] . this only one and very self is the lord-from-eternity or jehovah. in doctrine of the new jerusalem about the lord it was shown that god is one in essence and in person and that he is the lord, and that the divine itself, called jehovah father, is the lord-from-eternity; that the divine human is the son conceived by his divine from eternity and born in the world; and that the proceeding divine is the holy spirit. he is called "very self" and "only one" because, as was said, the lord-from-eternity or jehovah is life itself, being love itself and wisdom itself or good itself and truth itself, from which are all things. that the lord created all things from himself and not from nothing may be seen in the treatise _divine love and wisdom_ nn. - , - . so the truth that the human being is led and taught by the lord alone is established by reasons. . this same truth is established in angels not only by reasons but also by living perceptions, especially with angels of the third heaven. they perceive the influx of divine love and wisdom from the lord. perceiving it and in their wisdom aware that love and wisdom are life, they declare that they live from the lord and not of themselves, and not only say so but love and will it so. yet they are in the full appearance that they live of themselves, yes, more strongly in the appearance than other angels. for as was shown above (nn. - ) the more nearly one is united with the lord, the more distinctly does he seem to himself to be his own, and the more plainly is he aware that he is the lord's. for many years now it has been granted me to be in a similar simultaneous perception and appearance, and i am fully convinced that i will and think nothing from myself but that it only appears to be from myself; it has also been granted to love and will it so. the same truth may be established by much else from the spiritual world, but these two references must suffice now. . it is plain from the following passages in the word that life is the lord's alone. i am the resurrection and the life; he who believes in me, though he die, shall live (jn : ). i am the way and the truth and the life (jn : ). the word was god . . . and in him was life; and the life was the light of men (jn : , ). "the word" in this passage is the lord. as the father has life in himself, so has he given the son to have life in himself (jn : ). from the following it is clear that man is led and taught by the lord alone: without me you can do nothing (jn : ). a man cannot receive anything unless it is given him from heaven (jn : ). a man cannot make one hair white or black (mt : ). by "hair" in the word the least of all is signified. . it will be shown in what follows in an article of its own that the life of the wicked has the same source; now this will merely be illustrated by a comparison. heat and light flow in from the sun of the world alike to trees bearing bad fruit and to trees bearing good fruit, and they are alike quickened and grow. the forms into which the heat flows make the difference, not the heat in itself. it is the same with light, which is turned into various colors according to the forms into which it flows. the colors are beautiful and gay or ugly and sombre, and yet it is the same light. it is so with the influx of spiritual heat which in itself is love, and with spiritual light which in itself is wisdom, from the sun of the spiritual world. the forms into which they flow cause diversity, but not in itself that heat which is love or that light which is wisdom. the forms into which these flow are human minds. it is clear from these considerations that man is led and taught by the lord alone. . what the life of animals is, however, was shown above (nn. , ), namely that it is a life of merely natural affection with its attendant knowledge, and a mediated life corresponding to the life of human beings in the spiritual world. . (ii) _man is led and taught by the lord alone through the angelic heaven and from it._ we say "through" the angelic heaven and from it, but that he does so "through" the angelic heaven is the apparent fact, while "from it" is the reality. the lord seems to lead and teach through the angelic heaven because he appears above that heaven as a sun, but the reality is that he does so from heaven because he is in heaven as the soul is in man. for the lord is omnipresent and not in space, as was shown above. therefore distance is an appearance according to conjunction with him, and the conjunction is according to the reception of love and wisdom from him. since no one can be conjoined to the lord as he exists in himself he appears to angels at a distance as a sun; nevertheless he is in the angelic heaven as the soul is in man. he is similarly in every society of heaven and in every angel, for man's soul is not only the soul of man as a whole but also of every part of him. [ ] it is according to the appearance that the lord governs all heaven and through it the world from the sun which is from him and in which he is (about the sun see part ii of the treatise _divine love and wisdom_), and everyone is allowed to speak according to the appearance, cannot, in fact, do otherwise. everyone who is not in wisdom itself is also allowed to think that the lord rules each and all things from his sun and rules the world through the angelic heaven. angels of the lower heavens think from the appearance, but those of the higher heavens speak indeed in keeping with the appearance but think from the reality, namely, that the lord rules the universe from the angelic heaven, that is, from himself. [ ] one can illustrate by the sun of the world that simple and wise speak alike but do not think alike. all speak from the appearance that the sun rises and sets. despite speaking so the wise think it stands still, which is again the reality, as the other is the appearance. the same thing can be illustrated from appearances in the spiritual world, for space and distance appear there but are dissimilarities of affections and of resulting thoughts. the same is true of the lord's appearing in his sun. . we shall say briefly how the lord leads and teaches everyone from the angelic heaven. in the treatise _divine love and wisdom_ and above in the present treatise, also in the work _heaven and hell,_ published in london in the year , it has been made known from things seen and heard that the angelic heaven appears before the lord as one man, and each society of heaven likewise, and it is from this that each angel or spirit is a human being in complete form. it was also shown in the treatises mentioned that heaven is not heaven from anything belonging to the angels but from their reception of divine love and wisdom from the lord. hence it may be evident that the lord rules the whole angelic heaven as one man, and since heaven is itself man, it is the very image and likeness of the lord and the lord rules it as the soul rules its body. since all mankind is ruled by the lord, it is ruled by the lord not through heaven, but from heaven, consequently by him, for he is heaven, as we have said. . this is an arcanum of angelic wisdom, however, and therefore cannot be comprehended by man unless his spiritual mind has been opened; for such a man, who is united with the lord, is an angel. from what has preceded he can comprehend the following: . men as well as angels are in the lord and the lord in them according to their conjunction with him, or, what is the same, according to their reception of love and wisdom from him. . each of them has a place allotted to him in the lord, thus in heaven, according to the nature of the conjunction or the reception of him. . each in his place has a state of his own distinct from that of others and draws his portion from what is had in common according to his situation, function and need, quite as each part does in the human body. . everyone is brought into his place by the lord according to his life. . every human being is introduced from infancy into this divine man whose soul and life is the lord, and within it and not outside of it is led and taught from his divine love according to his divine wisdom; but as a man is not deprived of freedom, he can be led and taught only in the measure of his receptiveness as of himself. . those who are receptive are conducted to their places through an infinite maze by winding paths, much as the chyle is carried through the mesentery and the lacteal vessels there to its cistern, and from this into the blood by the thoracic duct, and so to its place. . those who are not receptive are parted from those within the divine man, as excrement and urine are removed from man. these are arcana of angelic wisdom which man can comprehend to some extent; there are many more which he cannot. . (iii) _man is led by the lord through influx and taught through enlightenment._ man is led through influx by the lord because "being led" and "flowing in" are spoken of love and the will; and he is taught by the lord through enlightenment because "being taught" and "enlightened" are spoken of wisdom and the understanding. it is known that every person is led by himself from his own love and according to it by others, and not by his understanding. he is led by his understanding and according to it only as his love or his will prompts the understanding, and then it can be said that his understanding is led also. even then the understanding is not led, but the will which prompts it. the term "influx" is used because it is commonly said that the soul flows into the body; influx is spiritual and not physical, as we showed above, and man's soul or life is his love or will. for another reason, influx is comparatively like the flow of the blood into the heart and from the heart into the lungs. we showed in the treatise divine love and wisdom that the heart corresponds to the will and the lungs correspond to the understanding, and that the conjunction of the will with the understanding is like the flowing of the blood from the heart to the lungs. . man is taught, however, through enlightenment; being taught and being enlightened are said of the understanding. for the understanding or man's internal sight is enlightened by spiritual light quite as the eye or man's external sight is by natural light. the two are also taught similarly; the internal sight, however, which is that of the understanding, by spiritual objects, and the external sight or the sight of the eye by natural objects. there is spiritual light and natural light, one like the other in outward appearance, but dissimilar in internal appearance. for natural light comes from the sun of the natural world and so is in itself dead, but spiritual light, which is from the sun of the spiritual world, is in itself living. this light, not nature's, enlightens the human intellect. natural and rational light comes from it and not from nature's light, and is here called natural and rational because it is spiritual-natural. [ ] there are three degrees of light in the spiritual world: celestial, spiritual and spiritual-natural. celestial light is a flaming, ruddy light and is the light of those who are in the third heaven; spiritual light is a gleaming white light and is the light of those in the middle heaven; and spiritual-natural light is like daylight in our world. this is the light of those who are in the lowest heaven and of those in the world of spirits, which is intermediate between heaven and hell; with the good in that world it is like the light of summer on earth and with the evil like winter's light. it should be known, however, that light in the spiritual world has nothing in common with light in the natural world; they are as different as what is living and what is lifeless. it is plain, then, from what has been said that it is spiritual light and not the natural light before our eyes that enlightens the understanding. man does not know this, not having known anything hitherto about spiritual light. in the work _heaven and hell_ we have shown (nn. - ) that spiritual light has its origin in divine wisdom and truth. . having spoken about the light of heaven, we should say something about the light of hell. this also is of three degrees. the light in the lowest hell is like that from fiery coals; in the middle hell like that from the flame of a hearth; and in the highest hell like that from candles and to some like moonlight at night. all this is spiritual light and not natural, for all natural light is dead and extinguishes the understanding. as has been shown, those in hell possess the faculty of understanding called rationality; rationality itself comes from spiritual light and not from natural light. the spiritual light which they have in rationality is turned, however, into infernal light, as the light of day is into the dark of night. [ ] nevertheless, all those in the spiritual world, whether in the heavens or the hells, see in their own light as clearly as man sees in his by day. this is because everyone's eyesight is formed to receive the light in which it finds itself. thus the eyesight of the angels of heaven is formed to receive the light in which they see, and the sight of the spirits of hell is formed to receive their light; this is comparatively like that of birds of night and bats, which see objects at night and in the evening as clearly as other birds see them by day, for their eyes are formed to receive their light. [ ] the difference between the one light and the other appears very clearly, however, to those who look from one to the other. when, for instance, an angel of heaven looks into hell he sees only thick darkness, and when a spirit of hell looks into heaven he sees only thick darkness there. for heavenly wisdom is like thick darkness to those in hell; in turn, infernal insanity is like thick darkness to those in heaven. it is plain from all this that such as a man's understanding is, such is the light he has, and that after death everyone comes into his own light, for he sees in no other. in the spiritual world, moreover, where all are spiritual even to the body, the eyes of all are formed to see by their own light. everyone's life-love fashions an understanding for itself and thus a light, also, for love is like the fire of life and from this comes the light of life. . as few know anything about the enlightenment in which the understanding of a man is who is taught by the lord, something will be said of it. there is inner and outer enlightenment from the lord, and inner and outer enlightenment from oneself. inner enlightenment from the lord consists in man's perceiving on first hearing something whether it is true or not; outer enlightenment consists in thought from this. inner enlightenment from oneself is simply from confirmation and outer enlightenment merely from information. we will say something of each. [ ] by inner enlightenment from the lord a rational person perceives about many things the moment he hears them whether they are true or not; for example, that love is the life of faith or that faith lives by love. by interior enlightenment a person also perceives that a man wills what he loves and does what he wills, consequently that to love is to do; again, that a man wills and does whatever he believes from love, and therefore to have faith is also to do; and that the impious man cannot have love for god or faith then in him. by inner enlightenment a rational man also perceives the following truths at once on hearing them: god is one; he is omnipresent; all good is from him; all things have relation to good and truth; all good is from good itself and all truth from truth itself. a man perceives these and other similar truths inwardly in himself on hearing them and does so because he possesses a rationality which is in heaven's enlightening light. [ ] outer enlightenment is enlightenment of one's thought from this inner enlightenment. one's thought is in this enlightenment so far as it remains in the perception it has from inner enlightenment and so far as it possesses knowledge of good and truth, for it gets from this knowledge reasons confirming it. thought from outer enlightenment sees a matter on both sides; on the one, it sees reasons which confirm it, and on the other, the appearances that weaken it; it dispels these and assembles the reasons. [ ] inner enlightenment from oneself, however, is quite different. by it one regards a matter on one side only, and having confirmed it sees it in light apparently like that just spoken of, but it is a wintry light. for example, a judge who judges unjustly in view of gifts or gain, once he has confirmed the judgment by law and reason sees in it nothing but justice. some judges see the injustice but not wanting to see it, they keep it out of sight and blind themselves and so do not see. the same is true of a judge who renders judgments out of friendship, or to gain favor, or on account of relationship. [ ] such persons act in the same way in anything they have from a man in authority or from the mouth of a celebrity or have hatched from self-intelligence; they are blind reasoners, for they see from the falsities which they confirm; falsity closes the sight, just as truth opens it. they do not see any truth in the light of truth nor justice from a love for it but from the light of confirmation, which is an illusory light. they appear in the spiritual world like headless faces or like faces resembling human faces on wooden heads, and are called reasoning animals for rationality is potential in them. those have outer enlightenment from themselves who think and speak solely from information impressed on the memory; of themselves they can hardly confirm anything. . such are the differences in enlightenment and consequently in perception and thought. there is actual enlightenment by spiritual light, but it is not manifest to one in the natural world because natural light has nothing in common with spiritual light. this enlightenment has sometimes been manifested to me in the spiritual world, however, visible in those enlightened by the lord as a luminosity around the head, aglow with the color of the human face. with those in enlightenment from themselves the luminosity was not around the head but around the mouth and over the chin. . besides these kinds of enlightenment there is another in which it is revealed to one in what faith, intelligence and wisdom he is; he perceives this in himself, such is the revelation. he is admitted into a society where there is genuine faith and true intelligence and wisdom. there his interior rationality is opened, from which he sees the nature of his own faith, intelligence and wisdom, even to avowing it. i have seen some as they returned and heard them confessing that they had no faith although in the world they had believed they had much faith and markedly more than others; they said the same of their intelligence and wisdom. some were in faith alone and in no charity, and some in self-intelligence. . (iv) _man is taught by the lord through the word and doctrine and preaching from it, thus immediately by the lord alone._ we said and showed above that man is led and taught by the lord alone, and from heaven but not through heaven or any angel there. as it is by the lord alone, it is done immediately and not mediately. how this takes place will be told now. . it was shown in _doctrine of the new jerusalem about the sacred scripture_ that the lord is the word and that all the doctrine of the church is to be drawn from the word. inasmuch as the lord is the word the man who is taught from the word is taught by the lord alone. this is comprehended with difficulty and will be clarified in this order: . the lord is the word because the word is from him and about him. . also because the word is divine truth together with divine good. . to be taught from the word is to be taught from him, therefore. . that this is done mediately through preaching does not take away its immediacy. [ ] first: _the lord is the word because it is from him and about him._ no one in the church denies that the word is from the lord, but that it is about him alone, while not denied, is not known. this was shown in _doctrine of the new jerusalem about the lord,_ nn. - , - , and in _doctrine of the new jerusalem about the sacred scripture,_ nn. - , - , - . inasmuch as the word is from the lord alone and treats of him alone, a man is taught by the lord when he is taught from the word, for it is the divine word. who can communicate what is divine and implant it in the heart except the divine himself from whom it is and of whom it treats? therefore, in speaking of his union with his disciples he says that they are to abide in him and his words in them (jn : ), that his words are spirit and life (jn : ), and that he makes his abode with those who keep his words (jn : - ). to think from the lord therefore is to think from the word, and as it were, through the word. it was shown in _doctrine of the new jerusalem about the sacred scripture_ from beginning to end that all things of the word have communication with heaven, and as the lord is heaven, this means that all things of the word have communication with the lord himself. the angels of heaven indeed have communication; this, too, is from the lord. [ ] second: _the lord is the word because it is divine truth together with divine good._ the lord teaches that he is the word by these words in john: in the beginning was the word, and the word was with god, and the word was god . . . and the word was made flesh and dwelt among us ( : , ). this passage has been understood hitherto to mean only that god teaches men through the word and has been explained as an hyperbole, with the implication that the lord is not the word itself. this is because expositors did not know that the word is divine truth together with divine good or, what is the same, divine wisdom together with divine love. that these are the lord himself was shown in the treatise _divine love and wisdom,_ part i, and that they are the word in _doctrine of the new jerusalem about the sacred scripture,_ nn. - . [ ] we will say briefly in what way the lord is divine truth together with divine good. each human being is human not because of face and body but from the good of his love and the truths of his wisdom; and because a man is a man from these, he is also his own good and his own truth or his own love and his own wisdom; without these he is not a human being. but the lord is good itself and truth itself or, what is the same, love itself and wisdom itself; and these are the word which in the beginning was with god and was god and which was made flesh. [ ] third: _to be taught from the word, then, is to be taught by the lord himself._ for it means that one is taught from good itself and truth itself or from love itself and wisdom itself, and, as we have said, these are the word. but everyone is taught according to an understanding agreeing with his love; what goes beyond this does not remain. all who are taught by the lord in the word are instructed in a few truths while in the world but in many when they become angels. for the interiors of the word, which are divine spiritual and divine celestial, are implanted at the time, but are not consciously possessed until a man on his death is in heaven where he is in angelic wisdom which, compared with human wisdom, thus his earlier wisdom, is ineffable. that divine spiritual and divine celestial things which constitute angelic wisdom are present in each and all things of the word see _doctrine of the new jerusalem about the sacred scripture,_ nn. - . [ ] fourth: _that this teaching is done mediately through preaching does not take away the immediacy._ inevitably the word is taught mediately by parents, teachers, preachers, books and particularly by reading. still it is not taught by them but by the lord through them. preachers, aware of this, say that they speak not from themselves but from the spirit of god and that all truth like all good is from god. they can speak it and bring it to the understanding of many, but not to anyone's heart; and what is not in the heart passes away from the understanding; by "heart" a man's love is meant. from this it is plain that man is led and taught by the lord alone and immediately by him when he is taught from the word. this is a supreme arcanum of angelic wisdom. . we have shown in _doctrine of the new jerusalem about the sacred scripture_ (nn. - ) that those outside the church who do not have the word still have light by means of it. man has light by means of the word and from the light has understanding, and both the wicked and the good have understanding. it follows that from light in its origin there is light in its derivatives which are perceptions and thoughts on whatever subject. the lord says that without him men can do nothing (jn : ); that a man can receive nothing unless it is given him from heaven (jn : ); and that the father in the heavens makes his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the just and on the unjust (mt : ). in the word in its spiritual sense by "sun" here, as elsewhere, is meant the divine good of divine love and by "rain" the divine truth of divine wisdom. these are extended to the evil and the good, to the unjust and the just, for if they were not, no one would possess perception and thought. it was shown above that there is only one life from which all have life. but perception and thought are part of life; they are therefore from the same fountain from which life springs. it has been shown many times before that all the light which forms the understanding is from the sun of the spiritual world, which is the lord. . (v) _man is led and taught in externals by the lord to all appearance as of himself._ this is so of man's externals, but not inwardly. no one knows how the lord leads and teaches man inwardly, just as no one knows how the soul operates so that the eye sees, the ear hears, the tongue and mouth speak, the heart circulates the blood, the lungs breathe, the stomach digests, the liver and the pancreas distribute, the kidneys secrete, and much else. these processes do not come to man's perception or sensation. the same is true of what the lord does in the infinitely more numerous interior substances and forms of the mind. the lord's activity in these is not apparent to man, but many of the effects are, as well as some of the causes producing the effects. it is in the externals that man and the lord are together, and as the externals make one with the internals, cohering as they do in one series, no disposition can be made by the lord except in keeping with the disposition made in the externals with man's participation. [ ] everyone knows that man thinks, wills, speaks and acts to all appearance as of himself, and everyone can see that without this appearance man would have no will and understanding, thus no affection and thought, also no reception of any good and truth from the lord. it follows that without this appearance there would be no rational conception of god, no charity and no faith, consequently no reformation and regeneration, and therefore no salvation. plainly, this appearance is granted to man by the lord for the sake of all these uses and particularly that he may have the power to receive and reciprocate so that the lord may be united to him and he to the lord, and that through this conjunction the human being may live forever. this is "appearance" as it is meant here. ix. it is a law of divine providence that man shall not perceive or feel any of the activity of divine providence, and yet should know and acknowledge providence . the natural man who does not believe in divine providence thinks to himself, "what can divine providence be when the wicked are promoted to honors and gain wealth more than the good, and many such things go better with those who do not believe in divine providence than with the good who believe in it? indeed, infidels and the impious can inflict injuries, loss, misfortune and sometimes death on the believing and pious, doing so, too, by cunning and malice." he thinks therefore, "do i not see in full daylight, as it were, in actual experience that crafty schemes prevail over fidelity and justice if only a man can make them seem trustworthy and just by a clever artfulness? what is left except necessities, consequences and the fortuitous in which there is no semblance of divine providence? does not nature have its necessities, and are not consequences causes arising from natural or civil order, while the fortuitous comes, does it not, from unknown causes or from none?" so the natural man thinks to himself who attributes all things to nature and nothing to god, for one who ascribes nothing to god ascribes nothing to divine providence either; god and divine providence make one. [ ] but the spiritual man speaks and thinks within himself quite otherwise. although he does not perceive the course of divine providence by any thought or feel it from any sight of it, he still knows and acknowledges providence. inasmuch as the appearances and resulting fallacies just mentioned have blinded the understanding, and this can receive sight only when the fallacies which have induced the blindness and the falsities which have induced the darkness are dispelled, and since this can be done only by truths which have the power to dispel falsities, these truths are to be disclosed, and for distinctness let it be in this order: i. if man perceived or felt the activity of divine providence he would not act in freedom according to reason, nor would anything appear to be his own doing. it would be the same if he foreknew events. ii. if man saw divine providence plainly, he would inject himself into the order and tenor of its course, and pervert and destroy them. iii. if man beheld divine providence plainly he would either deny god or make himself god. iv. man can see divine providence on the back and not in the face; also in a spiritual, not a natural state. . (i) _if man perceived or felt the activity of divine providence he would not act in freedom according to reason, nor would anything appear to be his own doing. it would be the same if he foreknew events._ in given articles we made evident to the understanding that it is a law of providence that man should act in freedom according to reason; also that all which a man wills, thinks, speaks and does shall seem to be his own doing; that without this appearance a man would have nothing of his own nor be his own man. he would thus have no selfhood and nothing could be imputed to him, and in that case whether he did good or evil would not matter, and whether he believed in god or was under the persuasion of hell would be immaterial; in a word, he would not be a human being. [ ] we have now to show that man would have no liberty to act according to reason and there would be no appearance of self-activity if he perceived or felt the activity of divine providence, for if he did he would also be led by it. the lord leads all men by his divine providence and man only seemingly leads himself, as was shown above. if, therefore, man had a lively perception or sense of being led, he would not be conscious of living life and would be moved to make sounds and act much like a graven image. if he were still conscious of living he would be led like one bound in manacles and fetters or like a yoked animal. who does not see that man would have no freedom then? and without freedom he would be without reason, for one thinks from and in freedom; whatever he does not so think seems to him to be not from himself but from someone else. indeed if you consider this interiorly you will perceive that he would not possess thought, still less reason, and hence would not be a human being. . the lord's divine providence is constantly seeking to withdraw man from evils. if a man perceived or felt this constant activity and yet was not led like one bound, would he not struggle against it continually and then either quarrel with god or mingle himself in divine providence? if he did the latter he would also make himself god; if he did the former he would free himself from constraint and deny god. manifestly two forces would constantly be acting then against each other, the force of evil from man and the force of good from the lord. when two opposites act against each other, one of them conquers or they both perish. in this instance if one conquers they both perish. for the evil, which is man's, does not let in good from the lord in a moment, nor does good from the lord cast out evil from man in a moment; if either was done in a moment no life would be left to man. these and many other harmful results would follow if man manifestly perceived or felt the operation of divine providence. this will be demonstrated clearly by examples in what follows. . man is not given a foreknowledge of events for the same reason, namely, that he may be able to act in freedom according to reason. it is well known that man wants what he loves effected, and he guides himself to this end by reasoning. it is also known that what a man meditates in his reason comes from his love of giving it effect through thought. if, then, he knew the effect or the eventuality by divine prediction, his reason would become inactive and with it his love; for love along with reasoning ends with the effect, to begin anew. it is reason's very enjoyment to envision with love the effect in thought, not after it is attained but before it is, not in the present but as future. so man has what is called hope, which rises and declines in the reason as he beholds or awaits the event. the enjoyment is fulfilled in the event and then is forgotten along with thought about the event. the same thing would occur with an event that was foreknown. [ ] the human mind dwells always in the trine called end, cause and effect. if one of these is lacking, the mind is not possessed of its life. an affection of the will is the initiating end; the thought of the understanding is the efficient cause; and bodily action, utterance or external sensation is the effect from the end by means of the thought. anyone sees that the human mind is not possessed of its life when it is only in an affection of the will and in naught besides, or when it is only in an effect. the mind has no life from one of these separately, therefore, but from the three together. the life of the mind would diminish and depart if an event were foretold. . as a foreknowledge of future events takes away humanness itself, which is action in freedom in accord with one's reason, no one is given to know the future; but everyone is allowed to form conclusions by the reason about the future; the reason is then fully in its own life. accordingly man does not know his lot after death or know any event until he is on it. for if he knew, he would no longer think from his inner self how he should act or live so as to meet it, but would think only from his exterior self that he was meeting it. this state closes the interiors of his mind where the two faculties of his life, liberty and reason, especially reside. a desire to know the future is born with most persons but has its origin in a love of evil. it is taken away, therefore, from those who believe in divine providence; and trust that the lord disposes their lot is given them. therefore they do not desire to know it beforehand lest they inject themselves in some way into divine providence. the lord teaches this in many sayings in luke ( : - ). [ ] much from the world of the spirit can confirm that this is a law of divine providence. on entering that world after death most persons desire to know their lot. the answer they receive is that if they have lived well their lot is in heaven and if wickedly it is in hell. but as all, including the wicked, fear hell they ask what they should do and believe to get into heaven. they are answered that they are to do and believe as they will, but know that one does not do good or believe truth in hell, only in heaven. "as you can, seek what is good and true, thinking truth and doing good." everyone is thus left to act in freedom according to reason in the spiritual world as he is in the natural world; but as one has acted in this world he acts in that, for everyone's life remains to him and so his lot awaits him, for this is his life's lot. . (ii) _if man saw divine providence plainly he would inject himself into the order and tenor of its course and pervert and destroy them._ to bring this distinctly to the perception of the rational man and also of the natural man, it will be illustrated by examples in this order: . external things are so connected with internal things that they make one in all that is done. . the human being joins the lord only in some external things and if he did in internal things also, he would pervert and destroy the whole order and tenor of the course of divine providence. as we said, these points will be illustrated by examples. [ ] first: _external things are so connected with internal things that they make one in all that is done._ let this be illustrated by examples from several things in man's body. everywhere in it are things external and internal. the external are called skins, membranes and coverings; the internal are forms variously composed and woven of nerve fibres and blood vessels. the covering over these enters into them by extensions from itself even to the inmost, so that the external or the covering unites with the internals or the organic forms of fibres and vessels. it follows that the internals act and are acted on as the external acts or is acted on. for they are all constantly bound up together. [ ] take such a common covering in the body as the pleura, for example, which covers the chest cavity and the heart and lungs. examine it in an anatomical view, or if you do not know anatomy consult anatomists, and you will learn that this general covering by various circumvolutions and finer and finer extensions from itself enters into the inmost parts of the lungs, even into the smallest bronchial branches and into the sacs themselves which are the beginnings of the lungs, not to mention its subsequent progress by the trachea into the larynx and toward the tongue. from this it is plain that there is a constant connection of the outmost with inmosts; the interiors from the inmosts on therefore act and are acted upon as the external acts or is acted on. for this reason when that outmost covering, the pleura, is congested, inflamed or ulcerated, the lungs labor from their inmost parts; if the disease grows worse, all action of the lungs ceases and the man dies. [ ] the same is true everywhere else in the body. for instance it is true of the peritoneum, the general covering of all the abdominal viscera, also of the coverings on such organs severally as the stomach, liver, pancreas, spleen, intestines, mesentery, kidneys, and the organs of generation in both sexes. choose any one of these viscera, examine it yourself or consult those skilled in the science, and you will see or hear. take the liver, for example; you will find there is a connection between the peritoneum and that organ and by its covering with its inmost parts. for the covering puts out constant extensions from itself and insertions towards the interiors and thus continues to inmosts and as a result the whole is bound together. the entire form acts or is acted upon in such manner as the covering acts or is acted upon. the same is true of the rest of the organs. for what is general and what is particular or the universal and the singular in a form act together by a marvelous connection. [ ] you will see below that what occurs in natural forms and their processes, which relate to motion and actions, occurs similarly in spiritual forms and in the changes and variations of their state, which relate to activities of the will and the understanding. inasmuch as man joins the lord in certain external activities and no one is deprived of the liberty of acting according to reason, the lord can act in internals only as, together with man, he does in externals. if man does not shun and turn away from evils as sins, therefore, the external and at the same time the internal of his thought and will are infected and destroyed, comparatively as the pleura is by the disease in it called pleurisy, of which the body dies. [ ] second: _if man were in internals at the same time he would pervert and destroy the whole order and tenor of divine providence._ examples from the human body will illustrate this also. if man knew all the workings of the two brains into the fibres, of the fibres into the muscles and of the muscles into actions, and by this knowledge were to have the disposition of them as he disposes his deeds, would he not pervert and destroy all? [ ] if man knew how the stomach digests, and how the surrounding organs take their portion, work the blood and distribute it where needed for life, and if he had the disposing of these as he has of external activities, such as eating and drinking, would he not pervert and destroy all? when he cannot handle the external, seemingly a single thing, without destroying it by luxury and intemperance, what would he do if he had the disposal of the internals, infinite in number? lest man enter into them by any volition and have control of them, things internal are therefore taken entirely away from the will except for the muscles, which are a covering; moreover, how these act is not known, only that they do. [ ] the same can be said of other organs. to give examples: if man had the disposing of the interiors of the eye for seeing, those of the ear for hearing, or the tongue for tasting, those of the skin for feeling, those of the heart for systolic action, of the lungs for breathing, of the mesentery to distribute the chyle, or of the kidneys for secretion, the interiors of the organs of generation for propagation, or those of the womb for perfecting an embryo, and so on, would he not pervert and destroy the ordered course of the divine providence in them in innumerable ways? as we know, man is in externals, for example sees with the eye, hears with the ear, tastes with the tongue, feels with the skin, breathes with the lungs, impregnates a wife, and so on. is it not enough for him to know the externals and dispose them for health of body and mind? when he cannot do this, what would happen if he disposed internals also? it may be plain from this that if man saw divine providence plainly, he would inject himself into the order and tenor of its course and pervert and destroy them. . the like occurs in the spiritual things of the mind to what occurs in the natural things of the body for the reason that all things of the mind correspond to all things of the body. for the same reason the mind actuates the body in externals and generally does so completely. it moves the eyes to see, the ears to hear, the mouth and tongue to eat and drink, also to speak, the hands to do, the feet to walk, the generative organs to propagate. the mind not only moves the externals in these ways but the internals, too, in their whole series, outmosts from inmosts and inmosts from outmosts. thus while moving the mouth to speak, it moves lungs, larynx, glottis, tongue and lips at the same time, each separately to its especial function, and the face suitably also. [ ] it is clear then that the same can be said of the spiritual forms of the mind as was said of the natural forms of the body, and the same can be said of the spiritual activities of the mind as was said of the natural activities of the body. consequently the lord orders the internals as a man does the externals, in one way if the man orders the externals of himself and in another if he orders them under the lord and at the same time as of himself. the mind of man is also in its total organization a man, for it is his spirit which appears after death altogether as a human being as in the world; hence there are similar things in mind and body. thus what has been said about the conjunction of externals with internals in the body is to be understood of the conjunction of externals with internals in the mind, with the sole difference that the latter is spiritual and the former is natural. . ( iii) _if man beheld divine providence plainly he would either deny god or make himself god._ the merely natural man says to himself, "what is divine providence? is it anything else or more than an expression which people get from a priest? who sees anything of it? is it not by prudence, wisdom, cunning and malice that all things are done in the world? is not all else necessity or consequence? and does not much happen by chance? does divine providence lie concealed in this? how can it do so in deceptions and schemes? yet it is said that divine providence effects all things. then let me see it and i will believe in it. can one believe in it until he sees it?" [ ] so speaks the merely natural man, but the spiritual man speaks differently. acknowledging god he also acknowledges divine providence and sees it, too. he cannot make it manifest, however, to anyone whose thought is on nature only and from nature, for such a person cannot raise his mind above nature, see anything of divine providence in its phenomena, or come to conclusions about providence from nature's laws, which are also laws of divine wisdom. if, therefore, he beheld divine providence plainly, he would sink it in nature and thus not only enshroud it in fallacies but profane it. instead of acknowledging it he would deny it, and one who denies divine providence in his heart denies god also. [ ] either one thinks that god governs all things or that nature does. he who thinks that god does thinks that they are ruled by love itself and wisdom itself, thus by life itself; but he who thinks that nature governs all, thinks that all things are ruled by nature's heat and light, although these in themselves are dead, coming as they do from a dead sun. does not what is itself alive govern what is lifeless? can what is dead govern anything? if you think that what is lifeless can give life to itself, you are mad; life must come from life. . it does not seem likely that if a man saw divine providence and its activity plainly he would deny god; it would seem that he could not but acknowledge it and thus acknowledge god. yet the contrary is true. divine providence never acts in keeping with the love of man's will, but constantly against it. for the human being by force of his hereditary evil is ever panting for the lowest hell, but the lord in his providence is constantly leading him away and withdrawing him from it, first to a milder hell, then away from hell, and finally to himself in heaven. this activity of divine providence is perpetual. if, then, man saw or felt this withdrawing and leading away, he would be angered, consider god his enemy, and deny him on account of the evil of his selfhood. in order that man may not know of it, therefore, he is held in freedom and thereby does not know but that he leads himself. [ ] but let examples serve for illustration. by heredity man wants to become great and also rich. in the measure in which these loves are not checked he wants to become still greater and richer and finally the greatest and richest; even so he would not rest, but would want to become greater than god himself and possess heaven itself. this lust is hidden deep in hereditary evil and consequently in man's life and in the nature of his life. divine providence does not remove this evil in a moment; if it were removed in a moment man would cease to live; but divine providence removes it quietly and gradually without man's knowing of it. it does this by letting man act according to the thinking which he deems rational; then by various means, rational and also civil and moral, it leads him away and withdraws him so far as he can be withdrawn in freedom. nor can evil be removed from anyone unless it comes out and is seen and acknowledged; it is like a wound which heals only when opened. [ ] if, therefore, man knew and saw that the lord in his divine providence works in this way against his life's love, the source of his highest enjoyment, he could not but go in the opposite direction, be enraged, rebel, say harsh things, and finally, on account of his evil, brush aside the activity of divine providence, denying it and so denying god. he would do this especially if he saw success thwarted or saw himself lowered in standing or deprived of wealth. [ ] but it is to be known that the lord in no wise leads man away from seeking position and acquiring wealth, but leads him away from the lust of seeking position solely for the sake of eminence or for his own sake, and also from acquiring wealth for its own sake or just to have it. leading the man away, he introduces him into the love of uses so that he may regard eminence not for his own sake but for the sake of uses, thus as attached to uses and only so to himself, and not as attached to him and then to the uses; the same applies to wealth. at many places in the word the lord himself teaches that he continually humbles the proud and exalts the humble; what he teaches in it is also of his divine providence. . any other evil in which man is by heredity is dealt with in like manner, such as adultery, fraud, vengeance, blasphemy and other similar evils, none of which can be removed except as freedom to think and will them is left to man for him to remove them as if of himself. nevertheless he can do this only as he acknowledges divine providence and prays that it may be done by it. apart from this freedom and from divine providence at the same time, the evils would be like poison shut in and not driven out, which would spread quickly and consign all parts to death, or would be like disease of the heart itself, from which the whole body soon dies. . the truth of what has been said cannot be better known than from human lives after death in the spiritual world. very many who had become great or wealthy in the natural world and in their eminence or riches had regarded themselves alone, at first speak of god and divine providence as though they had acknowledged them at heart, but seeing divine providence clearly then and their final lot under it, namely, for them to enter hell, they unite with devils there and not only deny god then but also blaspheme him. finally they reach such madness that they acknowledge the more powerful among devils as their gods and desire nothing more ardently than to become gods themselves. . man would go contrary to god and also deny him if he saw the activities of god's divine providence plainly, for the reason that man is in the enjoyment of self-love and this enjoyment constitutes his very life. therefore when man is held in the enjoyment of his life he is in his freedom, for freedom and the enjoyment make one. if, then, he should perceive that he is continually being led away from his enjoyment, he would be enraged as against one who wanted to destroy his life and would hold him to be an enemy. lest it happen, the lord in his divine providence does not appear manifestly, but leads man by it as silently as a hidden stream or favorable current does a vessel. consequently man does not know but that he is steadily in his own, for his freedom and his proprium make one. hence it is plain that freedom appropriates to him what divine providence introduces, which would not take place if providence were manifest. to be appropriated means to become of one's life. . (iv) _man can see divine providence on the back and not in the face; also in a spiritual state but not in a natural._ to see divine providence on the back but not in the face means after it acts and not before. to see it in a spiritual state and not in a natural is to see it from heaven and not from the world. all who receive influx from heaven and acknowledge divine providence, especially those who have become spiritual through reformation, on beholding events taking a wonderful course see providence as it were from an interior acknowledgment and confess it. these do not wish to see it in the face, that is, before it eventuates, fearing that their volition may intrude on something of its order and tenor. [ ] it is otherwise with those who do not admit any influx from heaven but only from the world, especially with those who have become natural by confirming appearances in themselves. they do not see anything of divine providence on the back, that is, after it eventuates, but wish to behold it in the face or before it eventuates; and as divine providence works by means, and these are provided through man or the world, they attribute providence, whether they look it in the face or on the back, to man or to nature, and so confirm themselves in the denial of it. they make this ascription of it because their understanding is closed above, that is, to heaven, and open only below, that is, to the world; one cannot see divine providence in a worldly outlook, only in a heavenly. i have wondered sometimes whether they would acknowledge divine providence if their understanding was opened above and they were to see as in the light of day that nature in itself is dead, and human intelligence in itself nothing, and that it is by influx that either appears to have being. i perceived that those who have confirmed themselves in favor of nature and of human prudence would not make the acknowledgment because the natural light flowing in from below would immediately extinguish the spiritual light flowing in from above. .* the man who has become spiritual by acknowledgment of god, and wise by rejection of the proprium, sees divine providence in the world as a whole and in each and all things in it. looking at natural things, he sees it; at civil things, he sees it; at spiritual things, he sees it; and in things simultaneous as well as successive. he sees it in ends, causes, effects, uses, forms, things great and small. above all he sees it in the salvation of men, as that jehovah gave the word, taught men by it about god and about heaven and hell and eternal life, and himself came into the world to redeem men and save them. man sees these and many other things and divine providence in them from spiritual light in natural light. * the latin original has no number . [ ] the merely natural man, however, sees none of these things. he is like a man who sees a magnificent temple and hears a preacher enlightened in divine things, but once home asserts that he saw only a stone building and heard nothing but sounds made. again, he is like a near-sighted man who steps into a garden remarkable for fruits of every sort and who reports on getting home that he saw only woods and trees. moreover, when such persons, having become spirits after death, are taken up into the angelic heaven where all objects are in forms representative of love and wisdom, they see none of them, not even that they exist. i have seen this happen with a number who denied the lord's divine providence. . many constant things exist, created that inconstant things may exist. such constants are the ordained changes in the rising and setting of sun, moon and stars; their obscurations by interpositions called eclipses; the heat and light from them; the seasons of the year, called spring, summer, autumn and winter; the times of the day, morning, noon, evening and night; also atmospheres, waters and lands, viewed in themselves; the vegetative force in the plant kingdom, that and the reproductive in the animal kingdom; likewise what is constantly produced when these forces are set in action in accord with the laws of order. these and many more things existing from the creation are provided so that infinitely varying things may exist, for what varies can exist only in what is constant, fixed and certain. [ ] examples will illustrate this. the varieties of vegetation would not be possible unless sunrise and sunset and the resulting heat and light were constant. harmonies are infinitely varied, and would not exist unless the atmospheres were constant in their laws and the ear in its form. varieties of vision, which are also infinite, would not exist unless the ether in its laws and the eye in its organization were constant; equally so, colors, unless light was constant. the same is true of thoughts, words and actions, which are of infinite variety too; they could not exist, either, unless the organic forms of the body were constant. must not a house be steady for a variety of things to be done in it by a person? so must a temple be for the various acts of worship, preaching, instruction and devout meditation to be possible in it. so in much else. [ ] as for the varieties found in the constant, fixed and certain, they go on to infinity and have no end; no one thing in the whole universe or in any part of it is ever precisely the same as another, nor can be in the progress of things to eternity. who disposes these varieties which proceed to infinity and eternity so that they have order unless it is he who created what is constant to the end that they may exist in it? and who can dispose the infinite varieties of life among men but he who is life itself, that is, love itself and wisdom itself? except by his divine providence, which is like a continual creation, can the infinite affections of men and their thoughts thence and thus the men themselves be disposed so as to make one? evil affections and the thoughts from them to make one devil which is hell, and good affections and the thoughts from them one lord in heaven? we have said and shown several times before that the whole angelic heaven is like one man in the lord's sight, an image and likeness of him, and all hell over against it like one monstrous man. this has been said because some natural men seize on arguments for their madness in favor of nature and of one's own prudence from even the constant and fixed which must exist for the variable to exist in it. x. there is no such thing as one's own prudence; there only appears to be and it should so appear; but divine providence is universal by being in the least things . that there is no such thing as one's own prudence is contrary to appearances and therefore to the belief of many. because it is, one who believes, on the strength of the appearance, that human prudence does all things, cannot be convinced except by reasons to be had from a more profound investigation and to be gathered from causes. the appearance is an effect, and causes disclose how it arises. by way of introduction something will be said about the common faith on the subject. contrary to the appearance the church teaches that love and faith are not from man but from god, so also wisdom and intelligence, therefore prudence also, and in general all good and truth. when this teaching is accepted, one must also agree that there is no such thing as one's own prudence, but there only appears to be. prudence comes only from intelligence and wisdom and both of these only from the understanding and its grasp of truth and good. all this is accepted and believed by those who acknowledge divine providence, but not by those who only acknowledge human prudence. [ ] now, either what the church teaches is true, that all wisdom and prudence are from god, or what the world teaches, that they are from man. can these views be reconciled in any other way than this, that what the church teaches is the truth, and what the world teaches is the appearance? for the church establishes its teaching from the word, but the world its teaching from the proprium; and the word is god's, and the proprium is man's. because prudence is from god and not from man a christian in his devotions, prays god to lead his thoughts, purposes and actions, and also adds that by himself he cannot. again, seeing someone doing good, he says the person has been led to it by god; and so about much else. can anyone speak so unless he inwardly believes it? to believe it inwardly comes from heaven. but when a man deliberates and gathers arguments in favor of human prudence he can believe the contrary, and this is from the world. the internal faith prevails with those who acknowledge god in their hearts; the external faith with those who do not acknowledge him at heart, however much they may with the lips. . we said that a person who believes, on the strength of the appearance, that human prudence does all things, can be convinced only by reasons to be had from a more profound investigation and gathered from causes. in order, then, that the reasons gathered from causes may be plain to the understanding, let them be put forward in due order as follows: i. all man's thoughts are from affections of his life's love; there are and can he no thoughts apart from them. ii. the affections of the life's love are known to the lord alone. iii. through his divine providence the lord leads the affections of the life's love of man and at the same time the thoughts, too, from which human prudence comes. iv. by his divine providence the lord assembles the affections of all mankind into one form--the human form. v. heaven and hell, which are from mankind, are therefore in such a form. vi. those who have acknowledged nature alone and human prudence alone make up hell, and those who have acknowledged god and his divine providence make up heaven. vii. all this can be effected only as it appears to man that he thinks from himself and disposes by himself. . ( i ) _all man's thoughts are from affections of his life's love; there are and can be no thoughts apart from them._ it has been shown above in this treatise and also in the one entitled _angelic wisdom about divine love and wisdom,_ parts i and v particularly, what the life's love and the affections and the thoughts from them are essentially, and what the sensations and actions arising from them in the body are. inasmuch as these are the causes from which human prudence issues as an effect, something needs to be said about them here also. for what has been written earlier elsewhere cannot be as closely connected with what is written later as it will be if the same things are recalled and placed with both in view. [ ] earlier in this treatise, and in that just mentioned about _divine love and wisdom,_ it was shown that in the lord are divine love and wisdom; that these two are life itself; that from the two man has will and understanding, will from the divine love and understanding from the divine wisdom; that heart and lungs in the body correspond to these two; that this may make plain that as the pulsation of the heart along with the respiration of the lungs rules the whole man as to the body, so the will together with the understanding rules him as to his mind; that thus there are two principles of life in everyone, one natural and the other spiritual, and that the natural principle of life is the heartbeat, and the spiritual is the will of the mind; that each adjoins a consort to itself with which it cohabits and performs the functions of life; and that the heart joins the lungs to itself, and the will the understanding to itself. [ ] now, as the soul of the will is love, and the soul of the understanding is wisdom, both of them from the lord, love is the life of everyone and is such life as it has in union with wisdom; or what is the same, the will is the life of everyone and is such life as it has in conjunction with the understanding. more on the subject may be seen above in this treatise and especially in _angelic wisdom about divine love and wisdom,_ parts i and v. . it was also demonstrated in the treatises mentioned that the life's love produces subordinate loves from itself, called affections; that these are exterior and interior; and that taken together they make one dominion or kingdom as it were, in which the life's love is lord or king. it was also shown that these subordinate loves or affections adjoin consorts to themselves, each its own, the interior affections consorts called perceptions, and the exterior consorts called knowledges, and each cohabits with its consort and performs the functions of its life. in each instance, it was shown, the union is like that of life's very being with life's coming forth, which is such that the one is nothing without the other; for what is life's being unless it is active and what is life's activity if it is not from life's very being? the conjunction in life, it was likewise shown, is like that of sound and harmony, of sound and utterance, too, in general like that of the heart's pulsation and the respiration of the lungs, a union, again, such that one without the other is nothing and each becomes something in union with the other. union must either be in them or come about by them. [ ] consider, for example, sound. one who thinks that sound is something if there is nothing distinctive in it is much mistaken. it also corresponds to affection in man, and as something distinctive is always in it the affection of a person's love is known from the sound of his voice in speaking, and his thought is known from the varied sounds which speech is. hence the wiser angels perceive just from the sound of his voice a man's life's love together with some of the affections which are its derivatives. this has been remarked that it may be known that no affection is possible without its thought, and no thought without its affection. more on the subject can be seen above in this treatise and in _angelic wisdom about divine love and wisdom._ . inasmuch as the life's love has its enjoyment, and its wisdom its pleasure, and likewise every affection, which is essentially a lesser love derived from the life's love like a stream from its source or a branch from a tree or an artery from the heart, therefore every affection has its enjoyment and the perception or thought from it its pleasure. consequently these enjoyments and pleasures make man's life. what is life without joy and pleasure? it is not animated at all, but inanimate. reduce enjoyment and pleasure and you grow cold and torpid; take them away and you expire and die. vital heat comes from the enjoyments of the affections and the pleasures of the perceptions and thoughts. [ ] as every affection has its enjoyment and the thought thence its pleasure, it may be plain whence good and truth are and what they are essentially. whatever is the enjoyment of one's affection is one's good, and one's truth is what is pleasant to the thought from that affection. for everyone calls that good which he feels in the love of his will to be enjoyable, and calls that truth which he then perceives in the wisdom of his understanding to be pleasant. the enjoyable and the pleasant both flow out from the life's love as water does from a spring or blood from the heart; together they are like an element or the atmosphere in which man's whole mind is. [ ] the two, enjoyment and pleasure, are spiritual in the mind and natural in the body, and in each make man's life. from this it is plain what it is in man that is called good, and what it is that is called truth; likewise what it is in man that is called evil and false; whatever destroys the enjoyment of his affection is evil to him, and what destroys the pleasure of his thought thence is false to him. it is plain, moreover, that evil on account of the enjoyment in it and falsity on account of the pleasure in it may be called good and truth and believed to be good and truth. goods and truths are indeed changes and variations of state in the forms of the mind, but they are perceived and have life only through the enjoyments and pleasures they have to give. this is noted to make known what affection and thought are in their life. . inasmuch as it is not the body but man's mind that thinks and that does so from the enjoyment of one's affection, and inasmuch as man's mind is his spirit which lives after death, man's spirit is nothing else than affection and thought therefrom. it is altogether plain from spirits and angels in the spiritual world that thought cannot exist apart from affection, for they all think from the affections of their life's love; the enjoyments of these affections attend each as his atmosphere, and all are united by these spheres exhaled from the affections by their thoughts. the character of each one is known also by the sphere of his life. it may be seen from this that all thought is from an affection and is the form of that affection. the same applies to the relationship between will and understanding, good and truth, and charity and faith. . (ii) _the affections of the life's love of man are known to the lord alone._ man knows his thoughts and his intentions in them because he sees them in himself, and as all prudence is from them, he sees this, too, within him. then if his life's love is self-love, he comes to take pride in his own intelligence, ascribes prudence to himself, gathers arguments in support of it, and thus recedes from acknowledging divine providence. much the same happens if love of the world is his life's love, but he does not then recede to the same extent. it is plain from this that these two loves ascribe all things to man and to his prudence and when interiorly examined ascribe nothing to god and to his providence. when persons who do this happen to hear that the reality is that there is no such thing as human prudence, but that divine providence alone governs all things, they laugh at this if they are outright atheists; if they hold something of religion in remembrance and are told that all wisdom is from god, they assent on first hearing it, but inwardly in their spirit deny it. such especially are priests who love themselves more than god, and the world more than heaven, or what is the same, worship god for position's or riches' sake, and yet have been preaching that charity and faith, all good and truth, all wisdom, too, and in fact prudence are from god and none of them from man. [ ] in the spiritual world i once heard two priests debating with a certain royal ambassador about human prudence whether it is from god or from man, and the debate was heated. the three believed alike at heart, namely, that human prudence does all and divine providence nothing, but the priests in their theological zeal at the moment asserted that there was nothing of wisdom and prudence from man. when the ambassador retorted that there was nothing of thought then, either, they said "yes, nothing of thought." but as angels perceived that the three believed alike, they bade the ambassador, "put on priestly robes, believe yourself to be a priest, and then speak." he robed himself, believed he was a priest, and thereupon declared in a deep voice that never could there be wisdom or prudence in man save from god. he defended this with the customary eloquence filled with rational arguments. then the two priests were told, "put off your robes, put on those of political ministers, and believe that that is what you are." they did so, thought then from their interior selves, and gave voice to the arguments they had entertained inwardly before in favor of human prudence and against divine providence. upon this the three, believing alike, became warm friends and set out together on the path of one's own prudence, which leads to hell. . it was shown above that man can have no thought except from some affection of his life's love and that the thought is nothing other than the form of the affection. now, man sees his thought but cannot see his affection, which he feels; it is therefore from sight which dwells on the appearance, and not from affection which does not come into sight but into feeling, that he concludes that one's own prudence does all things. for affection shows itself only in a certain enjoyment of thought and in pleasure ever reasoning about it. this pleasure and enjoyment make one with the thought in those who, from self-love or love of the world, believe in one's own prudence. the thought glides along in its enjoyment like a ship in a river current to which the skipper does not attend, attending only to the sails he spreads. . man can indeed reflect on what his external affection finds enjoyable when it is also an enjoyment of a bodily sense, but he still does not reflect that that enjoyment comes from the enjoyment of his affection in thought. for example, when a lecher sees a lewd woman his eyes light with a lascivious fire and from this he feels a physical pleasure; he does not, however, feel his affection's enjoyment or that of the lust in his thought, only a strong desire more nearly physical. the same is true of the robber in a forest at sight of travelers and of the pirate at sea on sighting vessels, and so on. obviously a man's enjoyments govern his thoughts, and the thoughts are nothing apart from them; but he thinks he has only the thoughts, when nevertheless these are affections put into forms by his life's love so that they appear in the light; for all affection has heat for its element and thought has light. [ ] the external affections of thought manifest themselves in bodily sensation, and sometimes in the thought of the mind, but the internal affections of the thought from which the external exist never make themselves manifest to man. of these he knows no more than a rider asleep in a carriage does of the road or than one feels the rotation of the earth. now, when man knows nothing of the things beyond number that take place in the interiors of his mind, and the few external things which come to the sight of his thought are produced from the interiors, and the interiors are governed by the lord alone through his divine providence and the few external by the lord also together with man, how can anyone assert that one's own prudence does all things? were you to see just one idea laid open, you would see astounding things, more than tongue can tell. [ ] it is clear from the endless things in the body that there are so many things in the mind's interiors that the number cannot be given, and nothing of them comes to sight or sense except only a much simplified action. yet to the action thousands of motor or muscular fibres contribute, and thousands of nerve fibres, thousands of blood-vessels, thousands of cells in the lungs which must cooperate in every action, thousands in the brains and in the spinal cord, and many more things still in the spiritual man which is the human mind, in which all things are forms of affections and of perceptions and thoughts from the affections. does not the soul, which disposes the interiors, dispose the actions also which spring from them? man's soul is nothing else than the love of his will and the resulting love of his understanding; such as this love is the whole man is, becoming so according to the disposition he makes of his externals in which he and the lord are together. therefore, if he attributes all things to himself and to nature, self-love becomes the soul; but if he attributes all things to the lord, love to the lord becomes the soul; this love is heavenly, the other infernal. . inasmuch as the enjoyments of his affections, from inmosts down through interiors to exteriors and finally to outermost things in the body, bear man along as wave and wind bear a ship; and inasmuch as nothing of this is apparent to man except what takes place in the outermost things of the mind and the body, how can he claim for himself what is divine on the strength merely of the fact that those few outermost things seem to be his own? even less should he claim what is divine for himself, knowing from the word that a man can receive nothing of himself unless it is given by heaven; and knowing from reason that this appearance has been granted him in order to live as a human being, see what is good and evil, choose between them, and appropriate his choice to himself that he may be united reciprocally with the lord, be reformed, regenerated and saved, and live forever. it has been stated and shown above that this appearance has been granted to man in order that he may act in freedom according to reason, thus as of himself, and not drop his hands and await influx. from all this it follows that proposition iii to be demonstrated has been confirmed: _through his divine providence the lord leads the affections of the life's love of man and at the same time the thoughts, too, from which human prudence comes._ . (iv) _by his divine providence the lord assembles the affections of all mankind into one form--the human form._ in a subsequent paragraph it will be seen that this is the universal effort of divine providence. those who ascribe everything to nature deny god at heart, and those who ascribe everything to human prudence, at heart deny divine providence; the one cannot be separated from the other. yet both groups for their reputation's sake and for fear of losing it profess in words that divine providence is universal, but say its details fall to man and in their aggregate are grasped by human prudence. [ ] but consider: what is universal providence when the details are taken from it? is it anything but just an expression? for that is called universal which consists of the total of details as what is general does of particulars. if, then, you remove details, what is the universal except something empty, thus like a surface with nothing underneath or an aggregate without content? if it should be said that divine providence is a universal government but nothing is governed but only held in connection and items of the government are handled by others, can this be called a universal government? no king has such a government. for if a king gave his subjects the government of everything in his kingdom, he would no longer be king, but would only be called king; he would have the standing in name only and not in fact. in the case of such a king one cannot speak of government, still less of universal government. [ ] god's providence is called man's prudence. as universal prudence cannot be said of a king who has only kept the name so that the kingdom may be called a kingdom and be held together, so one cannot speak of universal providence if human beings provide everything by their own prudence. the same is true of the terms "universal providence" and "universal government" in reference to nature when they mean that god created the universe but endowed nature to produce everything from herself. what is "universal providence" then but a metaphysical term, and nothing but a term? many of those who attribute everything produced to nature and everything accomplished to human prudence and yet profess orally that god created nature, regard divine providence as an empty expression. but the reality is that divine providence is in the least things of nature and of human prudence also and is thereby universal. . the lord's divine providence is universal by being in the least things in that he created the universe in order that an infinite and eternal creation might come about from him, and it does as he forms a heaven from mankind which in his sight is like one humanity, his image and likeness. we showed above (nn. - ) that heaven formed of human beings is such in his sight; that this was the purpose of creation; and that the divine regards what is infinite and eternal in all that it does (nn. - ). the infinite and eternal to which the lord looks in forming his heaven from mankind is the growth of it to infinity and eternity and thus his dwelling constantly in the purpose of his creation. this infinite and eternal creation the lord provided for in creating the universe and he pursues it steadily in his divine providence. [ ] can anyone who knows and believes from the church's doctrine * that god is infinite and eternal be so lacking in reason that he does not agree on hearing it that god can then regard only what is infinite and eternal in the great work of his creation? to what else can he look from his infinite being? to what else in mankind of which he forms his heaven? what else can divine providence then have for its end than the reformation and salvation of mankind? no one can be reformed by himself through his prudence; he is reformed by the lord through his divine providence. consequently, unless the lord leads man every least moment the man lapses from the way of reformation and perishes. * it is the doctrine of all churches in christendom that god the father, god the son and god the holy spirit is infinite, eternal, uncreated and omnipotent, as may be seen in the athanasian creed. [ ] every change or variation in the state of the human mind means a change or variation in a series of things present and to come; what then of progress to eternity? the situation is like that of an arrow shot from a bow, which if it deviated from the target in the least on being aimed would deviate widely at a thousand feet or more. the like would happen if the lord did not lead the states of the human mind every least moment. the lord does so according to the laws of his divine providence; it is according to them that it seems to man he leads himself; but the lord foresees how he leads himself and constantly acts in adaptation. in what follows it will be seen that laws of tolerance are also laws of divine providence, that every man can be reformed and regenerated, and that no other predestination is possible. . since every man lives forever after death and is allotted a place either in heaven or in hell according to his life, and heaven and hell must each be in a form to act as a unit, as we said before, and since no one can be allotted a place in that form other than his own, humanity in all the world is under the lord's guidance and everyone is led by the lord from infancy to the close of life in the least things, and his place is foreseen and provided. [ ] clearly then, the lord's divine providence is universal by being in the least things, and it is an infinite and eternal creation that he has provided for himself in creating the world. man does not espy this universal providence, and if he did, it would look to him like scattered heaps and collections of material for building a house such as passersby see, while the lord beholds rather a magnificent palace, constantly building and enlarging. . (v) _heaven and hell are in the form described._ that heaven is in the human form has been made known in the work _heaven and hell,_ published in london in (nn. - ), also in the treatise _divine love and wisdom,_ and here and there in the present treatise. i therefore omit further confirmation. hell is said to be in the human form also, but it is in a monstrous human form, like that of the devil, by whom hell in its entirety is meant. hell is in the human form inasmuch as those who are in it were born human beings too; they also possess the two human faculties of liberty and rationality, though they have misused liberty by willing and doing evil, and rationality by thinking and confirming evil. . (vi) _those who have acknowledged nature alone and human prudence alone make up hell, and those who have acknowledged god and his divine providence make up heaven._ all who lead an evil life, inwardly acknowledge nature and human prudence alone. this acknowledgment lies hidden in all evil, however the evil may be veiled by good and truth, which are borrowed raiment, or like wreaths of perishable flowers, put around the evil lest it appear in its nakedness. that all who lead an evil life, inwardly acknowledge nature and human prudence alone is not known because of this general covering hiding it from view. the source and cause of their acknowledgment, however, may make clear that they acknowledge nature and one's own prudence. we shall say, therefore, whence man's own prudence is and what it is; then whence divine providence is and what it is; next who they are respectively, and of what character, who acknowledge divine providence and who acknowledge man's own prudence; and lastly show that those who acknowledge divine providence are in heaven and that those who acknowledge man's own prudence are in hell. . _whence man's own prudence is and what it is._ it is from man's proprium, which is his nature and is called his soul from his parent. this proprium is self-love and the accompanying love of the world, or it is love of the world and the accompanying self-love. self-love by nature regards self only and others as cheap or of no account. if it regards any it does so as long as they honor and do it homage. inmostly in that love, like the endeavor in seed to fructify and propagate, there lies hidden the desire to become great and if possible a king and then possibly a god. a devil is such, for he is self-love itself; he adores himself and favors no one unless he also adores him; another devil like himself he hates, because he in turn wants alone to be adored. since no love is possible without its consort and the consort of love or of the will in man is called the understanding, when self-love breathes itself into its consort, the understanding, it becomes pride there, which is the pride of self-intelligence, and from this comes man's own prudence. [ ] inasmuch as self-love wants to be the one lord of the world and thus a god, the lusts of evil which are derived from it have their life from it, so have the perceptions of the lusts, which are schemes; likewise the enjoyments of the lusts, which are evils, and the thoughts of the lusts, which are falsities. all these are like slaves and ministers of their lord, responding to his every nod, unaware that they do not act but are acted upon; they are actuated by self-love through the pride of self-intelligence. hence man's own prudence because of its origin lies concealed in every evil. [ ] the acknowledgment of nature alone is also hidden in it, for self-love has closed the window overhead through which heaven is plain and the side windows, too, in order not to see or hear that the lord alone governs all things, that nature in herself is lifeless, and that man's proprium is infernal and consequently love of it is diabolical. with the windows shuttered, self-love is in darkness, builds itself a hearth fire at which it sits with its consort, and the two reason amicably in favor of nature as against god and in favor of man's own prudence as against divine providence. . _whence and what divine providence is._ it is the divine activity in the man who has removed self-love. for, as was said, self-love is the devil, and lusts with their enjoyments are the evils of his kingdom, which is hell. on the removal of self-love the lord enters with the affections of neighborly love, opening the overhead window and then the side windows, thus enabling man to see that there is a heaven, a life after death and eternal happiness. by the spiritual light and at the same time the spiritual love which then flow in, the lord causes him to acknowledge that god governs all things by his divine providence. . _who and of what nature those in each group are._ those who acknowledge god and his divine providence are like the angels of heaven, who are averse to being led by themselves and love to be led by the lord. it is a sign that they are led by the lord that they love the neighbor. those, however, who acknowledge nature and one's own prudence are like the spirits of hell, who are averse to being led by the lord and love to be led by themselves. if they were powerful persons in a kingdom or prelates in the church they want to dominate all things. if they were judges, they pervert judgment and exercise power over the laws. if they were learned, they apply scientific information to confirm nature and man's proprium. if they were merchants they act like robbers, and if husbandmen like thieves. all are enemies of god and scoffers at divine providence. . it is amazing that when heaven is opened to such men and they are told that they are insane, and this is made plain to their very perception by influx and enlightenment, still they angrily shut heaven away from them and look to the earth beneath which is hell. this is done with such men while they are still outside hell. it makes plain how mistaken those are who think, "if i see heaven and hear angels speaking with me, i shall acknowledge." their understanding makes the acknowledgment, but if the will does not at the same time, they still do not acknowledge. for the love of the will inspires in the understanding what it wills (it is not the other way about); indeed, it destroys everything in the understanding which is not from itself. . _all this can be effected only as it appears to man that he thinks from himself and disposes by himself._ in what precedes we have shown fully that unless it seemed to man that he lives of himself and thus thinks and wills, speaks and acts of himself, he would not be man. consequently, unless he could in his own prudence make the disposition of all pertaining to his function and life, he could not be led and guided by divine providence. he would be like one with his hands hanging limp, his mouth open, his eyes shut, holding his breath in expectation of influx. he would divest himself of the human which he has from the perception and sensation that he thinks, wills, speaks and acts as it were of himself. at the same time he would divest himself of the two faculties, liberty and rationality, distinguishing him from the beasts. above in this treatise and in the treatise _divine love and wisdom_ it was shown that without this appearance a man would not have the power to receive or reciprocate nor have immortality then. [ ] if then you desire to be led by divine providence, use prudence as a servant and minister that faithfully dispenses his master's goods. this prudence is the talent given to the servants to trade with, of which they were to give account (lu : - ; mt : - ). it seems to man to be his own, and he believes it is his own as long as he holds shut up within him the bitterest enemy god and divine providence have, the love of self. this dwells in the interiors of every man by birth; if you do not recognize it (and it wishes not to be recognized), it dwells securely and guards the door lest man open the door and the lord cast it out. the door is opened by man through shunning evils as sins as if of himself with the acknowledgment that he does so from the lord. with this prudence divine providence acts as one. . divine providence operates so secretly that scarcely anyone is aware it exists in order that man may not perish. for man's proprium, which is his will, never acts at one with divine providence, against which it has an inborn enmity. the proprium is the serpent which seduced the race's parents of which it is said, i will put enmity between you and the woman, and between your seed and her seed, and it shall bruise your head (ge : ). the serpent is evil of every sort; its head is self-love. the seed of the woman is the lord, and the enmity set is between the love of man's proprium and the lord, thus between man's own prudence and the lord's divine providence. for man's own prudence is constantly exalting that head, and divine providence is constantly abasing it. [ ] if man felt this, he would be enraged and wrought-up against god and would perish. while he does not feel it, he may be enraged and wrought-up against others or himself or against fortune without perishing. therefore the lord leads man by his divine providence in freedom always, and the freedom seems to man to be utterly his own. to lead a man freely in opposition to himself is like raising a heavy and resisting weight from the ground by means of screws through the power of which weight and resistance are not felt. and it is as though someone is unknowingly with an enemy who means to kill him and a friend leads him away quietly and only afterwards tells him the enemy's intention. . who does not talk of fortune? who does not acknowledge it by speaking of it and know something of it by experience? yet who knows what it is? one cannot deny that it is something, for it exists and occurs, and a thing cannot exist and occur without being caused; but the cause of this something, fortune, is not known. lest fortune be denied merely because the cause is unknown, consider dice or playing cards and play yourself or ask the players; do any deny that fortune exists? for they play with it and it plays with them surprisingly. who can repulse it if it opposes him? does it not laugh then at prudence and wisdom? when you shake the dice or shuffle the cards, does fortune not seem to know and direct the turns and twists of the wrists in favor of one player rather than another for some cause? can the cause have any other source than divine providence in outermost things where it works along with human prudence in a wonderful way, constant or changeful, concealing itself at the same time? [ ] we know that pagans of old acknowledged fortune and built a temple to her, as italians did at rome. it has been granted me to learn many things which i am not permitted to make public about this fortune, which, as was said, is divine providence in outmosts. these made it plain to me that fortune is not an illusion of the mind nor a sport of nature nor something without a cause, for this has no reality, but is visible evidence that divine providence is over the least things in human thought and action. as divine providence occurs in these least things which are insignificant and trifling, why should it not in the significant and important matters of peace and war in the world and of salvation and life in heaven? . i know, however, that human prudence bears the rational faculty its way more than divine providence does its way, for the latter does not show itself and the former does. it can be accepted more readily that there is only one life, namely god, and that all men are recipients of life from him, as we have shown many times, yet this amounts to saying that prudence is from him, for prudence is part of life. what man, speaking in favor of nature and of human prudence in his reasoning, is not speaking from the natural or external man? and what man, speaking in favor of divine providence and of god in his reasoning, is not speaking from the spiritual or internal man? but, "pray, write two books," i say to the natural man, "and fill them with plausible, likely and lifelike reasons which in your judgment are solid ones, the one book in favor of one's own prudence, and the other in favor of nature. then hand them to any angel. i know he will write down on them these few words: `all this is appearance and fallacy.'" xi. divine providence looks to what is eternal, and to the temporal only as this accords with the eternal . that divine providence looks to what is eternal and to the temporal only so far as this makes one with the eternal, will be demonstrated in this order: i. the temporal has to do with distinction and wealth, thus with standing and gain, in the world. ii. the eternal has to do with spiritual standing and abundance, of love and wisdom, in heaven. iii. the temporal and the eternal are separated by man, but are united by the lord. iv. the uniting of temporal and eternal is the lord's divine providence. . (i) _the temporal has to do with distinction and wealth, thus with standing and gain, in the world._ many things are temporal, but they are all related to distinction and wealth. by the temporal is meant all that either perishes in time or at least comes to an end with man's life in the world. by the eternal is meant all that does not perish or come to an end in time and thus not with life in the world. since, as we said, all that is temporal concerns distinction and wealth, it is important to know the following: what, and whence, distinction and wealth are; the nature of the love of them for themselves and the nature of the love of them for the sake of use; that these two loves are distinct from each other, as hell and heaven are; and that man hardly knows the difference between them. but of these points one by one. [ ] _first: what, and whence, distinction and wealth are._ distinction and wealth in the most ancient times were quite different from what they gradually became later. distinction in those times existed only in the relation of parents and children and was one of love, a love full of respect and veneration, accorded the parents not because of birth from them, but because of the instruction and wisdom received from them, which was a second birth of the children, in itself spiritual, being of their spirit. this was the sole distinction in most ancient days because tribes, families, and households dwelt separately and not like today under governments. the distinction attached to the head of the family. men of old called the times golden ages. [ ] but after those times the love of ruling, just out of enjoyment of that love, crept in by stages, and as enmity and hostility did so at the same time towards those who were unwilling to submit, tribes, families, and households congregated of necessity in communities and set over themselves one whom they called judge at first, then prince, and finally king and emperor. they also began to protect themselves by towers, earthworks and walls. the lust of ruling spread like a contagion to many from the judge, prince, king or emperor as from the head into the body, and as a result degrees of distinction arose and prestige according to them, and self-love also and pride in one's own prudence. [ ] the same thing happened with the love of riches. in the most ancient days when tribes and families lived by themselves, there was no other love of riches than to possess the necessaries of life which they provided for themselves from flocks and herds and from the lands, fields and gardens which supplied their food. suitable houses, furnished with useful articles of every kind, and clothing were also among their necessities of life. parents, children and male and female servants, making up the household, engaged in the care and labor for all these necessities. [ ] but after the love of dominion entered and destroyed this state of society, the love of having means beyond what was needed crept in also and grew to the extreme of wanting to possess the wealth of all other men. the two loves are like blood relatives, for one who wants to rule over all things, also wants to possess all things; for then all others become servants, and they alone masters. this is clearly evident from those in the papist world who have exalted their dominion even into heaven, to the lord's throne, on which they have placed themselves, and who at the same time seek the wealth of the whole earth and want to enlarge their treasury endlessly. [ ] second: _the nature of the love of distinction and wealth for their own sake and for usefulness' sake respectively._ the love of distinction and standing for their own sake is self-love--strictly, the love of ruling from self-love; and the love of riches and wealth for their own sake is love of the world--more precisely, the love of possessing the goods of others by whatever device. but the love of distinction and riches for usefulness' sake is love of the use, which is the same as love to the neighbor; for that for the sake of which a man acts is the purpose from which he acts, and is first or primary, and all else is means and secondary. [ ] as for the love of distinction and standing, identical with self-love and strictly with the love of ruling from self-love, it is the love of the proprium; and man's proprium is all evil. hence it is said that man is born into all evil and that what he has by heredity is nothing but evil. what he has by heredity is his proprium in which he is and into which he comes through self-love and especially through the love of ruling from self-love; for one who is in that love regards only himself and thus immerses his thoughts and affections in his proprium. hence a love of evil-doing is present in self-love. the reason is that he does not love the neighbor but only himself; and one who loves himself only, sees others as outsiders or as mean or nothing worth, despises them, and does not hesitate to do them injury. [ ] for this reason one who is in the love of ruling from the love of self thinks nothing of defrauding his neighbor, committing adultery with his wife, slandering him, breathing vengeance on him even to the death, treating him cruelly, and other such deeds. this a man gets from the fact that the devil himself, with whom he is conjoined and by whom he is led, is nothing else than the love of ruling from self-love. one who is led by the devil, that is, by hell, is led into all these evils and is constantly led by enjoyments of these evils. hence all who are in hell want to do evil to all, but those in heaven want to do well by all. from this opposition there results the intermediate state in which man is and in it is in equilibrium, as it were, so that he can turn towards hell or towards heaven. so far as he favors the evils of self-love he turns towards hell, and so far as he removes them from him he turns towards heaven. [ ] it has been granted me to feel the nature and also the strength of the enjoyment of ruling from the love of self. i was let into it that i might know. it was such as to exceed all worldly enjoyments. it was an enjoyment of the whole mind from its inmosts to its outmosts, but felt in the body only as pleasure and gratification, making the chest swell. it was also granted me to perceive that there issued from this enjoyment as from their fountainhead the enjoyments of evils of all kinds, such as adultery, revenge, fraud, slander, and evil-doing in general. there is a similar enjoyment in the love of possessing the wealth of others by whatever ruse, and from this love in the lusts derived from it; yet not the same degree of enjoyment unless this love is conjoined with self-love. as for distinction and riches sought not for themselves but for usefulness' sake, this is not love of them but love of uses; distinction and wealth serve it as means. this love is heavenly. but of it more in what follows. [ ] third: _these two loves are distinct from each other, as heaven and hell are._ this is plain from what has just been said, to which i will add the following. all who are in the love of ruling from self-love, whoever they are and whether they are great or small, are in hell in spirit. they are also in the love of all evils. if they do not commit them, still in their spirit they believe that they are allowable, and when honor, standing, or fear of the law do not deter, they commit them physically. what is more, the love of ruling from self-love hides hatred of god deeply within itself, consequently of divine things which are of the church and especially of the lord. if such men acknowledge god it is with the lips only, and if they acknowledge the divine things of the church, it is for fear of losing standing. this love hides hatred of the lord deeply within it because deep in it is the desire to be god, for it worships and adores itself alone. hence if anyone honors it, even to saying that it possesses divine wisdom and is the god of the world, it loves him with all the heart. [ ] it is otherwise with the love of distinction and wealth for usefulness' sake; this love is heavenly, for, as was said, it is the same as love of the neighbor. by uses goods are meant, and by doing uses doing good is meant, and by doing uses or good, serving and helping others is meant. although those doing so may possess distinction and wealth, they regard these only as means for doing uses, thus for serving and helping. they are meant in these words of the lord: whoever would be great among you, must be your minister; and whoever would . . . be first, must be your servant (mt : , ). it is these also whom the lord entrusts with ruling in heaven. for ruling is to them the means of doing uses or good, thus of serving; and when uses or good deeds are their purpose and their love, they do not rule; the lord does, from whom is all that is good. [ ] fourth: _man hardly knows the difference between the two loves._ for most men of distinction and wealth also perform uses, yet do not know whether they do so for their own sake or for the sake of usefulness. they know this the less because love of self and the world has more fire and ardor for doing uses than have those who are not in love of self and the world. the former do uses, however, for the sake of fame or gain, thus for their own benefit; but the latter, doing so for the sake of usefulness and what is beneficial, act not from themselves but from the lord. [ ] the difference between the two loves can scarcely be recognized by man, for he is ignorant whether he is being led by the devil or by the lord. led by the devil he does uses for his own sake or the world's; led by the lord, he does them for the sake of the lord and of heaven. all who shun evils as sins do uses from the lord; all who do not shun evils as sins do uses from the devil, for evil is the devil, and use or good is the lord. only so is the difference in question recognizable. outwardly the two loves look the same; inwardly they are wholly unlike. one is like gold with dross in it, the other like gold with pure gold in it. one is like artificial fruit, looking outwardly like the fruit of a tree, but is colored wax with dust or pitch in it; the other is like noble fruit, flavorsome and fragrant, with seeds in it. . (ii) _the eternal has to do with spiritual standing and wealth, of love and wisdom, in heaven._ as the natural man calls the enjoyments of self-love, which are also the enjoyments of the lusts of evil, good, and confirms that they are goods, he calls distinction and wealth divine blessings. but when the natural man sees the wicked as well as the good raised to distinction and prospered, and still more when he beholds the good despised and poorly off and the wicked honored and affluent, he thinks to himself, "why is this? it cannot be by divine providence. for if providence governed everything, it would lavish distinction and wealth on the good and inflict contempt and poverty on the wicked, and thus drive the wicked to acknowledge there is a god and divine providence." [ ] but unless he is enlightened by the spiritual man, that is, is at the same time spiritual, the natural man does not see that distinction and wealth can be blessings but also curses, and that when they are from god they are blessings, and when they are from the devil they are curses. it is well known, moreover, that the devil bestows distinction and wealth; it is on this account that he is called the prince of the world. as it is not known when distinction and wealth are blessings and when they are curses, let it be told in this order: . distinction and wealth are blessings and are curses. . when they are blessings they are spiritual and eternal; when they are curses they are temporal and ephemeral. . distinction and wealth which are curses, compared with those which are blessings, are as nothing compared with everything or as that which has no existence in itself compared with that which has. . the three points are now each to be clarified. . _distinction and wealth are blessings and are curses._ common experience attests that both the pious and the impious, or the just and the unjust, that is, the wicked and the good, gain distinction and wealth, and yet it is undeniable that the impious and unjust, that is, the wicked, enter hell, and the pious and just, that is, the good, enter heaven. as this is true, distinction and wealth or standing and means are either blessings or curses, blessings with the good and curses with the evil. it was shown in the work _heaven and hell,_ published in london in the year , that rich and poor and great and small are found in both heaven and hell (nn. - ). it is plain from this that distinction and wealth with those now in heaven were blessings in the world, and with those now in hell were curses in the world. [ ] if he will think about the matter with reason, anyone can know when distinction and wealth are blessings or curses, namely, that they are blessings with those who do not set their heart on them, and curses with those who do. one sets the heart on them in loving oneself in them, and one does not set the heart on them when he loves uses and not himself in them. above (n. ) we told what the difference between the two loves, and the nature of it, is. it is to be added that distinction and wealth seduce some and not others. they do so when they excite the loves in man's proprium, that is, self-love, which is the love found in hell and is called the devil (as remarked above), and they do not seduce if they do not excite that love. [ ] both the wicked and the good come to distinction and are prospered in means because the wicked as well as the good perform uses. the wicked perform uses for the sake of their personal standing and gain; the good do so for the sake of the standing and profit of the work which they do. the good regard the standing and profit of their work as principal causes of action, and personal standing and gain as instrumental causes; but the wicked regard their personal standing and gain as the main incentives and the standing and gain of their work as the instrumental. yet who does not see that a person, whatever his function or standing, is to serve the affairs which he administers, and not they him? who does not see that a judge is to serve justice, a magistrate the common welfare, a king his kingdom, and that it is not to be the other way around? according to the laws of a kingdom, a man is invested therefore with distinction and standing in keeping with the eminence of the work he does. moreover, who does not see that the difference between the two loves is like that between what is principal and what is instrumental? one who ascribes to himself personally the eminence of a position appears in the spiritual world, when this inversion is pictured, as himself inverted, feet up and head down. [ ] second: _when distinction and wealth are blessings they are spiritual and eternal, but when they are curses they are temporal and ephemeral._ there are distinction and wealth in heaven as there are in the world. for governments and hence administrations and functions exist there, trade also and hence wealth, for there are societies and communities. all heaven is divided into two kingdoms, one called the celestial kingdom and the other the spiritual kingdom. each kingdom is divided into innumerable societies, larger and smaller, all of which with all in them are arranged according to differences of love and of wisdom thence, the societies of the celestial kingdom according to differences of celestial love, which is love to the lord, and the societies of the spiritual kingdom according to differences of spiritual love, which is love to the neighbor. inasmuch as there are such societies, and all who are in them were men in the world and hence retain the loves they cherished in the world, with the one difference that they are spiritual beings now, and that distinction and wealth are spiritual in the spiritual kingdom and celestial in the celestial kingdom, therefore those have greater distinction and abundance than others who have greater love and wisdom. and to them distinction and wealth in the world were blessings. [ ] the nature of spiritual distinction and wealth may then be plain--they attach to one's function and not to one's person. the distinguished person in the spiritual world indeed enjoys magnificence and glory like those of kings on earth, yet does not regard the distinction itself as anything but rather the uses in the administration and discharge of which he is engaged. each also receives the honors of his high post but ascribes them not to himself but to the uses, and as all uses are from the lord, he ascribes the honors to the lord as their source. such are the spiritual distinction and wealth which are eternal. [ ] it is quite otherwise with those to whom eminence and wealth were curses in the world. having attributed these to themselves and not to uses, and not wanting the uses to control them but wanting to control the uses, which they regarded as uses only as they served their own standing and honor, they are in hell and are base slaves, despised and wretched. their distinction and wealth are gone, therefore are called temporal and fleeting. the lord teaches about both sorts in the words: do not lay up treasures for yourselves on earth, where moth and rust corrupt and thieves break through and steal; but lay up treasures for yourselves in heaven, where neither moth nor rust corrupts and where thieves do not break through and steal; for where your treasure is . . . your heart also is (mt : - ). [ ] third: _the distinction and wealth which are curses, compared with those which are blessings, are as nothing compared with everything or as that which has no existence in itself compared with that which has._ everything that perishes and comes to nothing is inwardly nothing in itself. outwardly, indeed, it is something and appears to be much and to some everything while it lasts; but inwardly in itself it is not. it is like a surface with nothing beneath or like an actor in kingly robes when the play is over. but what remains to eternity is something in itself perpetually, thus everything, and it truly is, for it does not cease to be. . (iii) _the temporal and the eternal are separated by man, but are united by the lord._ for all that is man's is temporal, and he may therefore be called temporal, but all things that are the lord's are eternal, and so the lord is called eternal. temporal things are such as come to an end and perish, eternal things are such as do not. anyone can see that the two can be united only by the infinite wisdom of the lord, thus by him and not by man. to make it known, however, that the two are separated by man and united by the lord, this is to be demonstrated in the following order: . what temporal things are and what eternal are. . the human being is in himself temporal and the lord in himself eternal, and only the temporal can proceed from man, and only the eternal from the lord. . temporal things separate eternal things from themselves, while eternal things join temporal things to themselves. . the lord joins man to himself by means of appearances. . he does so by correspondences also. . these points will be clarified and established one by one. first: _what temporal things are and what eternal are._ the temporal are all things that are proper to nature and from nature proper to man. space and time especially are proper to nature, both of them having a limit or termination. things thence derived and proper to man are all things of his own will and understanding, thus of his affection and thought and especially of his prudence; it is well known that these are finite and limited. eternal things, however, are all that are proper to the lord and from him seemingly proper to man. what is proper to the lord is all of it infinite and eternal, thus timeless, endless and without limit; what is seemingly proper to man thence is also infinite and eternal; but nothing of this is actually proper to man, but the lord's alone in him. [ ] second: _the human being is in himself temporal and the lord in himself eternal, and only the temporal can proceed from man, and from the lord only the eternal._ man, we said, is in himself temporal and the lord in himself eternal. since only what is in a person can proceed from him, nothing can proceed from man except what is temporal, and nothing from the lord except what is eternal. for the infinite cannot proceed from the finite; that it can is a contradiction. the infinite, however, can proceed from the finite, still not from the finite but from the infinite by the finite. in turn, what is finite cannot proceed from the infinite; this is also a contradiction; it can be produced from the infinite and this is creation and not proceeding. on this subject see _angelic wisdom about divine love and wisdom,_ from beginning to end. if then the finite proceeds from the lord, as it does in many ways with man, it proceeds not from the lord but from man, and can be said to do so from the lord by man, because it so appears. [ ] this may be clarified by these words of the lord: let your communication be, yea, yea, nay, nay, what is more than these comes of evil (mt : ). such is the speech of all in the third heaven. for they never reason about divine things whether a thing is so or not, but see in themselves from the lord whether or not it is. to reason about divine things whether they are so or not comes from the reasoner's not seeing them from the lord, but wanting to see them from himself, and what one sees from oneself is evil. but still the lord desires man to think and speak about things divine, also to reason about them, in order that he may see whether or not they are so. such thought, speech and reasoning may be said to be from the lord in man provided the end is to see the truth, although they are from the man until he sees and acknowledges the truth. meanwhile it is from the lord alone that he can think, speak and reason; for he does so from the two faculties, called liberty and rationality, which are his from the lord alone. [ ] third: _temporal things separate eternal things from themselves, while eternal things join temporal things to themselves._ that temporal things separate eternal things from themselves means that man, who is temporal, does so from the temporal in himself; and that eternal things join temporal things to themselves means that the lord, who is eternal, does so from what is eternal in himself, as was said above. in what precedes we showed that there is a conjunction of the lord with man and a conjunction in turn of man with the lord, but the reciprocal conjunction of man with the lord is not man's doing but the lord's; also that man's will goes counter to the lord's will or, what is the same, man's own prudence goes counter to divine providence. from these circumstances it follows that man puts the eternal things of the lord aside by force of the temporal things in him, but the lord joins his eternal things to man's temporal, that is, himself to man and man to him. as these points have been treated many times in what precedes, there is no need to confirm them further. [ ] fourth: _the lord joins man to himself by means of appearances._ for it is an appearance that of himself man loves the neighbor, does good, and speaks truth. unless this appeared to man to be so, he would not love the neighbor, do good, or speak truth, and therefore would not be conjoined with the lord. since love, good and truth are from the lord, plainly the lord joins man to himself by means of the appearance. this appearance, and the lord's conjunction with man and man's with the lord, have been treated above at length. [ ] fifth: _the lord unites man to himself by means of correspondences._ he does this by means of the word, the sense of the letter of which consists wholly of correspondences. in _doctrine of the new jerusalem about sacred scripture,_ from beginning to end, it was shown that by means of that sense there is a conjunction of the lord with man and a reciprocal conjunction of man with the lord. . (iv) _the conjunction of the temporal and the eternal in man is the lord's divine providence._ as this cannot come at once to the perception of the understanding or before being reduced to order and then unfolded and demonstrated according to that order, let this be the order in considering it: . it is by divine providence that man puts off the natural and temporal through death and puts on the spiritual and eternal. . through his divine providence the lord joins himself with natural things by means of spiritual and to temporal by means of eternal in accordance with uses. . the lord joins himself to uses by means of correspondences, and so by means of appearances according as man confirms these. . this conjunction of temporal and eternal is divine providence. all this will be placed in clearer light by explanation. [ ] first: _it is of divine providence that man puts off the natural and temporal through death and puts on the spiritual and eternal._ natural and temporal things are the outermost and lowest things which man first enters, as he does on being born, to the end that he may be introduced then into interior and higher things; for the outmost and lowest things are containants, and these are in the natural world. for this reason no angel or spirit was created such at once, but all were born as men first and then were introduced into interior and higher things. thus they have an outmost and lowest which in itself is fixed and stable, within and by which the interiors can be held in connection. [ ] man first puts on the grosser substances of nature; his body consists of them; but he puts these off by death, retaining the purer substances of nature nearest to the spiritual, which then are his containants. moreover, all interior or higher things are together in the outmost and lowermost, as was shown earlier in passages on the subject. every activity of the lord is therefore from topmost and outmost simultaneously and so is in fullness. but as the farthest and outmost things of nature as they are in themselves cannot receive the spiritual and eternal things for which the human mind was formed, and yet man was born to become spiritual and live forever, man puts them off and retains only those interior natural things which suit and harmonize with the spiritual and celestial and serve to contain them. this is effected by the rejection of the temporal and natural outmosts, which is the death of the body. [ ] second: _through his divine providence the lord joins himself with natural things by means of spiritual things and to temporal by means of eternal in accordance with uses._ natural and temporal things are not only those proper to nature, but also those proper to men in the natural world. at death man puts off both of these and puts on the spiritual and eternal things corresponding to them. that he puts these on according to uses has been shown in much that precedes. the natural things proper to nature relate in general to time and space and in particular to things visible on earth. these man leaves behind at death and instead receives spiritual things which are similar in outward aspect or appearance but not in their inward aspect and actual essence. this also was considered above. [ ] temporal things proper to men in the natural world in general are related to distinction and wealth and in particular to human needs such as food, clothing and habitation. these are also put off at death and left behind; things are put on and received that are similar in outward aspect or appearance but not in their internal aspect and essence. all these get their inward aspect and essence from the uses made of temporal things in the world. uses are the goods which are called goods of charity. it is evident, then, that the lord through his divine providence unites spiritual and eternal things to natural and temporal things according to uses. [ ] third: _the lord joins himself to uses by means of correspondences, and thus by means of appearances according as man confirms these._ as this must seem obscure to those who have not yet acquired a clear idea of correspondence and appearance, what these are must be illustrated by examples and explained. all the sayings of the word are outright correspondences of spiritual and celestial things, and being correspondences are also appearances, that is, are all divine goods of divine love and divine truths of divine wisdom which in themselves are naked, but are clothed upon by the word's literal meaning. they therefore appear as a man would clothed, if his clothing corresponded to the state of his love and wisdom. obviously, then, if one confirms appearances in himself, he mistakes the clothing for the man, whereupon appearance becomes fallacy. it is otherwise if he seeks truths and sees them in the appearances. [ ] inasmuch as all uses or truths and goods of charity, which a man renders to the neighbor may be rendered either according to the appearance or according to the verities of the word, he is in fallacies if he renders them according to the appearances he has confirmed, but renders them as he should if he does so in accord with the verities. this may make plain what is meant when the lord is said to join himself to uses through correspondences and thus through appearances according to the confirmation of these by man. [ ] fourth: _this conjunction of temporal and eternal is divine providence._ this is to be illustrated by two instances in order to bring it before the understanding in some light. the one instance is that of eminence and standing, and the other that of riches and wealth. these are all natural and temporal in outward form but spiritual and eternal in inward form. distinction with its standing is natural and temporal when a man has regard in them only to himself personally and not to the common welfare and to the uses. for he is bound then to think inwardly that the community exists for his sake and not he for its sake. it is like a king's thinking that the kingdom and all its members exist for his sake, and not he for the sake of kingdom and people. [ ] the identical distinction, however, along with the standing it brings, is spiritual and eternal when man considers that he exists for the sake of the common well-being and for uses, and not these for his sake. doing this, he is in the truth and essence of the distinction and of the standing it brings. but doing as described above, he is in the correspondence and appearance; if then he confirms these, he is in fallacies and has conjunction with the lord only as those have who are in falsities and evils therefrom, for fallacies are falsities with which evils unite themselves. such men have indeed done uses and good but from themselves and not from the lord, thus have put themselves in the lord's place. [ ] the same is true of riches and wealth; for these also are natural and temporal, and spiritual and eternal. they are natural and temporal with those who have regard only to them and to themselves in them and who find all their pleasure and enjoyment in them. but they are spiritual and eternal with those who regard good uses in them and take an interior pleasure and enjoyment in uses. the outward pleasure and enjoyment in such men also becomes spiritual, and the temporal becomes eternal. they are therefore in heaven after death and in palaces there, the useful designs of which are resplendent with gold and precious stones. they look on these things, however, as the shining and translucent external of inward things, namely, of uses, in which they take a pleasure and enjoyment which are the happiness and joy of heaven. the opposite is the lot of those who have looked on riches and wealth just for the sake of riches and wealth and for their own sake, thus on the externalities and on nothing inward; thus on appearance and not on the essential reality. when they put off the externalities, as they do on dying, they come into their internals, and as these are not spiritual, they cannot but be infernal; they must be one or the other and cannot be spiritual and infernal at the same time. the lot of these men then is poverty instead of riches and wretchedness instead of wealth. [ ] by uses not only the necessities of life are meant, such as food, raiment and habitation for oneself and one's own, but also the good of one's country, community and fellow-citizens. business is such a good when it is the end-love and money is a mediate, subservient love, as it is only when the businessman shuns and is averse to fraud and bad practices as sin. it is otherwise when money is the end-love and business the mediate, subservient love. for this is avarice, which is a root of evils (on this see lu : and the parable on it, verses - ). xii. man is not admitted inwardly into truths of faith and goods of charity except as he can be kept in them to the close of life . it is well known in christendom that the lord wills the salvation of all, and also is almighty. from this many conclude that he can save everyone and saves those who implore his mercy, especially those who implore it by the formula of the received faith that god the father may be merciful for the sake of the son, particularly if they pray at the same time that they may receive this faith. that it is quite otherwise, however, will be seen in the last chapter of this treatise where it will be explained that the lord cannot act contrary to the laws of his divine providence because that would be acting against his divine love and wisdom, thus against himself. there, too, it will be seen that such immediate mercy is impossible, for man's salvation is effected by means, and he can be led in accordance with these means only by him who wills the salvation of all and is at the same time almighty, thus by the lord. these means are what are called laws of divine providence. among them is this, that man is not admitted inwardly into truths of wisdom and goods of love except as he can be kept in them to the close of life. to make this plain to the reason, it is to be explained in this order: i. man may be admitted into wisdom about spiritual things and also into love of them and still not be reformed. ii. if he recedes from them afterwards and turns to what is the contrary, he profanes holy things. iii. there are many kinds of profanation, but this kind is the worst of all. iv. the lord therefore does not admit man interiorly into truths of wisdom and at the same time into goods of love except as man can be kept in them to the very close of life. . (i) _man may be admitted into wisdom about spiritual things and also into love of them and still not be reformed._ this is because he possesses rationality and liberty; by rationality he can be raised into an almost angelic wisdom, and by liberty into love not unlike angelic love. but such as the love is, such is the wisdom; if the love is celestial and spiritual, the wisdom becomes so, but if the love is diabolical and infernal, the wisdom is likewise. outwardly, and so to others, it may seem to be celestial and spiritual, but in inward form, namely in its essence, it is diabolical and infernal; not as manifested, but as it is within one. that it is of this nature men do not see, for they are natural, see and hear naturally, and the outward form is natural; but angels do see it, for they are spiritual, see and hear spiritually, and the inward form is spiritual. [ ] from this it is plain that man can be admitted into wisdom about spiritual things and also into love of them and still not be reformed; he is admitted only into a natural love of them, not into a spiritual. this is for the reason that man can admit himself into a natural love, but the lord alone can admit him into a spiritual love, and those admitted into this are reformed, but those admitted only into the natural love are not. for the most part the latter are hypocrites, and many are of the order of jesuits who inwardly do not believe in the divine at all, but play outwardly with divine things like actors. . it has been granted me by much experience in the spiritual world to know that man possesses in himself the faculty of apprehending arcana of wisdom like the angels themselves. for i have seen fiery devils who not only understood arcana of wisdom when they heard them, but who spoke them, too, out of their rationality. but the moment they returned to their diabolical love they did not understand them, but in place of them the contrary, which was insanity, and this they called wisdom. in fact, i was allowed to hear them laugh at their insanity when they were in a state of wisdom, and at wisdom when they were in an insane state. one who has been of this character in the world, on becoming a spirit after death is usually brought into states of wisdom and insanity by turns, for him to distinguish the one from the other. but although such men see from the wisdom that they are insane, when the choice is given them, as it is to each, they betake themselves into the state of insanity, love it and feel hatred for the state of wisdom. the reason is that their inward nature has been diabolical and their outward seemingly divine. they are meant by devils who affect to be angels of light, and by the man in the house of the nuptials who was not dressed in a wedding garment and was cast into outer darkness (mt : - ). . who cannot see that it is the internal from which the external exists and that consequently the external has its essence from the internal? and who does not know by experience that the external can appear out of accord with the essence it has from the internal? it does so obviously with hypocrites, flatterers and dissemblers. that a person can outwardly feign to be other than himself is manifest from actors and mimics. they know how to represent kings, emperors and even angels in tone of voice, speech, face and gesture as though they were really such, when they are nevertheless only actors. we allude to this because man can similarly act the deceiver in spiritual things as well as civil and moral, and that many do is well known. [ ] when the internal in its essence is infernal, and the external in its form appears to be spiritual and yet has its essence, as we said, from the internal, the question arises where in the external that essence is hidden. it does not show in gesture, voice, speech or face, yet is interiorly hidden in all four. that it is, is plain from the same in the spiritual world. for when man passes from the natural world to the spiritual, as he does at death, he leaves his externals behind along with his body and retains his internals, which he has stored up in his spirit. if his internal was infernal, he then appears as a devil, such as he was as to his spirit during life in the world. who does not acknowledge that everyone leaves external things behind with the body and enters into internal things on becoming a spirit? [ ] to this i will add that in the spiritual world there is a communication of affections and of thoughts from them, which results in no one's being able to speak except as he thinks; likewise, everyone changes facial expression and reflects his affection, and thus shows in his face what he is. hypocrites are allowed sometimes to speak otherwise than they think, but the tone of the voice sounds utterly out of harmony with their interior thoughts, and they are recognized by the discord. it may be evident from this that the internal lies hidden in the tone of voice, the speech, the face and gesture of the external, and that it is not perceived by men in the world, but plainly by angels in the spiritual world. . it is plain from this that while he lives in the natural world man may be admitted into wisdom about spiritual things and into love of them also, and that this happens or can happen with the merely natural as well as with those who are spiritual, with this difference, however, that the latter are reformed by these means and the former are not. it may seem, also, that the former love wisdom, but they do so only as an adulterer loves a noble woman, that is, as mistress, speaking caressingly to her and giving her beautiful garments, but saying of her privately to himself, "she is only a vile harlot whom i will make believe that i love because she gratifies my lust; if she should not, i would cast her away." the internal man of the unreformed lover of wisdom is this adulterer; his external man is the woman. . (ii) _if man recedes from these later and turns to what is contrary, he profanes holy things._ there are many kinds of profanation of what is holy, of which in the following section, but this is the gravest of all. those who profane in this way become no longer human beings after death; they live indeed, but are continually in wild fantasies. they seem to themselves to soar aloft and while they remain there they sport with fantasies which they see as realities. no longer human, they are referred to not as "he" or "she" but "it." in fact, when they come to view in heaven's light they look like skeletons, some like skeletons of the color of bone, others like fiery skeletons, and still others like charred ones. the world does not know that profaners of this kind become like this after death, and the reason is that the cause is unknown. the real cause is that when man first acknowledges and believes divine things and then lapses and denies them, he mixes the holy with the profane. once they are mixed, they cannot be separated without destroying the whole. that these things may be perceived more clearly, they are to be disclosed in due order as follows: . whatever a man thinks, speaks and does from the will, whether good or evil, is appropriated to him and remains. . the lord in his divine providence constantly foresees and disposes that evil shall be by itself and good by itself, and thus may be separated. . this cannot be done, however, if man first acknowledges and lives according to truths of faith and afterwards recedes and denies them. . then he mixes good and evil to the point that they cannot be separated. . since good and evil in anyone must be separated, and in such a person cannot be, he is destroyed in all that is truly human. . these are the causes that lead to such enormity, but as they are obscure as a result of ignorance of them, they are to be explained so that they will be plain to the understanding. . _whatever man thinks, speaks and does from the will, whether good or evil, is appropriated to him and remains._ this was explained above (nn. - ); for man has an external or natural memory and an internal or spiritual memory. on the latter memory are written each and all things that he thought, spoke or did from his will in the world, so fully that nothing is lacking. this memory is his book of life, which is opened after death and according to which he is judged. much more about this memory is reported from experience in the work _heaven and hell_ (nn. - ). [ ] . _the lord in his divine providence constantly foresees and disposes that evil shall be by itself and good by itself, and thus may be separated._ everyone is both in evil and in good, for he is in evil from himself and in good from the lord; he cannot live without being in both. if he were in himself alone and thus in evil alone, he would not possess anything living; nor would he if he were in the lord alone and thus in good alone. in the latter case he would be like one suffocated and gasping for breath or like one dying in agony; in the former case he would be devoid of life, for evil apart from good is dead. therefore everyone is in both, with the difference that in the one instance he is inwardly in the lord and outwardly as if in himself, and in the other inwardly in himself and outwardly as if in the lord. the latter man is in evil, the former in good, and yet each is in good and evil both. the wicked man is in both because he is in the good of civil and moral life and outwardly, in some measure, in the good of spiritual life, too, besides being kept by the lord in rationality and liberty, making it possible for him to be in good. this is the good by means of which everyone, even a wicked man, is led by the lord. it may then be seen that the lord keeps evil and good apart, so that one is interior and the other exterior, and thus provides against their being mingled. [ ] . _this cannot be done, however, if man first acknowledges and lives according to truths of faith and then later recedes and denies them._ this is plain from what has just been said, that all which a man thinks, speaks and does from the will is appropriated to him and remains; and that the lord in his divine providence constantly foresees and disposes that good shall be by itself and evil by itself, and so can be separated. they are also separated by the lord after death. those who are inwardly evil and outwardly good are deprived of the good and left to their evil. the reverse occurs with the inwardly good who outwardly like other men have acquired wealth, sought distinction, delighted in the mundane, and indulged some lusts. good and evil have not been commingled by them, however, but are separate, like internal and external; they have resembled the evil in many ways outwardly but not inwardly. evil is separate from good in the evil, too, who have appeared outwardly like the good for piety, worship, speech and deeds, although wicked inwardly. with those, however, who have first acknowledged and lived by truths of faith and then lived contrary to them and rejected them and particularly if they have denied them, good and evil are no longer separate, but mixed. such a person has appropriated both good and evil to himself, and thus combined and mixed them. [ ] . _he then mixes good and evil to a point where they cannot be separated._ this follows from what has just been said. and if evil cannot be separated from good and good from evil, a person can be neither in heaven nor in hell. everyone must be in one or the other; he cannot be in both; for so he would be now in heaven and now in hell; and in heaven he would act in hell's favor and in hell act in heaven's favor. he would thus destroy the life of all around him, heavenly life among the angels and infernal life among the devils; as a result everyone's life would perish. for everyone must live his own life; no one lives a life foreign to his own, still less one opposed to it. hence, in every man after death, when he becomes a spirit or a spiritual being, the lord separates good from evil and evil from good, good from evil in those who are inwardly in evil, and evil from good in those inwardly in good. this accords with his own words: to every one who has, shall be given, that he may abound, and from him who has not, shall even what he has be taken away (mt : ; : ; mk : ; lu : ; : ). [ ] fifth: _since good and evil in anyone must be separated and in such a person cannot be, he is destroyed in all that is truly human._ as was shown earlier, everyone has what is truly human from rationality, in that he can see and know what is true and good if he wishes, and from liberty, enabling him to will, think, speak and do it. but this liberty has been destroyed along with their rationality in those who have commingled good and evil in themselves, for they cannot from good see evil, nor from evil recognize good; the two make one in them. hence they no longer possess rationality in any efficacy or power, nor any liberty. for this reason they are like the sheerest wild fantasies, as we said above, and no longer look like men but like bones covered with skin, and therefore when mentioned are referred to not as "he" or "she" but "it." such is the lot of those who have commingled sacred and profane in the manner we have described. there are several kinds of profanation which are not of this character, however; of them in a later section. . no one can profane holy things in the way described who is ignorant of them. for one who is ignorant of them cannot acknowledge them and then deny them. those, therefore, who are outside christendom and know nothing of the lord or of redemption and salvation at his hands do not profane the holiness of this in not accepting it or even by speaking against it. the jews do not profane its sanctity, for from infancy they have no desire to receive and acknowledge it. it would be otherwise if they received and acknowledged it and afterwards denied it. this seldom occurs, however; for many among them acknowledge it outwardly but deny it inwardly and are like hypocrites. but those who first accept and acknowledge and later lapse and deny, are the ones who profane holy things by mingling them with profane. [ ] it is beside the point here that holy things are accepted and acknowledged in infancy and childhood, as they are by every christian. for what pertains to faith and charity is not accepted and acknowledged at that age from any rationality and liberty, that is, in the understanding from the will, but only by the memory and from confidence in the teacher; and if the life is in accord it is so by blind obedience. if, however, on coming into the exercise of his rationality and freedom, which one does gradually in growing up to youth and manhood, a man acknowledges truths and lives by them only later to deny them, he does mingle the holy with the profane and (as was said above) from being human becomes a monster. on the other hand, if a man is in evil after attaining rationality and freedom, that is, after becoming his own master, even in his early manhood, but later acknowledges truths of faith and lives by them and remains in them also to the close of life, he does not commingle the holy and the profane. the lord then severs the evils of his earlier life from the good of his later life, as is done with all who repent. of this more will be said in what follows. . (iii) _there are many kinds of profanation of what is holy, but this kind is the worst of all._ in the widest sense by profanation all impiety is meant, and by profaners, therefore, all the impious who at heart deny god, the holiness of the word, and consequently the spiritual things of the church which are essentially holy, and who also speak of them impiously. we are not now treating of such profaners but of those who profess god, uphold the holiness of the word, and acknowledge the spiritual things of the church (yet most persons do so with the lips only). these commit profanation for the reason that holiness from the word is in them and with them, and this which is in them, part of their understanding and will, they profane. but in the impious who deny the divine and divine things, there is nothing holy which they can profane; they are profaners, of course, but still not profane as the others are. . the profanation of what is holy is meant in the second precept of the decalog, "you shall not profane the name of your god," and that it ought not to be profaned is meant in the lord's prayer by "hallowed be thy name." hardly anyone in christendom understands what is meant by god's name. the reason for this is that in the spiritual world names are not what they are in this world; everyone has a name in accord with the character of his love and wisdom. as soon as he enters a society or into fellowship with others he is named according to his character. this can be done in spiritual language, which is such that it can give a name to everything, for each letter in the alphabet signifies some one thing, and the several letters combined in a word, making a person's name, involve the whole state of the subject. this is among the wonders in the spiritual world. [ ] from this it is plain that by "the name of god" in the word, god with all the divine in him and proceeding from him is signified. and as the word is the divine proceeding, it is god's name, and as all the divine things which are called the spiritual things of the church are from the word, they, too, are god's name. it may be seen then what is meant in the second commandment of the decalog by you shall not profane the name of god (ex : ); and in the lord's prayer by hallowed be thy name (mt : ). the name of god and of the lord has a like signification in many passages in the word of either testament, as in mt : ; : ; : , ; : ; : ; : , ; jn : ; : ; : , ; : , ; : - ; : , , , ; : ; : ; besides other passages, and in very many in the old testament. [ ] one who knows this significance of "name" can know what is signified by these words of the lord: whoever receives a prophet in the name of a prophet will receive a prophet's reward; whoever receives a righteous man in the name of a righteous man will receive a righteous man's reward . . . and whoever will give one of these little ones to drink a cup of cold water only in the name of a disciple . . . shall not lose a reward (mt : , ). one who understands by the name of a prophet, of a righteous man and of a disciple only a prophet, a righteous man and a disciple knows only the sense of the letter in that passage. nor does he know what is signified by a prophet's reward, a righteous man's reward, or by the reward given a disciple for a cup of cold water, when yet by the name and reward of a prophet the state and happiness of those who are in divine truths is meant; by the name and reward of a righteous man is meant the state and happiness of those in divine goods; by a disciple is meant the state of those who are in a measure of the spiritual things of the church, and by a cup of cold water is meant a measure of truth. [ ] that the nature of a state of love and wisdom or of good and truth is meant by "name" is also made evident by these words of the lord: he who enters in by the door is the shepherd of the sheep; the porter opens to him, and the sheep hear his voice; he calls his own sheep by name, and leads them out (jn : , ). to "call the sheep by name" is to teach and lead everyone who is in the good of charity according to the state of his love and wisdom; by the "door" the lord is meant, as verse makes plain: i am the door; if a man enters by me, he will be saved (jn : ). it is clear from this that for one to be saved the lord himself is to be approached; one who does so is a "shepherd of the sheep" and one who does not is a "thief"' and a "robber" (so the first verse of the chapter). . profanation of what is holy is predicated of those who know truths of faith and goods of charity from the word and also acknowledge them in some measure, not of those who do not know them, nor of those who impiously reject them altogether. therefore what now follows is said of the former, not of the latter; by the former many kinds of profanation, lighter and graver, are committed, but they may be summed up in the seven following. a first kind of profanation on their part is making jokes from the word or about the word, or of and about the divine things of the church. some do this from a bad habit, picking names or expressions from the word and mingling them with unseemly and sometimes filthy speech. this cannot be done without some contempt being added for the word. yet the word in each and all things is divine and holy; every expression in it stores in its bosom something divine and by means of it gives communication with heaven. this kind of profanation is lighter or more grave according to one's acknowledgment of the sacredness of the word and to the unseemliness of the comment into which it is brought by those who jest about it. [ ] a second kind of profanation by those under discussion is that while they understand and acknowledge divine truths, they live contrary to them. those who only understand profane more lightly, and those who also acknowledge profane more seriously; for the understanding only teaches quite as a preacher does, but does not of itself unite with the will, but acknowledgment does, for one cannot acknowledge anything without the consent of the will. still this union with the will varies and the profanation is according to the measure of it in living contrary to acknowledged truths. thus if one acknowledges that revenge and hatred, adultery and fornication, fraud and deceit, blasphemy and lying are sins against god and yet commits them, he is therefore in the more grievous of this kind of profanation. for the lord says: the servant who knows his lord's will and does not do it, shall be beaten with many strokes (lu : ). and again, if you were blind, you would not have sin, but you say, we see; therefore your sin remains (in : ). but it is one thing to acknowledge apparent truths and another to acknowledge genuine truths. those who acknowledge genuine truths and yet do not live by them appear in the spiritual world to be without the light and warmth of life in voice and speech, as though they were so much inertness. [ ] a third kind of profanation is committed by those who apply the sense of the letter of the word to confirm evil loves and false principles. this is because the confirmation of falsity is the denial of truth, and the confirmation of evil is a rejection of good. in its bosom the word is nothing but divine truth and good. but this does not appear in the lowest sense or sense of the letter in genuine truths, except where the lord and the very way of salvation are taught, but in clothed truths, called appearances of truth. that sense can therefore be seized upon to confirm heresies of many kinds. but one who confirms evil loves does violence to divine goods, and one who confirms false principles does violence to divine truths. the latter violence is called falsification of truth and the former adulteration of good; both are meant by "bloods"* in the word. for a spiritual holiness, which is also the spirit of truth proceeding from the lord, is in every particular of the sense of the letter of the word. this holiness is injured when the word is falsified and adulterated. it is plain that this is profanation. * plural in the hebrew, especially of blood that has been shed. "both" is emphatic here, and for the significance of the plural see arcana caelestia, n. e and apocalypse explained, n. ( ). [ ] a fourth kind of profanation is committed by those who utter pious and holy things and also counterfeit affections of a love for them in tone and manner, and yet at heart do not believe and love them. most of these are hypocrites and pharisees who are deprived after death of all truth and good and thereupon are sent into outer darkness. those who have confirmed themselves by this kind of profanation against the divine and against the word and thus against the spiritual things of the word, sit in outer darkness dumb, unable to speak, wanting to babble pious and holy things as they did in the world, but unable to do so. for in the spiritual world everyone is compelled to speak as he thinks. a hypocrite, however, wants to speak otherwise than he thinks, but there is impediment in the tongue as a result of which he can only mumble. hypocrisies are lighter or more grave in the measure of the confirmation against god and of the outward rationalizing in favor of god. [ ] a fifth kind of profanation is committed by those who ascribe to themselves what is divine. these are meant by lucifer in isaiah ; and by lucifer babylon is meant, as is plain from verses and of that chapter, where the fate, too, of such profaners is described. the same profaners are also meant and described in the apocalypse (chapter ) under the harlot seated on the scarlet beast. babylon and chaldea are mentioned at many places in the word; by babylon profanation of good is meant and by chaldea profanation of truth; the one and the other committed by those who ascribe to themselves what is divine. [ ] a sixth kind of profanation is committed by those who acknowledge the word but deny the divine of the lord. in the world they are called socinians and some arians. the lot of both is that they invoke the father and not the lord and keep praying the father, some of them for the sake of the son, that they may be admitted to heaven, but in vain, until they lose hope of salvation. they are then sent down to hell among deniers of god. they are meant by those who blaspheme the holy spirit and who will not be forgiven in this world or that to come (mt : ). for god is one in person and essence, in him is the trinity, and this god is the lord. since the lord is heaven also and thus those in heaven are in the lord, those who deny the divine of the lord cannot be admitted to heaven and be in the lord. it was shown above that the lord is heaven and that those in heaven are therefore in him. [ ] the seventh kind of profanation is committed by those who first acknowledge and live by divine truths and then recede from them and deny them. this is the worst kind of profanation because holy things are mixed by them with profane to the point where they cannot be separated. yet they must be separated for one to be either in heaven or in hell, and as this cannot be accomplished with them, all that is human, either of the understanding or of the will, is rooted out, and they become, as we said, no longer human beings. almost the same occurs with those who acknowledge the divine things of the word and of the church at heart but immerse them entirely in their proprium, which is a love of ruling over all things, of which much has been said before. after death, when they become spirits, they do not want to be led by the lord but by themselves. when loose rein is given their love, they want to rule not only over heaven but over the lord, too; and as they cannot do this, they deny the lord and become devils. it should be known that the life's love, which is one's reigning love, remains with everyone after death and cannot be taken away. [ ] profaners of this class are meant by the lukewarm, of whom it is written in the apocalypse: i know your works, that you are neither cold nor hot; would that you were cold or hot; but because you are lukewarm, and neither cold nor hot, i will spue you out of my mouth ( : , , ). this manner of profanation is also described by the lord in matthew: when the unclean spirit goes out from a man, he walks through dry places, seeking rest but finds none. then he says, i will return to the house whence i came out. when he returns and finds it empty, swept and garnished for him, he goes and gathers to him seven other spirits worse than himself, and they enter and dwell there; and the last state of the man is worse than the first ( : - ). the conversion of the man is described by the unclean spirit's going out of him; his reverting to his former evils when things good and true have been cast out, is described by the return of the unclean spirit with seven worse than himself into the house garnished for him; and the profanation of the holy by what is profane is described by the last state of that man being worse than the first. the same is meant by this passage in john, jesus said to the man healed in the pool of bethesda: sin no more, lest something worse befall you ( : ). [ ] that the lord provides that man shall not acknowledge truths inwardly and afterwards leave them and become profane, is meant by these words: he has blinded their eyes and hardened their heart, that they should not see with their eyes and understand with their heart, and be converted, and i should heal them (jn : ). "lest they should be converted, and i should heal them" signifies lest they should acknowledge truths and then depart from them and thus become profane. for the same reason the lord spoke in parables, as he himself says (mt : ). the jews were forbidden to eat fat and blood (lev : , : , ); this signifies that they were not to profane holy things, for "fat" signifies divine good and "blood" divine truth. in matthew the lord teaches that once converted a man must continue in good and truth to the close of life: jesus said: whosoever perseveres to the end, shall be saved ( : ; similarly mk : ). . (iv) _the lord therefore does not admit man interiorly into truths of wisdom and at the same time into goods of love except as man can be kept in them to the close of life._ to demonstrate this we must proceed by steps for two reasons; one, because it concerns human salvation, and the other, because a knowledge of the laws of permission (to be considered in the next chapter) depends on a knowledge of this law. it concerns human salvation, because, as has just been said, one who first acknowledges what is divine in word and church and subsequently departs from them profanes what is holy most grievously. in order, then, that this arcanum of divine providence may be revealed so that the rational man can see it in his own light, it is to be unfolded as follows: . evil and good cannot exist together in man's interior being, consequently neither can the falsity of evil and the truth of good. . good and the truth of good can be introduced into man's interior being only so far as evil and the falsity of evil there have been removed. . if good with its truth were introduced there before or further than evil with its falsity is removed, man would depart from the good and go back to his evil. . when man is in evil many truths may be introduced into his understanding and kept in memory, and yet not be profaned. . but the lord in his divine providence takes the greatest care that they are not received from the understanding by the will sooner or more largely than man as of himself removes evil in the external man. . should it welcome them sooner or in larger measure, the will would adulterate good and the understanding would falsify truth by mingling them with evils and falsities. . the lord therefore admits man inwardly into truths of wisdom and goods of love only so far as man can be kept in them to the close of life. . in order, then, that this arcanum of divine providence may be disclosed so that the rational man will see it in his light, the points made will be explained one by one. . _evil and good cannot exist together in man's interior being, consequently neither can the falsity of evil and the truth of good._ by man's interiors the internal of his thought is meant. of this he knows nothing until he comes into the spiritual world and its light, which happens on death. in the natural world it can be known only by the enjoyment of his love in the external of his thought, and from evils themselves as he examines them in himself. for the internal of thought in man is so closely connected with the external of thought that they cannot be separated (of this more may be seen above). we say "good and truth of good," and "evil and falsity of evil" because good cannot exist apart from its truth nor evil apart from its falsity. they are bedfellows or partners, for the life of good is from its truth and the life of truth is from its good; the same is to be said of evil and its falsity. [ ] the rational man can see without explanation that evil with its falsity and good with its truth cannot exist in man's interiors at the same time. for evil is the opposite of good and good the opposite of evil; two opposites cannot coexist. implanted in all evil, moreover, is a hatred for good, and implanted in all good the love of protecting itself against evil and removing it from itself. consequently one cannot be where the other is. if they were together conflict and combat would start and destruction ensue, as the lord teaches also in these words: every kingdom divided against itself is desolated, and every city or house divided against itself does not stand . . . whoever is not with me is against me, and whoever does not gather with me disperses (mt : ); and in another place, no one can serve two masters at the same time: for either he will hate the one and love the other . . . (mt : ). two opposites are impossible in one substance or form without its being torn apart and destroyed. if one should advance and approach the other, they would keep apart like two enemies, one retiring to his camp or fort, and the other posting himself outside. this happens with evil and good in a hypocrite; he harbors both, but the evil is inside and the good outside and so the two are separate and not mingled. it is plain then that evil with its falsity and good with its truth cannot coexist. [ ] . _good and the truth of good can be introduced into man's interiors only so far as evil and the falsity of evil there have been removed._ this is a necessary consequence from what has preceded, for as evil and good cannot exist together, good cannot be introduced before evil has been removed. we say man's "interiors" and mean by these the internal of thought; and in these, now being considered, either the lord or the devil must be present. the lord is there after reformation and the devil before reformation. so far as man suffers himself to be reformed, therefore, the devil is cast out, but so far as he does not suffer himself to be reformed the devil remains. anyone can see that the lord cannot enter as long as the devil is there, and he is there as long as man keeps the door closed where man acts together with the lord. the lord teaches in the apocalypse that he enters when that door is opened by man's mediation: i stand at the door, and knock; if anyone hears my voice, and opens the door, i will come in to him, and sup with him, and he with me ( : ). the door is opened by man's removing evil, fleeing and turning away from it as infernal and diabolical. whether one says "evil" or "the devil," it is one and the same, in turn whether one says "good" or "the lord," for within all good is the lord and within all evil is the devil. from these considerations the truth of this proposition is plain. [ ] . _if good with its truth were introduced before or further than evil with its falsity is removed, man would depart from the good and go back to his evil._ this is because evil would be the stronger, and what is stronger conquers, eventually if not then. as long as evil is stronger, good cannot be introduced into the inner chambers but only into the entry hall; for evil and good, as we said, cannot exist together, and what is in the entry hall is removed by its enemy in the chamber. thus good is receded from and evil is returned to, which is the worst kind of profanation. [ ] furthermore, it is the enjoyment of man's life to love himself and the world above all else. this enjoyment cannot be removed in a moment, but only gradually. in the measure in which it remains in man, evil is stronger in him and can be removed only as self-love becomes a love of uses, or as the love of ruling is not for its own sake but for the sake of uses. uses then make the head, and self-love or the love of ruling is at first the body under the head and finally the feet, on which to walk. who does not see that good should be the head, and that when it is, the lord is there? good and use are one. who does not see that when evil is the head, the devil is there? as civil and moral good and, in its external form, spiritual good, too, are still to be received, who does not see that these then constitute the feet and the soles of the feet, and are trodden on? [ ] inasmuch, then, as man's state of life is to be inverted so that what is uppermost may be lowermost, and the inversion cannot be instantaneous, for the chief enjoyment of his life, coming of self-love and the love of ruling, can be diminished and turned into a love of uses only gradually, the lord cannot introduce good sooner or further than this evil is removed; done earlier or further, man would recede from good and return to his evil. [ ] . _when man is in evil many truths may be introduced into his understanding and kept in memory, and still not be profaned._ this is because the understanding does not flow into the will, but the will into the understanding. as the understanding does not flow into the will, many truths can be received by the understanding and held in memory and still not be mingled with the evil in the will, and the holy thus not profaned. moreover, it is incumbent on everyone to learn truths from the word or from preaching, to lay them up in the memory and to think about them. for by truths held in the memory and entering into the thought, the understanding is to teach the will, that is, the man, what he should do. this is therefore the chief means of reformation. truths that are only in the understanding and thence in the memory are not in man but outside him. [ ] man's memory may be compared to the ruminatory stomach of certain animals in which they put their food; as long as it is there, it is not in but outside their body; as they draw it thence and consume it, it becomes part of their life, and their body is nourished. the food in man's memory is not material but spiritual, namely truths, rightly knowledges; so far as he takes them thence by thinking, which is like ruminating, his spiritual mind is nourished. it is the will's love that has the desire and the appetite, so to speak, and that causes them to be taken thence and to be nourishing. if that love is evil, it desires or has an appetite for what is unclean, but if good, for what is clean, and sets aside, rejects and casts out what is unsuitable; this is done in various ways. [ ] . _but the lord in his divine providence takes the greatest care that truths are not received from the understanding by the will sooner or more largely than man as of himself removes evil in his external man._ for what is from the will enters man, is appropriated to him, and becomes part of his life, and in that life, which is man's from the will, evil and good cannot exist together, for so he would perish. the two may, however, be in the understanding, where they are called falsities of evil and truths of good, and without being mingled; else man could not behold evil from good or know good from evil; but there they are distinguishable and separated like the inner and outer sections of a house. when a wicked man thinks and speaks what is good, he is thinking and speaking externally to himself, but inwardly when he thinks and speaks what is evil; his speech, therefore, when he speaks what is good, comes off a wall, as it were. it can be likened to fruit fair outside but wormy and decayed inside, or to the shell, especially, of a serpent's egg. [ ] . _should the will welcome truths sooner or in larger measure, it would adulterate good and the understanding would falsify truth by mingling them with evils and falsities._ when the will is in evil, it adulterates good in the understanding, and good adulterated in the understanding is evil in the will, for it confirms that evil is good and good is evil. so evil deals with all good, which is its opposite. evil also falsifies truth, for truth of good is the opposite of the falsity of evil; this is done in the understanding by the will, and not by the understanding alone. adulterations of good are depicted in the word by adulteries and falsifications of truth by whoredoms. these adulterations and falsifications are effected by reasonings from the natural man which is in evil, and also by confirmations of appearances in the sense of the letter of the word. [ ] the love of self, the head of all evils, surpasses other loves in the ability to adulterate goods and falsify truths, and it does this by misuse of the rationality which every man, wicked as well as good, enjoys from the lord. by confirmations it can in fact make evil look exactly like good and falsity like truth. what can it not do when it can prove by a thousand arguments that nature created itself and then created human beings, animals and plants of every kind, and also prove that by influx from within itself nature causes men to live, to think analytically and to understand wisely? self-love excels in ability to prove whatever it desires because a certain glamour of varicolored light overlays it. this glamour is the vainglory of that love in being wise and thus also of being eminent and dominant. [ ] and yet, when self-love has proved such things, it becomes so blind that it sees man only as a beast, and that man and beast both think, and if a beast could also speak, conceives it would be man in another form. if it were induced by some manner of persuasion to believe that something of the human being survives death, it then is so blind as to believe that the beast also survives; and that the something which lives after death is only a subtle exhalation of life, like a vapor, constantly falling back to its corpse, or is something vital without sight, hearing or speech, and so is blind, deaf and dumb, soaring about and cogitating. self-love entertains many other insanities with which nature, in itself dead, inspires its fantasy. such is the effect of self-love, which regarded in itself is love of the proprium. man's proprium, in respect of its affections which are all natural, is not unlike the life of a beast, and in respect of its perceptions, inasmuch as they spring from these affections, is not unlike a bird of night. one who constantly immerses his thoughts in his proprium, therefore, cannot be raised out of natural light into spiritual light and see anything of god, heaven or eternal life. since the love of the proprium is of this nature and yet excels in the ability to confirm whatever it pleases, it has a similar ability to adulterate the goods of the word and falsify its truths, even while it is constrained by some necessity to confess them. [ ] . _the lord therefore does not admit man inwardly into truths of wisdom and goods of love except as man can be kept in them to the close of life._ the lord does this lest man fall into that most serious kind of profanation of which we have treated in this chapter. in view of that peril the lord also tolerates evils of life and many heresies in worship, the tolerance of which will be the subject of the following chapter. xiii. laws on permission are also laws of divine providence . there are no laws of permission per se or apart from the laws of divine providence; rather they are the same. hence to say that god permits something does not mean that he wills it, but that he cannot avert it in view of the end, which is salvation. whatever is done for the sake of that end is in accord with the laws of divine providence. for divine providence, as was said, constantly travels in a different direction from that of man's will and against his will, always intent on its objective. at each moment of its activity or at each step in its progress, as it perceives man straying from that end, it directs, turns and disposes him according to its laws, leading him away from evil and to good. it will be seen in what follows that this cannot be done without the tolerance of evil. furthermore, nothing can be permitted for no cause, and the cause can only be in some law of divine providence, explaining why it is permitted. . one who does not acknowledge divine providence at all does not acknowledge god at heart, but nature instead of god, and human prudence instead of divine providence. this does not appear to be so because man can think and speak in two ways. he can think and speak in one way from his inner self and in another from his outer self. this capability is like a hinge that lets a door swing either way, in one direction as one enters, in the other as one leaves; or like a sail which can take a ship one way or the other as the skipper spreads it. those who have confirmed themselves in favor of human prudence to the denial of divine providence see nothing else as long as they are in this way of thinking, no matter what they see, hear or read, nor can they, for they accept nothing from heaven but only from themselves. as they draw their conclusions from appearances and fallacies alone and see nothing else, they can swear that prudence is all. if they also recognize nature only, they become enraged at defenders of divine providence, except that they think when these are priests they are simply pursuing their teaching and office. . we will enumerate now some things that are tolerated and yet are in accord with laws of divine providence, by which, however, the merely natural man confirms himself in favor of nature and against god and in favor of human prudence and against divine providence. for instance he reads in the word that: . adam, wisest of men, and his wife allowed themselves to be led astray by the serpent, and god did not avert this in his divine providence. . their first son, cain, killed his brother abel, and god did not speak to him and dissuade him but only afterwards cursed him. . the israelites worshiped a golden calf in the wilderness and acknowledged it as the god that had brought them out of egypt, yet jehovah saw this from mt. sinai near by and did not warn against it. . david numbered the people and as a consequence a pestilence befell them in which so many thousands of them perished; god sent the prophet gad to him not before but after the deed and denounced punishment. . solomon was allowed to establish idolatrous worship. . after him many kings were allowed to profane the temple and the sacred things of the church. . and finally that nation was permitted to crucify the lord. one who hails nature and human prudence sees nothing but what contradicts divine providence in these and many other passages of the word. he can use them as arguments in denial of providence, if not in his outward thought nearest to speech, still in his inner thought, remote from it. . every worshiper of self and nature confirms himself against divine providence: . when he sees such numbers of wicked in the world and so many of their impieties and how some glory in them, and sees the men go unpunished by god. . he confirms himself the more against divine providence when he sees plots, schemes and frauds succeed even against the devout, just and sincere, and injustice triumph over justice in the courts and in business. . he confirms himself especially on seeing the impious advanced to honors and becoming leaders in the state or in the church, abounding, too, in riches and living in luxury and magnificence, and on the other hand sees worshipers of god despised and poor. . he also confirms himself against divine providence when he reflects that wars are permitted and the slaughter of so many in them and the looting of so many cities, nations and families. . furthermore, he reflects that victories are on the side of prudence and not always on the side of justice, and that it is immaterial whether a commander is upright or not. besides many other things of the kind, all of which are permissions according to laws of divine providence. . the same natural man confirms himself against divine providence when he observes how religion is circumstanced in various nations. . some are totally ignorant of god; some worship the sun and moon; others idols and monstrous graven images, dead men also. . he notes especially that the mohammedan religion is accepted by so many empires and kingdoms. . he notes that the christian religion is found only in a very small part of the habitable globe, called europe, and is divided there. . also that some in christendom arrogate divine power to themselves, want to be worshiped as gods, and invoke the dead. . and there are those who place salvation in certain phrases which they are to think and speak and not at all in good works which they are to do; likewise there are few who live their religion. . besides there are heretical ideas; these have been many and some exist today, like those of the quakers, moravians and anabaptists, besides others. . judaism also persists. as a result, one who denies divine providence concludes that religion in itself is nothing, but still is needed to serve as a restraint. . to these more arguments can be added today by which those who think interiorly in favor of nature and of human prudence alone can still further confirm themselves. for example: . all christendom has acknowledged three gods, not knowing that god is one in essence and in person and that he is the lord. . it has not been known before this that there is a spiritual sense in each particular of the word from which it derives its holiness. . again, christians have not known that to avoid evils as sins is the christian religion itself. . it has also been unknown that the human being lives as such after death. for men may ask themselves and one another, "why does divine providence, if it exists, reveal such things for the first time now?" . all the points listed in nn. - have been put forward in order that it may be seen that each and all things which take place in the world are of divine providence; consequently divine providence is in the least of man's thoughts and actions and thereby is universal. but this cannot be seen unless the points are taken up one by one; therefore they will be explained briefly in the order in which they were listed, beginning with n. . . _the wisest of human beings, adam and his wife, allowed themselves to be led astray by the serpent, and god in his divine providence did not avert this._ this is because by adam and his wife the first human beings created in the world are not meant, but the people of the most ancient church, whose new creation or regeneration is described thus: their creation anew or regeneration in genesis by the creation of heaven and earth; their wisdom and intelligence by the garden of eden; and the end of that church by their eating of the tree of knowledge. for the word in its bosom is spiritual, containing arcana of divine wisdom, and in order to contain them has been composed throughout in correspondences and representations. it is plain then that the men of that church, who at first were the wisest of men but finally became the worst through pride in their own intelligence, were led astray not by a serpent but by self-love, meant in genesis by "the serpent's head," which the seed of the woman, namely, the lord, was to trample. [ ] who cannot see from reason that other things are meant than those recorded literally like history? for who can understand that the world could be created as there described? the learned therefore labor over the explanation of the things in the first chapter, finally confessing that they do not understand them. so of the two trees placed in the garden or paradise, one of life and the other of knowledge, the latter as a stumbling-block. again, that just by eating of this tree they transgressed so greatly that not only they but their posterity--the whole human race--became subject to damnation; further, how any serpent could lead them astray; besides other things, as that the woman was created out of a rib of her husband; that they recognized their nakedness after the fall and covered it with fig leaves; that coats of skin were given them to cover the body; and that cherubim with a flaming sword were stationed to guard the way to the tree of life. [ ] all this is representative, describing the establishment, state, alteration and finally destruction of the most ancient church. the arcana involved, contained in the spiritual sense which fills the details, may be seen explained in _arcana caelestia,_ on genesis and exodus, published at london. there it may also be seen that by the tree of life the lord is meant as to his divine providence, and by the tree of knowledge man is meant as to his own prudence. . _their first son, cain, killed his brother abel, and god did not speak to him and dissuade him, but only afterwards cursed him._ as the most ancient church is meant by adam and his wife, as we have just said, the two essentials of a church, love and wisdom or charity and faith are meant by their first sons, cain and abel. love and charity are meant by abel, and wisdom and faith and in particular wisdom separate from love, and faith separate from charity, are meant by cain. wisdom as well as faith when separate is of such a nature that it not only rejects love and charity, but also destroys them and thus kills its brother. it is well known in christendom that faith apart from charity does so; see _doctrine of the new jerusalem about faith._ [ ] the curse on cain portends the spiritual state into which those come after death who separate faith from charity or wisdom from love. but lest wisdom or faith should perish, a mark was put on cain lest he be slain, for love cannot exist without wisdom, nor charity without faith. as almost the same thing is represented by this as by eating of the tree of knowledge, it follows next after the account of adam and his wife. moreover, those in faith separate from charity are in intelligence of their own; those who are in charity and thence in faith are in intelligence from the lord, thus in divine providence. . _the israelites worshiped a golden calf in the wilderness and acknowledged it as the god that had brought them out of egypt, yet jehovah saw this from mt. sinai near by and did not warn against it._ this occurred in the desert of sinai near the mountain. it is in accordance with all the laws of divine providence recounted so far and with those to follow that jehovah did not restrain the israelites from that atrocious worship. this evil was permitted them that they might not all perish. for the children of israel were brought out of egypt to represent the lord's church; they could not represent it unless the egyptian idolatry was first rooted out of their hearts. this could not be done unless it was left to them to act upon what was in their hearts and then to remove it on being severely punished. what further is signified by that worship, by the threat that they would be entirely rejected, and by the possibility that a new nation might be raised from moses, may be seen in _arcana caelestia_ on exodus , where these things are spoken of. . _david numbered the people and as a consequence a pestilence befell them in which so many thousands of them perished; god sent the prophet gad to him not before but after the deed and denounced punishment._ one who confirms himself against divine providence may have various thoughts about this also and ponder especially why david was not admonished first and why the people were so severely punished for the king's transgression. that he was not warned first is in accord with the laws of divine providence already adduced, especially with the two explained at nn. - and - . the people were so severely punished for the king's transgression and seventy thousand smitten by the pestilence not on account of the king but on account of themselves, for we read the anger of jehovah kindled still more against israel; therefore he incited david against them saying, go, number israel and judah ( sa : ). . _solomon was allowed to establish idolatrous forms of worship._ for he was to represent the lord's kingdom or church in all varieties of religion in the world. for the church established with the israelitish and jewish nation was a representative church; all of its judgments and statutes represented the spiritual things of a church, which are its internals. the people represented the church, the king the lord, david the lord to come into the world, solomon the lord after his coming. as the lord after the glorification of his humanity had all power over heaven and earth (as he said, mt : ), solomon as representative of him appeared in glory and magnificence, was wise beyond all earthly kings, and also built the temple. moreover, he permitted and set up the forms of worship of many nations, by which the various religions of the world were represented. his wives, who numbered seven hundred and his concubines who numbered three hundred ( kgs : ), had a similar signification, for "wife" in the word signifies the church and "concubine" a form of religion. hence it may be evident why it was granted solomon to build the temple, by which the divine humanity of the lord (jn : , ) is signified and the church, too; and why he was allowed to establish idolatrous forms of worship and to take so many wives. see _doctrine of the new jerusalem about the lord_ (nn. , ) that in many places in the word the lord who was to come into the world is meant by david. . _after solomon many kings were allowed to profane the temple and the sacred things of the church._ this was because the people represented the church and the king was their head. the israelitish and jewish nation was of such a nature that they could not represent the church for long, for at heart they were idolaters; they therefore relapsed gradually from representative worship, perverting all things of the church, even to devastating it finally. this was represented by the profanations of the temple by the kings and by the people's idolatries; the full devastation of the church was represented by the destruction of the temple, the carrying off of israel, and the captivity of judah in babylon. such was the cause of this toleration; and what is done for some cause is done under divine providence according to one of its laws. . _that nation was permitted to crucify the lord._ this was because the church with that nation was entirely devastated and had become such that they not only did not know or acknowledge the lord, but hated him. still, all that they did to him was according to laws of his divine providence. see in _doctrine of the new jerusalem about the lord_ (nn. - ) and in _doctrine of the new jerusalem about faith_ (nn. , ) that the passion of the cross was the last temptation or battle by which the lord fully conquered the hells and fully glorified his humanity. . so far the points listed at n. have been explained, involving passages in the word by which the naturally minded reasoner may confirm himself against divine providence. for, as was said, whatever such a man sees, hears or reads he can make into an argument against providence. few persons, however, confirm themselves against divine providence from incidents in the word, but many do so from things before their eyes, listed at n. . these are to be explained now in like manner. . _every worshiper of self and of nature confirms himself against divine providence when he sees so many impious in the world and so many of their impieties and how some glory in them, yet sees the impious go unpunished by god._ all impieties and all gloryings in them are permissions, of which the causes are laws of divine providence. each human being can freely, indeed very freely, think what he wills, against god as well as in favor of god. one who thinks against god is rarely punished in the natural world, for he is always in a state to be reformed then, but is punished in the spiritual world, which is done after death, for then he can no longer be reformed. [ ] that laws of divine providence are the causes of tolerance is clear from the laws set forth above, if you will recall and examine them. they are: that man shall act in freedom according to reason (of this law above, nn. - ); that he shall not be forced by external means to think and will, thus to believe and love what is of religion, but bring himself and sometimes compel himself to do so (nn. - ); that there is no such thing as one's own prudence, but there only appears to be and it should so appear, but divine providence is universal from being in the least things (nn. - ); divine providence looks to what is eternal, and to the temporal only as this makes one with the eternal (nn. - ); man is not admitted inwardly into truths of faith and goods of charity except as he can be kept in them to the close of life (nn. - ). [ ] that the laws of divine providence are the causes of tolerance will also be evident from the following, for one thing from this: evils are tolerated because of the end, which is salvation. again from this: that divine providence is continual with the wicked as well as with the good. and finally from this: the lord cannot act contrary to the laws of his divine providence because to do so would be to act contrary to his divine love and wisdom, thus contrary to himself. brought together, these laws can make the causes manifest why impieties are tolerated by the lord and are not punished while they exist in the thought only and rarely, too, while they exist in intention, thus in the will but not in act. yet its own punishment follows every evil; it is as if its punishment were inscribed on an evil, and the impious man suffers it after death. [ ] these considerations also explain the next point, listed at n. : _the worshiper of self and of nature confirms himself still more against divine providence when he sees plots, schemes and frauds succeed even against the devout, just and sincere, and injustice triumph over justice in the courts and in business._ all the laws of divine providence have requirements; and as they are the causes why such things are permitted, it is plain that for man to live as a human being and be reformed and saved, these things can be removed from him by the lord only through means. the word and, in particular, the precepts of the decalog are the means with those who acknowledge all kinds of murder, adultery, theft and false witness to be sins. with those who do not acknowledge such things as sins, they are removed by means of the civil laws and fear of their penalties and by means also of the moral laws and fear of disrepute and consequent loss of standing and wealth. by the latter means the lord leads the evil, but only away from doing such things, not from thinking and willing them. but by the former means he leads the good, not only away from doing them, but from thinking and willing them, too. . _the worshiper of self and of nature confirms himself against divine providence on seeing the impious advanced to honors and becoming leaders in the state and in the church, abounding, too, in riches and living in luxury and magnificence, and on the other hand sees worshipers of god despised and poor._ a worshiper of self and of nature believes that standing and riches are the greatest and the one felicity possible, thus felicity itself. if he has some thought of god as a result of worship begun in childhood, he calls them divine blessings, and as long as he is not elated by them he thinks that there is a god and worships him. but in the worship there lurks a desire, of which he is unaware then, to be advanced by god to still higher standing and to still greater wealth. if he attains them, his worship tends more and more to externalities until it slips away and at last he makes little account of god and denies him. the same thing occurs if he is cast down from the standing and loses the riches on which he has set his heart. what, then, are standing and riches to the wicked but stumbling blocks? [ ] to the good they are not, for these do not set their heart on them, but on the uses or goods for rendering which standing and wealth serve as means. hence only a worshiper of self and of nature can confirm himself against divine providence because the impious are advanced to honors and become leaders in the state and in the church. moreover, what is greater or less standing, or greater or less wealth? is this not in itself imaginary? is one person more blessed and happier than another for it? is a great man's standing, or even a king's or an emperor's, not regarded in a year's time as a commonplace, no longer exalting his heart with joy but quite possibly becoming worthless to him? have those with standing a larger measure of happiness than those with little standing or even the least standing, like farmers and their hands? may not these enjoy more happiness when it is well with them and they are content with their lot? what is more unquiet at heart, more often provoked, or more violently enraged than self-love? it happens as often as it is not honored to suit the haughtiness of its heart or as something does not succeed at its beck and wish. what, then, is standing except an idea, unless it attaches to the office or the use? can the idea exist in any other thought than thought about self and the world, and does it not really mean that the world is all and eternity nothing? [ ] something shall be said now why divine providence permits the impious at heart to be promoted to standing and to acquire wealth. the impious or the evil can render services as well as the pious or good, indeed with more fire, for they regard themselves in the use and their standing as the use. as self-love mounts, therefore, the lust of doing service for one's glory is fired. there is no such fire with the devout or good unless it is kindled incidentally to their standing. therefore the lord governs the impious at heart who have standing by their desire for a name and arouses them to perform uses to the community or their country, their society or city, and their fellow citizen or neighbor. with such persons this is the lord's government which is called divine providence, for the lord's kingdom is one of uses, and where only a few perform uses for uses' sake providence brings it about that worshipers of self are raised to higher offices, in which each is incited by his love to do good. [ ] suppose an infernal kingdom in the world (though there is none) where self-love alone rules, which is itself the devil, would not everyone perform uses with the zeal of self-love and for the enhancement of his glory more than in another kingdom? the public good is borne on the lips of them all, but their own benefit in the heart. and as each relies on what rules him in order to become greater, and aspires to be greatest, how can he see that god exists? a smoke like that of a conflagration envelops him through which no spiritual truth can pass with its light. i have seen that smoke around the hells of such men. light a lamp and inquire how many in present-day kingdoms aspire to eminence who are not loves of self and the world. will you find fifty in a thousand who are loves of god, among whom, moreover, only a few aspire to eminence? since so few are loves of god and so many are loves of self and the world and since the latter perform more uses by their ardor, how can one confirm himself against divine providence because the evil surpass the good in eminence and opulence? [ ] this is borne out also by these words of the lord: the lord praised the unjust steward because he had acted prudently; for the sons of this age are more prudent in their generation than the sons of light in their generation. so i say to you, make friends for yourselves of the unjust mammon that when you fail they may receive you into eternal habitations (lu : , ). the meaning in the sense of the letter is plain. but in the spiritual sense by the "mammon of injustice" are meant knowledges of good and truth which the evil possess and employ solely to acquire standing and wealth for themselves. it is of these knowledges that the good or the children of light are to make friends for themselves and it is these knowledges that will conduct them into eternal homes. the lord also teaches that many are loves of self and the world, and few are loves of god, in these words: wide is the gate, and broad is the way, which leads to destruction, and many there be who enter it, but narrow and strait is the way which leads to life, and there are few who find it (mt : , ). it may be seen above (n. ) that eminence and riches are either curses or blessings, and with whom they are the one or the other. . _the worshiper of self and of nature confirms himself against divine providence when he reflects that wars are permitted and the slaughter in them of so many men and the plundering of their wealth._ it is not by divine providence that wars occur, for they entail murder, plunder, violence, cruelty, and other terrible evils which are diametrically opposed to christian charity. yet they cannot but be permitted because the life's love of mankind, since the time of the most ancient people, meant by adam and his wife (n. ), has become such that it wants to rule over others and finally over all, and also to possess the wealth of the world and finally all wealth. these two loves cannot be kept in fetters, for it is according to divine providence that everyone is allowed to act in freedom in accordance with reason, as may be seen above (nn. - ); and apart from permissions man cannot be led from evil by the lord and consequently cannot be reformed and saved. for unless evils were allowed to break out, man would not see them, therefore would not acknowledge them, and thus could not be induced to resist them. evils cannot be repressed, therefore, by any act of providence; if they were, they would remain shut in, and like a disease such as cancer and gangrene, would spread and consume everything vital in man. [ ] for from birth man is like a little hell between which and heaven there is perpetual discord. no one can be withdrawn from his hell by the lord unless he sees he is in it and desires to be led out of it. this cannot be done apart from tolerations the causes of which are laws of divine providence. as a result, minor and major wars occur, the minor between owners of estates and their neighbors, and the major between sovereigns of kingdoms and their neighbors. except for size the only difference is that the minor conflicts are held within limits by a country's laws and the major by the law of nations; each may wish to transgress its laws, but the minor cannot, and while the major can, still the possibility has limits. [ ] hidden in the stores of divine wisdom are several causes why the major wars of kings and rulers, involving murder, looting, violence and cruelty as they do, are not prevented by the lord, either at their beginning or during their course, only finally when the power of one or the other has been so reduced that he is in danger of annihilation. some of the causes have been revealed to me and among them is this: all wars, although they are civil in character, represent in heaven states of the church and are correspondences. the wars described in the word were all of this character; so are all wars at this day. those in the word are the wars which the children of israel waged with various nations, amorites, moabites, philistines, syrians, egyptians, chaldeans and assyrians. moreover, it was when the children of israel, who represented the church, departed from their precepts and statutes and fell into evils represented by other peoples (for each nation with which the children of israel waged war represented a particular evil), that they were punished by that nation. for instance, when they profaned the sanctities of the church by foul idolatries they were punished by the assyrians and chaldeans because assyria and chaldea signify the profanation of what is holy. what was signified by the wars with the philistines may be seen in _doctrine of the new jerusalem about faith_ (nn. - ). [ ] wars at the present day, wherever they may occur, represent similar things. for all things which occur in the natural world correspond to spiritual things in the spiritual world, and all spiritual things are related to the church. it is not known in the world which kingdoms in christendom represent the moabites, the ammonites, the syrians, the philistines, the chaldeans and the assyrians or others, with whom the children of israel waged war; yet there are nations that do so. moreover, the condition of the church on earth and what the evils are into which it falls and for which it is punished by wars, cannot be seen at all in the natural world, for only externals are manifest here and these do not constitute the church. this is seen, however, in the spiritual world where internal conditions appear and in these the church itself consists. there all are united according to their various states. conflicts between them correspond to wars, which on both sides are governed by the lord correspondentially in accordance with his divine providence. [ ] the spiritual man acknowledges that wars on earth are ruled by the lord's divine providence. the natural man does not, except that at a celebration of a victory he may thank god on his knees for having given the victory, and except for a few words on going into battle. but when he returns into himself he ascribes the victory either to the prudence of the general or to some counsel or incident in the midst of the fighting which escaped notice and yet decided the victory. [ ] it may be seen above (n. ) that divine providence, which is called fortune, is in the least things, even in trivial ones, and if you acknowledge divine providence in these you will certainly do so in the issues of war. success and happy conduct of war, moreover, are in common parlance called the fortune of war, and this is divine providence, to be found especially in a general's judgments and plans, although he may at the time and also afterwards ascribe all to his own prudence. this he may do if he will, for he has full freedom to think in favor of divine providence or against it, indeed in favor of god or against him; but let him know that no judgment or plan is from himself; it comes either from heaven or from hell, from hell by permission, from heaven by providence. . _a worshiper of self and of nature confirms himself against divine providence when he thinks, as he sees it, that victories are on the side of prudence and not always on the side of justice, and that it is immaterial whether a commander is upright or not._ victories seem to be on the side of prudence and not always on the side of justice, because man judges by the appearance and favors one side more than the other and can by reasoning confirm what he favors. nor does he know that the justice of a cause is spiritual in heaven and natural in the world, as was said just above, and that the two are united in a connection of things past and of things to come, known only to the lord. [ ] it is immaterial whether the commander is an upright man or not because, as was established above (n. ), the evil as well as the good perform uses, and by their zeal more ardently than the good. this is so especially in war because the evil man is more crafty and cunning in devising schemes than a good man, and in his love of glory takes pleasure in killing and plundering those whom he knows and declares to be the enemy. the good man has prudence and zeal for defense and rarely for attacking. this is much the same as it is with spirits of hell and angels of heaven; the spirits of hell attack and the angels of heaven defend themselves. hence comes this conclusion that it is allowable for one to defend his country and his fellow-citizens against invading enemies even by iniquitous commanders, but not allowable to make oneself an enemy without cause. to have the seeking of glory for cause is in itself diabolical, for it comes of self-love. . the points made above (n. ) by which the merely natural man confirms himself against divine providence have now been explained. the points which follow (n. ) about the varieties of religion in many nations, which also serve the merely natural man for arguments against divine providence, are to be clarified next. for the merely natural man says in his heart, how can so many discordant religions exist instead of one world-wide and true religion when (as was shown above, nn. - ) divine providence has a heaven from mankind for its purpose? but pray, listen: all human beings who are born, however numerous and of whatever religion, can be saved if only they acknowledge god and live according to the precepts of the decalog, which forbid committing murder, adultery, theft, and false witness because to do such things is contrary to religion and therefore contrary to god. such persons fear god and love the neighbor. they fear god inasmuch as they think that to do such things is to act against god, and they love the neighbor because to murder, commit adultery, steal, bear false witness and covet the neighbor's house or wife is to act against one's neighbor. heeding god in their lives and doing no evil to the neighbor, they are led by the lord, and those whom he leads are also taught about god and the neighbor in accordance with their religion, for those who live in this way love to be taught, but those living otherwise have no such desire. loving to be taught, they are also instructed by angels after death when they become spirits, and willingly receive such truths as the word contains. something about them may be seen in _doctrine of the new jerusalem about sacred scripture_ (nn. - and - ). . _the merely natural man confirms himself against divine providence when he observes the religious conditions in various nations and notes that some people are totally ignorant of god, some worship the sun and moon, and some worship idols and graven images._ those who argue from these facts against divine providence are ignorant of the arcana of heaven; these arcana are innumerable and man is acquainted with hardly any of them. among them is this: man is not taught from heaven directly but mediately (this may be seen treated above, nn. - ). because he is taught mediately, and the gospel could not through the medium of missionaries reach all who dwell in the world, but religion could be spread in various ways to inhabitants of the remote corners of the earth, this has been effected by divine providence. for a knowledge of religion does not come to a man from himself, but through another who has either learned it from the word or by tradition from others who have learned it, for instance that god is, heaven and hell exist, there is a life after death, and god must be worshiped for man to be blessed. [ ] see in _doctrine of the new jerusalem about sacred scripture_ (nn. - ) that religion spread throughout the world from the ancient word and afterwards from the israelitish word, and (nn. - ) that unless there had been a word no one could have known about god, heaven and hell, life after death, and still less about the lord. once a religion is established in a nation the lord leads that nation according to the precepts and tenets of its own religion, and he has provided that there should be precepts in every religion like those in the decalog, that god should be worshiped, his name not be profaned, a holy day be observed, that parents be honored, murder, adultery and theft not be committed, and false witness not be spoken. a nation that regards these precepts as divine and lives according to them in religion's name is saved, as was just said (n. ). most nations remote from christendom regard these laws not as civil but as divine, and hold them sacred. see in _doctrine of the new jerusalem [about life] from the precepts of the decalog,_ from beginning to end, that a man is saved by a life according to these precepts. [ ] also among the arcana of heaven is this: in the lord's sight the angelic heaven is like one man whose soul and life is the lord. in each particular of his form this divine man is man, not only as to the external members and organs but as to the more numerous internal members and organs, also as to the skins, membranes, cartilages and bones; but in that man all these, both external and internal, are not material but spiritual. further, the lord has provided that those who cannot be reached by the gospel but only by some form of religion shall also have a place in this divine man, that is, in heaven, by constituting the parts called skins, membranes, cartilages and bones, and like others should be in heavenly joy. for it does not matter whether their joy is that of the angels of the highest heaven or of the lowest heaven, for everyone entering heaven comes into the highest joy of his own heart; joy higher still he does not endure; he would suffocate in it. [ ] a peasant and a king may serve for comparison. a peasant may reach the height of joy when he steps out in a new suit of homespun wool or seats himself at a table with pork, a piece of beef, cheese, beer and fiery wine on it. he would feel constricted at heart if he was clothed like a king in purple, silk, gold and silver, or if a table was set for him on which were delicacies and costly viands of many kinds with noble wine. it is plain from this that the last as well as the first find heavenly happiness, each in his measure, those outside christendom also, therefore, provided they shun evils as sins against god because these are contrary to religion. [ ] few are entirely ignorant of god. if they have lived a moral life they are instructed after death by angels and receive what is spiritual in their moral life (see _doctrine of the new jerusalem about sacred scripture,_ n. ). the same is true of those who worship sun and moon, believing that god is there. they know no better, therefore it is not imputed to them as a sin, for the lord says, if you were blind (that is, if you did not know), you would have no sin (jn : ). but there are many who worship idols and graven images even in the christian world. this, to be sure, is idolatrous, yet not with all. there are those for whom graven images serve as a means of exciting thought about god, for by an influx from heaven one who acknowledges god desires to see him, and these, unable to raise the mind above the sensuous as those do who are inwardly spiritual, rouse it by means of statue or image. those who do so and do not worship the image itself as god are saved if they also live by the precepts of the decalog from religious principle. [ ] it is plain, then, that as the lord desires the salvation of all, he has also provided that everyone who lives well may have a place in heaven. see in the work _heaven and hell,_ published at london, (nn. - ), in _arcana caelestia_ (nn. - ) and above (nn. - ) that heaven in the lord's sight is like one man; that heaven accordingly corresponds to each and all things in man; and that there are also those who represent skin, membranes, cartilages and bones. . _the merely natural man confirms himself against divine providence when he sees the mohammedan religion accepted by so many empires and kingdoms._ the fact that this form of religion is accepted by more kingdoms than christianity is may be a stumbling-block to those who give thought to divine providence and at the same time believe that no one can be saved unless he has been born a christian, thus where the word is, by which the lord is known. that form of religion is no stumbling-block, however, to those who believe that all things are of divine providence. these ask in what the providence consists and find it is in this, that mohammedanism, acknowledges the lord as son of god, the wisest of men and a very great prophet who came into the world to teach men; most mohammedans consider him to be greater than mohammed. [ ] that form of religion was called forth in the divine providence to destroy the idolatries of many nations. to make this fully known we will pursue some order; first, something on the origin of idolatries. previously to that form of religion the worship of idols was general in the world. this was because the churches before the lord's advent were all representative churches. the israelitish church was of this character. in it the tabernacle, aaron's garments, the sacrifices, all things of the temple in jerusalem, the statutes also, were representative. moreover, the ancients had a knowledge of correspondences, which is the knowledge of representations--it was the chief knowledge of their wise men. this knowledge was cultivated especially in egypt and was the origin of egyptian hieroglyphics. by that knowledge the ancients knew what animals of every kind signified and what trees of every kind signified, as they did what mountains, hills, rivers and fountains signified, as well as sun, moon and stars. as all their worship was representative, consisting of sheer correspondences, they worshiped on mountains and hills and in groves and gardens, regarded fountains as sacred, and in adoration of god faced the rising sun. furthermore, they made graven images of horses, oxen, calves and lambs, and of birds, fish and serpents, and placed them in their houses and elsewhere, arranged according to the spiritual things of the church to which they corresponded or which they represented. they placed similar objects in their temples, too, to put them in mind of the holy things they signified. [ ] later, when the knowledge of correspondences had been lost, their posterity began to worship the graven images themselves, as holy in themselves, not knowing that their forefathers had seen no holiness in them, but only that they represented holy things by correspondences and thus signified them. so arose the idolatries which filled the whole world, africa and europe as well as asia with its adjacent islands. in order that all these idolatries might be uprooted, of the lord's divine providence it was brought about that a new religion, adapted to the genius of orientals, should start up, in which there would be something from each testament of the word, and which would teach that the lord had come into the world and was a very great prophet, wisest of all, and son of god. this was done through mohammed, from whom the religion is called the mohammedan religion. [ ] of the lord's divine providence this religion was raised up and, as we said, adapted to the genius of orientals, in order that it might destroy the idolatries of so many peoples and give them some knowledge of the lord before they passed into the spiritual world. this religion would not have been accepted by so many kingdoms or had the power to uproot idolatries, had it not suited and met the ideas and thinking of them all. it did not acknowledge the lord as god of heaven and earth, for the orientals acknowledged god the creator of the universe, but could not comprehend that he came into the world and assumed human nature, quite as christians do not comprehend this, who therefore separate his divine from his humanity in their thinking and place his divine near the father in heaven and his humanity they know not where. [ ] hence it may be seen that the mohammedan religion arose under the lord's divine providence and that all adherents of it who acknowledge the lord as son of god and live according to the precepts of the decalog, which they also have, shunning evils as sins, come into a heaven called the mohammedan heaven. this heaven, like others, is divided into three, the highest, middle and lowest. those who acknowledge the lord to be one with the father and thus the one god are in the highest heaven; in the next heaven are those who renounce a plurality of wives and live with one; and in the lowest are those who are being initiated. more about this religion may be seen in _continuation about the last judgment and the spiritual world_ (nn. - ), where the mohammedans and mohammed are treated of. . _the merely natural man confirms himself against divine providence when he sees that the christian religion exists only in a small part of the habitable world, called europe, and there is divided._ the christian religion exists only in the small part of the habitable world called europe because it was not adapted to the genius of orientals as was a mixed one like the mohammedan religion, as was just shown; and an unadapted religion is not received. for example, a religion which ordains that it is unlawful to take more than one wife is not received but rejected by those who for ages have been polygamists. this is true of other ordinances of the christian religion. [ ] nor is it material whether a smaller or a larger part of the world has received this religion, as long as there are people with whom the word is. for those who are outside the church and do not possess the word still have light from it, as was shown in _doctrine of the new jerusalem about sacred scripture,_ nn. - . it is a marvel that where the word is reverently read and the lord is worshiped from it, he is present with heaven. the reason is that he is the word and the word is divine truth which makes heaven. the lord therefore says: where two or three are gathered in my name, there am i in the midst of them (mt : ). europeans can bring this about with the word in many parts of the habitable globe, for they trade the world over and read or teach the word everywhere. this seems like fiction and yet is true. [ ] the christian religion is divided because it is from the word and the word is written in sheer correspondences and these in large part are appearances of truth in which, nevertheless, genuine truths lie concealed. as a church's doctrine is to be drawn from the sense of the letter of the word which is of this character, disputes, controversies and dissensions were bound to arise over the understanding of the word, but not over the word itself or the divine itself of the lord. for it is acknowledged everywhere that the word is holy and that the lord possesses the divine, and these two are essentials of the church. those, therefore, who deny the divine of the lord and are called socinians have been excommunicated from the church, and those who deny the holiness of the word are not regarded as christians. [ ] to this let me add a remarkable item about the word from which one may conclude that inwardly the word is divine truth itself and inmostly the lord. when a spirit opens the word and touches his face or dress with it, just from the contact his face or garment shines as brightly as the moon or a star, in the sight of all, too, whom he meets. it is evidence that there is nothing holier in the world than the word. that the word is written throughout in correspondences may be seen in _doctrine of the new jerusalem about sacred scripture,_ nn. - ; that the church's doctrine is to be drawn from the sense of the letter of the word and confirmed thereby, nn. - ; that heresies can be wrested from the sense of the letter of the word, but that it is harmful to confirm them, nn. - ; that the church is from the word and is such as is its understanding of the word, nn. - . . _the merely natural man confirms himself against divine providence because in many kingdoms where the christian religion is accepted there are those who arrogate divine power to themselves, want to be worshiped as gods, and also invoke dead men._ to be sure, they say that they have not arrogated divine power to themselves and do not wish to be worshiped as gods. yet they say that they can open and close heaven, remit and retain sins, and so save and condemn men, and this is what is divine itself. divine providence has no other purpose than reformation and hence salvation; this is its unceasing activity with everyone. and salvation can be effected only by acknowledgment of the divine of the lord and by confidence that he brings salvation as man lives according to his commandments. [ ] who cannot see that the usurpation of divine power is the babylon described in the apocalypse and the babel spoken of here and there in the prophets? it is also lucifer in isaiah , as is plain from verses and of that chapter, where are the words: you shall speak this parable about the king of babel (verse ); (then), i will cut off the name and remnant of babel (verse ); it is plain from this that this babel is lucifer, of whom it is said: how you have fallen from heaven, lucifer, son of the morning! ... for you have said in your heart, i will ascend into heaven, i will exalt my throne above the stars of god; i will also sit on the mount of the congregation, at the sides of the north; i will ascend above the heights of the clouds; i will be like the most high (isa : - ). it is well known that the same persons invoke the dead and pray to them for help. we make the assertion because such invocation was established by a papal bull, confirming the decree of the council of trent, in which it is openly said that the dead are to be invoked. yet who does not know that only god is to be invoked, and not any dead person? [ ] it shall be told now why the lord has permitted such things. can one deny that he has done so for the sake of the end in view, namely salvation? for men know that there is no salvation without the lord. therefore it was necessary that the lord should be preached from the word and that the christian church should be established by this means. this could be done, however, only by leaders who would act with zeal and no others offered than those who burned with zeal out of self-love. at first this fire aroused them to preach the lord and teach the word. from this their first state lucifer is called "the son of the morning" ( : ). but as they saw that they could dominate by means of the sanctities of the word and the church, the self-love by which they were first aroused to preach the lord broke out from within and finally exalted itself to such a height that they transferred all the lord's divine power to themselves, leaving him none. [ ] this could not be prevented by the lord's divine providence, for if it had been they would have declared that the lord is not god and that the word is not sacred and would have made themselves socinians and arians, so would have destroyed the whole church. but, whatever its rulers are, the church continues among the people submissive to them. for all in this religion who approach the lord and shun evils as sins are saved; therefore many heavenly societies are formed from them in the spiritual world. it has also been provided that there should be a nation among them that has not bowed to the yoke of such domination and that regards the word as holy; this noble nation is the french nation. [ ] but what was done? when self-love exalted its dominion even to the lord's throne, removing him and setting itself on it, that love, which is lucifer, could not but have profaned all things of the word and the church. lest this should happen, the lord in his divine providence took care that they should recede from worship of him, invoke the dead, pray to graven images of the dead, kiss their bones and kneel at their tombs, should ban the reading of the word, appoint holy worship in masses not understood by the common people, and sell salvation for money. for if they had not done this, they would have profaned the sanctities of the word and the church. for, as was shown in the preceding section, only those profane holy things who know them. [ ] lest, too, they should profane the most holy supper it is of the lord's divine providence that they divide it, giving the bread to the people and drinking the wine themselves. for the wine of the supper signifies holy truth and the bread holy good; but divided the wine signifies truth profaned and the bread good adulterated. it is also of the lord's divine providence that they should render the holy supper corporeal and material and give it the prime place in religion. anyone who gives these particulars his attention and reflects on them in some enlightenment of his mind can see the amazing action of divine providence for the protection of the sanctities of the church and for the salvation of all who can be saved and are ready to be snatched from the fire, so to speak, from which they must be snatched. . _the merely natural man confirms himself against divine providence because some among those who profess the christian religion place salvation in certain phrases which they are to think and speak and not at all in good works which they are to do._ we showed in _doctrine of the new jerusalem about faith_ that these are such as make faith alone saving and not the life of charity, thus such as separate faith from charity. it was also shown that these are meant in the word by "philistines," "dragon" and "goats." [ ] that such doctrine has been permitted is also of divine providence lest the divine of the lord and the sanctity of the word should be profaned. the divine of the lord is not profaned when salvation is placed in these words: that god the father may have mercy for the sake of the son, who suffered the cross and made satisfaction for us. for men do not then address the divine of the lord but have in mind his human nature, which they do not acknowledge to be divine. nor do they profane the word, for they do not attend to the passages in which love, charity, deeds and works are mentioned. all this, they say, is involved in the faith expressed in the saying quoted. those who confirm this tell themselves, "the law does not condemn me, neither then does evil, and good does not save because good done by me is not good." they are therefore like those who do not know any truth from the word and consequently cannot profane it. only those confirm the faith expressed in that saying who from self-love are in the pride of their own intelligence. nor are these christians at heart; they only desire to be looked on as such. [ ] it shall now be shown that the lord's divine providence is nevertheless acting constantly to save those with whom faith separated from charity has become an article of religion. although this faith has become an article of their religion, by the lord's divine providence each knows that it is not faith that saves, but a life of charity with which faith makes one. for all churches in which that religion is accepted also teach that there is no salvation unless man examines himself, sees and acknowledges his sins, repents, desists from them, and begins a new life. this is read out with much zeal in the presence of all who come to the holy supper. in addition they are told that unless they do so, they mingle the holy with the profane and cast themselves into eternal condemnation. indeed, in england they are told that unless they do so the devil will enter them as he did judas and destroy them soul and body. it is plain, then, that everyone in the churches in which faith alone is accepted is nevertheless taught that evils are to be shunned as sins. [ ] furthermore, everyone who is born a christian is aware that evils are to be shunned as sins because the decalog is put into the hands of every boy and girl and is taught by parents and teachers. the citizens of a kingdom and especially the common people are examined by the priest on the decalog alone, which is recited from memory, for what they know of the christian religion, and are also admonished to do what is commanded in it. at such times they are not told by the priest that they are not under the yoke of that law, or that they cannot do what is commanded because they cannot do anything good of themselves. again, the athanasian creed has been accepted throughout the christian world and what is said at its close is also acknowledged, namely, that the lord will come to judge the living and the dead, and then those who have done good will enter everlasting life and those who have done evil will enter everlasting fire. [ ] in sweden, where the religion of faith alone has been received, it is also plainly taught that faith is impossible apart from charity or good works. this is pointed out in an appendix on things to be remembered, inserted in all copies of the psalms, and called "impediments or stumbling blocks of the impenitent" (obotferdigas foerhinder), where are these words, those who are rich in good works thereby show that they are rich in faith, because when faith is saving it acts through charity. for justifying faith is never found alone and separate from good works, quite as no good tree is without fruit, nor the sun without light and heat, nor water without moisture. [ ] these items have been adduced to make known that although a religious formula about faith alone has been accepted, nevertheless goods of charity, which are good works, are taught everywhere and that this is by the lord's divine providence, lest the common people be led astray by the formula. i have heard luther, with whom i have spoken at times in the spiritual world, execrate faith alone and heard him say that when he established it he was warned by an angel of the lord not to do it; but that he thought to himself that if he did not reject works, separation from catholicism would not be accomplished. therefore, contrary to the warning, he established that faith. . _the merely natural man confirms himself against divine providence in that there have been so many heresies in christendom and still are, such as quakerism, moravianism, anabaptism, and more._ for he may think to himself, if divine providence is universal in the least things and has the salvation of all for its object, it would have seen to it that one true religion should exist on the globe, not one divided and, still less, one torn by heresies. but use reason and think more deeply if you can. can man be saved without being reformed first? for he is born into love of self and the world, and as these loves do not have any love of god and the neighbor in them except for the sake of self, he is also born into evils of every kind. is there love or mercy in those loves? does the man make anything of defrauding or defaming or hating another even to death, or of committing adultery with his wife, or of being cruel to him out of revenge, the while having the desire in mind to get the upper hand of all and to possess the goods of all others, thus regarding others in comparison with himself as insignificant and of little worth? to be saved, must he not first be led away from these evils and thus be reformed? as has been shown above in many places, this can be accomplished only in accordance with many laws of divine providence. for the most part these laws are unknown and yet they come of divine wisdom and at the same time of divine love, and the lord cannot act contrary to them, for to do so would result in destroying man, not in saving him. [ ] look over the laws which have been set forth, bring them together, and you will see. according to those laws there is no direct influx from heaven but one mediated by the word, doctrine and preaching; and since the word, to be divine, had to be composed wholly in correspondences, inevitably there are dissensions and heresies. the tolerance of them is also in accord with the laws of divine providence. furthermore, when the church itself has taken for essentials what pertains only to the understanding, that is, to doctrine, and not what pertains to the will, that is, to life, and what pertains to life is not made the essentials of a church, then man is in complete darkness for understanding and wanders like one blind, striking against things constantly and falling into pits. for the will must see in the understanding and not the understanding in the will, or what is the same, the life and its love must lead the understanding to think, speak and act, and not the reverse. were the reverse true, the understanding might out of an evil and even diabolical love seize on what comes by the senses and demand that the will do it. what has been said may show whence dissensions and heresies come. [ ] yet it has been provided that everyone, in whatever heresy he may be intellectually, may still be reformed and saved if he shuns evils as sins and does not confirm heretical falsities in himself. for by shunning evils as sins the will is reformed and through it the understanding is, which emerges for the first time then out of obscurity into light. there are three essentials of the church: acknowledgment of the divine of the lord, acknowledgment of the holiness of the word, and the life which is called charity. everyone's faith is according to the life which is charity; from the word he has a rational perception of what life should be; and from the lord he has reformation and salvation. had these three been regarded as the church's essentials, intellectual differences would not have divided it but only varied it as light varies colors in beautiful objects and as various insignia of royalty give beauty to a king's crown. . _the merely natural man confirms himself against divine providence in that judaism still continues._ that is, after all these centuries the jews have not been converted although they live among christians and do not, in keeping with prophecies in the word, confess the lord and acknowledge him to be the messiah, who, as they think, was to lead them back to the land of canaan; but they steadfastly persist in denying him and yet it is well with them. those who take this view, however, and thus call divine providence in question, do not know that by jews in the word all who are of the church and acknowledge the lord are meant, and by the land of canaan, into which it is said that they are to be led, the lord's church is meant. [ ] but the jews persist in denying the lord because they are such that, if they received and acknowledged the divine of the lord and the holy things of his church, they would profane them. therefore the lord said of them: he has blinded their eyes, and hardened their heart; that they should not see with their eyes, nor understand with their heart, and be converted, and i should heal them (jn : ; mt : ; mk : ; lu : ; isa : , ). it is said, "lest they should be converted, and i should heal them" because if they had been converted and healed they would have committed profanation, and according to the law of divine providence treated above (nn. - ) no one is admitted interiorly into truths of faith and goods of charity by the lord except so far as he can be kept in them to the close of life; were he admitted, he would profane what is holy. [ ] this nation has been preserved and dispersed over much of the earth for the sake of the word in its original language, which they hold more sacred than christians do. the lord's divine is in every particular of the word, for it is divine truth joined with divine good coming from the lord. by it the lord is united with the church, and heaven is present, as was shown in _doctrine of the new jerusalem about sacred scripture_ (nn. - ). the lord and heaven are present wherever the word is read as sacred. this is the end which divine providence has pursued in the preservation and in the dispersal of the jews over much of the world. on the nature of their lot after death see _continuation about the last judgment and the spiritual world_ (nn. - ). . these then are the objections listed above at n. by which the natural man confirms himself against divine providence, or may do so. still other objections, listed at n. , may serve the natural man for arguments against divine providence; they may occur to the minds of others, too, and excite doubts. they are the following. . _doubt may be raised against divine providence in that the whole of christendom worships one god under three persons, that is, three gods, and has not known hitherto that god is one in person and in essence, in whom is the trinity, and that this god is the lord._ one who reasons about divine providence may ask, are not three persons three gods if each person by himself is god? who can think of it otherwise? in fact, who does? athanasius himself could not; therefore it is said in the creed which bears his name: although in christian verity we ought to acknowledge each person as god and lord, yet by christian faith it is not allowable to affirm or to name three gods or three lords. this can only mean that we ought to acknowledge three gods and lords, but it is not allowable to affirm or name three gods and three lords. [ ] who can possibly have a perception of one god unless he is one in person? if it is said that such a concept is possible if one thinks of the three as having one essence, does one, indeed can one, have any other idea than that they are thus of one mind and agree, and yet are three gods? thinking more deeply, one asks oneself, how can the divine essence, which is infinite, be divided? further, how can divine essence from eternity beget another and produce still another who proceeds from them both? it may be said that it is to be believed and not thought about; but who does not think about what he is told must be believed? how else can there be any acknowledgment which in its essence is faith? was it not because of the concept of god as three persons that socinianism and arianism arose, which prevail in the hearts of more persons than you suppose? belief in one god and that this god is the lord makes the church, for in him is the divine trinity. the truth of this may be seen in _doctrine of the new jerusalem about the lord,_ from beginning to end. [ ] but what is thought of the lord today? is it not thought that he is god and man, god from jehovah the father of whom he was conceived and man from the virgin mary from whom he was born? who thinks that god and man in him, or his divine and his human, are one person, and are one as soul and body are? does anyone know this? ask the learned in the church and they will say that they have not known it. yet it is part of the doctrine of the church received throughout christendom, as follows: our lord jesus christ, the son of god, is god and man; and although he is god and man yet there are not two, but there is one christ. he is one because the divine took to itself the human; indeed he is altogether one, for he is one person, since as soul and body make one man, so god and man is one christ. this comes from the faith or creed of athanasius. the learned have not known it because on reading this they have thought of the lord not as god but only as man. [ ] when they are asked if they know from whom the lord was conceived, whether from god the father or from his own divine, they reply that he was conceived from god the father, for this is according to scripture. are the father and he not one then, like soul and body? who can think that he was conceived from two divines, and if from his own that this was his father? if you ask them further what their idea of the lord's divine and of his human is, they will say that his divine is from the essence of the father and his human from the essence of his mother, and that his divine is with the father. then, when they are asked where his human is, they have no answer, for they separate his divine and his human in their thinking and make his divine equal to the divine of the father and his human like the human of another man, unaware that in doing this they separate soul and body; nor do they see the flaw in this, that then a rational man would have been born from a mother alone. [ ] as a result of the fixed idea that the lord's humanity was like that of another man, it has come about that a christian can with difficulty be led to think of a divine human, even when it is said that the lord's soul or life from conception was and is jehovah himself. now sum up the reasons and consider whether there is any other god of the universe than the lord alone, in whom is the divine itself, source of all, called the father; the divine human, called the son; and the proceeding divine, called the holy spirit; and thus that god is one in person and essence, and that this god is the lord. [ ] you may persist and remark that the lord himself spoke of three in matthew: go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the father, the son and the holy spirit ( : ). but it is plain from the preceding verse and the one following that the lord said this in order to make it known that the divine trinity was in him, now glorified. for in the preceding verse he said that all power in heaven and on earth was given him, and in the following verse that he would be with men to the end of the age, speaking of himself alone and not of three. [ ] now, why did divine providence permit christians to worship the one god under three persons, that is, worship three gods, and not know until now that god is one in essence and person, in whom is the trinity and that this god is the lord? man and not the lord was the cause. the lord had taught it plainly in his word, as is clear from all the passages cited in _doctrine of the new jerusalem about the lord,_ and has also taught it in the doctrine of all the churches, in which it is said that his divine and his human are not two but one person united like soul and body. [ ] the first reason why men divided the divine and the human and made the divine equal to the divine of jehovah the father and the human equal to the human of another man, was that the church after its rise fell away into babylonianism. this took to itself the lord's divine power, and in order that it should be called human and not divine power made the lord's human like that of another man. when later the church was reformed and faith alone was received as the one means of salvation--faith that god the father has mercy for the sake of the son--the lord's human could be viewed in no other way. for no one can approach the lord and acknowledge him at heart as god of heaven and earth unless he lives by his precepts. in the spiritual world, where everyone is bound to speak as he thinks, no one can so much as mention the name jesus if he has not lived as a christian in the world; this is by divine providence lest his name be profaned. . to make what has just been said clearer i will add what was set forth in _doctrine of the new jerusalem about the lord_ (towards the end, nn. , ), which is as follows: "that god and man in the lord, according to the creed, are not two but one person, altogether one as soul and body are, appears clearly in many sayings of the lord, as that the father and he are one; that all things of the father are his and all his the father's; that he is in the father and the father in him; that all things are given into his hand; that he has all power; that he is god of heaven and earth; that one who believes on him has eternal life; and that the wrath of god abides on one who does not believe on him; and further, that both the divine and the human were taken up into heaven; and that as to both he sits at the right hand of god, that is, is almighty; besides the numerous passages in the word about his divine human which were quoted abundantly above. they all testify that god is one both in person and in essence, and in him is the trinity, and that this god is the lord. [ ] "these things about the lord are published now for the first time because it is foretold in the apocalypse, chapters and , that at the end of the former church a new church is to be established in which this will be the chief doctrine. this church is meant in those chapters by the new jerusalem into which only one who acknowledges the lord alone as god of heaven and earth can enter; this church is therefore called `the lamb's wife'. i can also report that all heaven acknowledges the lord alone and that one who does not is not admitted to heaven, for heaven is heaven from the lord. this very acknowledgment made in love and faith causes men to be in the lord and lord in them, as he teaches in john: in that day you will know that i am in my father, and you in me and i in you ( : ); again in the same: abide in me, and i in you; ... i am the vine, and you are branches; he who abides in me and i in him, bears much fruit; for without me you can do nothing; unless a man abides in me, he is cast out ( : - , also : , ). [ ] "this has not been seen from the word before, because if it had been, it would not have been received. for the last judgment had not been accomplished yet, and prior to it the power of hell prevailed over the power of heaven. man is in the midst between heaven and hell; had this been seen before, therefore, the devil, that is, hell, would have plucked it from men's hearts and furthermore would have profaned it. the predominance of hell was completely broken by the last judgment which has been accomplished now; since that judgment, thus today, every man who wishes enlightenment and wisdom is able to have it." . _a doubt may be raised against divine providence in that it has been unknown hitherto that in each particular of the word there is a spiritual meaning from which it has its holiness._ one may raise this doubt about divine providence, asking, "why has this been revealed for the first time now, and why has it been revealed through any one at all and not through a church leader?" but it is at the lord's good pleasure whether it should be a leader or a leader's servant; he knows the one and the other. however, that sense of the word has not been disclosed before because . if it had been, the church would have profaned it and thereby profaned the holiness itself of the word. . neither were the genuine truths, in which the spiritual sense of the word resides, revealed by the lord until the last judgment was accomplished, and a new church, meant by the holy jerusalem, was about to be established by the lord. these reasons will be examined separately. [ ] . _the spiritual sense of the word was not disclosed earlier because if it had been, the church would have profaned it and thereby would have profaned the holiness itself of the word._ not long after it was established, the church was turned into babylon, and later into philistia. babylon acknowledges the word, to be sure, and yet esteems it lightly, asserting that the holy spirit inspires its own highest judgment just as much as it did the prophets. they acknowledge the word for the vicarship founded on the lord's words to peter, but esteem it lightly because it does not accord with their teaching. it is therefore taken from the people also and hidden in monasteries where few read it. if, therefore, the spiritual sense of the word had been revealed, in which the lord is present together with all angelic wisdom, the word would have been profaned not only, as it is now, in its lowermost expression in the sense of the letter, but in its inmosts, too. [ ] philistia, by which faith separated from charity is meant, would have profaned the spiritual sense of the word also, because, as we have shown before, it puts salvation in certain formulas which are to be thought and spoken, and not in good works which are to be done. it thus makes saving what is not saving and also removes the understanding from what is to be believed. what would they do with the light in which the spiritual sense of the word is? would that not be turned into darkness? when the natural sense is, why not the spiritual sense? does any one of them who has confirmed himself in faith separate from charity and in justification by this faith alone, want to know what good of life is, what love to the lord and towards the neighbor is, what charity is and what the goods of charity are, what good works are and what it is to do them, or in fact what faith is essentially and what genuine truth is, constituting it? they compose volumes, establish in them only what they call faith, and declare that all the things just mentioned are present in that faith. it is clear from this that if the spiritual sense of the word had been revealed earlier, it would come to pass according to the lord's words in matthew: if your eye is evil, your whole body will be full of darkness. if then the light that is in you is darkness, how great is that darkness ( : ). in the spiritual sense of the word by "eye" the understanding is meant. [ ] . _neither were the genuine truths in which the spiritual sense of the word resides, revealed by the lord until after the last judgment was accomplished, and a new church, meant by the holy jerusalem, was about to be established by the lord._ the lord foretold in the apocalypse that after the last judgment was effected genuine truths were to be revealed, a new church was to be established, and the spiritual sense of the word would be disclosed. in the small work, _the last judgment,_ and later in the _continuation_ of that work, it was shown that the last judgment has been accomplished and that this is meant by the heaven and earth which would pass away (apoc : ). that genuine truths are then to be revealed is foretold in these words in the apocalypse: and he that sat upon the throne said, behold, i make all things new ( : ; also : , ; : - ; : , ). at : - it was predicted that the spiritual sense of the word was to be revealed; it is meant by "the white horse" on which he who sat was called the word of god and was lord of lords and king of kings (on this see the little work _the white horse)._ that by the holy jerusalem a new church is meant which was to be established then by the lord may be seen in _doctrine of the new jerusalem about the lord_ (nn. - ). [ ] it is clear, then, that the spiritual sense of the word was to be revealed for a new church which should acknowledge and worship the lord alone, hold his word sacred, love divine truths and reject faith separated from charity. more about this sense of the word may be seen in _doctrine of the new jerusalem about sacred scripture_ (nn. - and following numbers); what the spiritual sense of the word is (nn. - ); that a spiritual sense exists in all of the word in general and in detail (nn. - ); that by virtue of the spiritual sense the word is divinely inspired and holy in every expression (nn. , ); that until now the spiritual sense has been unknown, and why it was not revealed before (nn. - ); and that henceforth that sense will be open only to one who is in genuine truths from the lord (n. ). [ ] it may be evident from these propositions that it is by the lord's divine providence that the spiritual sense has lain concealed from the world until the present day and been kept meanwhile in heaven with the angels, who draw their wisdom from it. this sense was known and treasured among ancient peoples who lived before moses, but when their descendants converted the correspondences, of which their word and hence their religion solely consisted, into various idolatries, and the egyptians converted them into magic, by the lord's divine providence this sense was closed up, first with the israelites and then with christians for the reasons given above, and is now opened for the first time for the lord's new church. . _doubt may arise against divine providence in that it has been unknown hitherto that to shun evils as sins is the christian religion itself._ that this is the christian religion itself was shown in _doctrine of life for the new jerusalem,_ from beginning to end; and as faith separated from charity is the one obstacle to its being received, that also was treated of. we say that it has not been known that to shun evils as sins is the christian religion itself, for it is unknown to nearly everyone; yet everyone does know it, as may be seen above (n. ). nearly all are ignorant of it because faith separate has obliterated knowledge of it. for this faith declares that it alone saves and not any good work, that is, any good of charity; also that men are no longer under the yoke of the law, but are free. those who have frequently heard such teaching no longer give thought to any evil of life or any good of life. everyone, moreover, is inclined by nature to embrace such teaching, and once he has done so he no longer thinks about the state of his life. this is why it is not known that shunning evils as sins is the christian religion itself. [ ] that this is unknown was disclosed to me in the spiritual world. i have asked more than a thousand newcomers from the world whether they knew that to shun evils as sins is religion itself. they said that they did not and that it was a new idea which they had not heard before, but had heard that they cannot of themselves do good and that they are not under the yoke of the law. when i inquired whether they knew that a man must examine himself, see his sins, repent and begin a new life and that otherwise sins are not remitted, and if sins are not remitted, men are not saved; and when i reminded them that this was read out in a deep voice to them each time they observed the holy supper, they replied that they paid no attention to that but only to this, that they have remission of sins by the sacrament of the supper and that faith effects the rest without their knowing it. [ ] i asked again, why have you taught your children the decalog? was it not that they might know what evils are sins to be shunned? was it only that they might know and believe, but do nothing? why is it said that this is new? to this they could only reply that they know and yet do not know, and that they never think of the sixth* commandment when they commit adultery, or about the seventh when they steal or defraud secretly, and so on, and still less that such acts are contrary to divine law, thus contrary to god. * swedenborg follows the numbering of the commandments customary with lutherans, as with roman catholics. [ ] when i recalled to them many things from the teachings of the churches and from the word confirming the fact that to avoid and be averse to evils as sins is the christian religion's very self and that one who does so has faith, they fell silent. they were convinced of it, however, when they saw that all were examined as to their life and judged according to their deeds, and no one was judged according to faith apart from life, for everyone has faith according to his life. [ ] christendom in large part has not known this because by a law of divine providence everyone is left to act in freedom according to reason (on this, above, nn. - and nn. - ); and by another law no one is taught directly from heaven but by means of the word and by doctrine and preaching from it; there are besides all the laws on permission which are also laws of divine providence. on these see above, n. . .* _a doubt may be raised against divine providence in that it has not been known before that a man lives as a human being after death and that this has not been disclosed before._ it has been unknown because with those who do not shun evils as sins the belief lies hidden that man does not live after death. it is of no moment therefore to them whether one says that man lives after death or will rise again on the day of the last judgment. if belief in resurrection happens to visit one, he tells himself, "i shall fare no worse than others; if i go to hell i shall have the company of many and also if i pass to heaven." yet all in whom there is any religion have an implanted recognition that they will live as human beings after death. only those infatuated with their own intelligence think that they survive as souls but not as human beings. * so numbered in the latin original. it may be seen from the following that anyone in whom is any religion has an implanted recognition that he lives after death as a human being: . who thinks otherwise when he is dying? . what eulogizer, mourning the dead, does not exalt them to heaven and place them among the angels conversing with them and sharing their joy? some men are deified. . who among the common people does not believe that when he dies, if he has lived well he will enter a heavenly paradise, be arrayed in white, and enjoy eternal life? . what priest does not speak so to the dying? and when he speaks so he believes it, provided he does not think of the last judgment at the time. . who does not believe that his little ones are in heaven and that after death he will see his wife, whom he has loved? who thinks that they are spectres, still less souls or minds hovering in the universe? . who contradicts when something is said about the lot or state of those who have passed from time into eternal life? i have told many what the state or lot of various persons is and have never heard anyone protest that their lot is not yet determined but will be at the time of the judgment. . when one sees angels in paintings or statuary does he not recognize them as such? who thinks then that they are bodiless spirits or airy entities or clouds, as do some of the erudite? . papists believe that their saints are human beings in heaven and others elsewhere are; so do mohammedans of their dead; more than others africans do, and many other peoples do. why then do not reformed christians believe it, who know it from the word? . moreover, as a result of the recognition implanted in everyone, some men aspire to the immortality of renown. the recognition is given that turn in them and makes heroes and brave men of them in war. . inquiry was made in the spiritual world whether this knowledge is implanted in all men; it was found that it is in a spiritual idea attached to their internal thought, not in a natural idea attached to their external thought. it is plain from all this that doubt should not be thrown on the lord's divine providence on the supposition that only now has it been disclosed that the human being continues such after death. it is only the sensuous in man that wants to see and touch what is to be credited. one who does not raise his thinking above it is in the dark of night about the state of his own life. xiv. evils are tolerated in view of the end, which is salvation . if man were born into the love for which he was created, he would not be in evil, in fact would not know what evil is. for one who has not been in evil and is not in it, cannot know what it is; told that this or that is evil, he would not believe it. this is the state of innocence in which adam and his wife eve were; that state was signified by the nakedness of which they were not ashamed; the knowledge of evil subsequent to the fall is meant by eating of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. the love for which the human being was created is love to the neighbor, to wish him as well as one does oneself and even better. he is in the enjoyment of this love when he serves his neighbor quite as parents do their children. this is truly human love, for in it is what is spiritual, distinguishing it from the natural love of brute animals. were man born into this love, he would not be born into the darkness of ignorance as everyone is now, but into some light of the knowledge and hence of the intelligence soon to be his. to be sure, he would creep on all fours at first but come erect on his feet by an implanted striving. however much he might resemble a quadruped, he would not face down to the ground but forward to heaven and come erect so that he could look up. . when love of the neighbor was turned into self-love, however, and this love increased, human love was turned into animal love, and man, from being man, became a beast, with the difference that he could think about what he sensed physically, could rationally discriminate among things, be taught, and become a civil and moral person and finally a spiritual being. for, as was said, man possesses what is spiritual and is distinguished by it from the brute animal. by it he can know what civil evil and good are, also what moral evil and good are, and if he so wills, what spiritual evil and good are also. when love for the neighbor was turned into self-love, however, man could no longer be born into the light of knowledge and intelligence but was born into the darkness of ignorance, being born on the lowest level of life, called corporeal-sensuous. from this he could be led into the interiors of the natural mind by instruction, the spiritual always attending on this. why one is born on the lowest level of life known as corporeal-sensuous, therefore into the darkness of ignorance, will be seen in what follows. [ ] anyone can see that love of the neighbor and self-love are opposites. neighborly love wishes well to all from itself, but self-love wishes everyone to wish it well; neighborly love wants to serve everyone, but self-love wants all to serve it; love of the neighbor regards everyone as brother and friend, while love of self regards everyone as its servant, and if one does not serve it, as its enemy; in short, it regards only itself and others scarcely as human beings, esteeming them at heart less than one's horses and dogs. thinking so meanly of others, it thinks nothing of doing evil to them; hence come hatred and vengeance, adultery and whoredom, theft and fraud, lying and defamation, violence and cruelty, and similar evils. such are the evils in which man is by birth. that they are tolerated in view of the end, which is salvation, is to be shown in this order: i. everyone is in evil and must be led away from it to be reformed. ii. evils cannot be removed unless they appear. iii. so far as they are removed they are remitted. iv. the toleration of evil is therefore for the sake of the end in view, namely, salvation. . (i) _everyone is in evil and must be led away from it to be reformed._ the church knows that there is hereditary evil in man and that as a result he is in the lust of many evils. thence it is that he cannot do good of himself, for evil does only such good as has evil in it; the evil inwardly in it is that one does good for one's own sake and thus only for the sake of appearances. it is known that hereditary evil comes from one's parents. it is said to come from adam and his wife, but this is an error; for everyone is born into hereditary evil from his parent, and the parent from his parent, and so on; thus it is transmitted from one to another, is augmented and becomes an accumulation, and is passed to one's progeny. there is therefore nothing sound in man but all is evil. who feels that it is evil to love himself above others? who, then, knows that this is an evil, though it is the head of evils? [ ] inheritance from parents, grandparents and great-grandparents is plain from much which is known in the world, from the fact, for instance, that households, families and even nations are distinguishable by the face; the face is also a type of the mind which in turn accords with the affections of one's love. sometimes, too, the features of a grandfather recur in a grandson or a great-grandson. from the face alone i know whether a person is a jew or not; likewise of what stock certain persons are; others no doubt know also. if the affections which spring from love are thus derived from parents and transmitted by them, evils are, for these spring from affections. but it shall be told how the resemblance comes about. [ ] everyone's soul comes from his father and is only clothed with the body by one's mother. that the soul is from the father follows not only from what has been said above, but from many other indications, too; also from this, that the child of a black man or moor by a white or european woman is black, and vice versa; and especially in that the soul is in the seed, for impregnation is by the seed, and the seed is what is clothed with a body by the mother. the seed is the primal form of the love in which the father is--the form of his ruling love with its nearest derivatives or the inmost affections of that love. [ ] these affections are enveloped in everyone with the honesties of moral life and with the goodnesses partly of civil and partly of spiritual life, which are the external of life even with the evil. an infant is born into this external life and is therefore lovable, but coming to boyhood and adolescence he passes from that external to the inner life and at length to his father's ruling love. if this has been evil and not been moderated and bent by various means by his teachers, it becomes his ruling love as it was his father's. still the evil is not eradicated, but put aside; of this in what follows. plainly, then, everyone is in evil. r. it is plain without explanation that man must be led away from evil in order to be reformed. for one who is in evil in the world is in evil after he has left the world. not removed in the world, evil cannot be removed afterwards. where a tree falls, it lies. so, too, when a man dies his life remains such as it has been. everyone is judged according to his deeds, not that these are recounted, but he returns to them and acts as before. death is a continuation of life with the difference that man cannot then be reformed. for reformation is effected in full, that is, in what is inmost and outmost, and what is outmost is reformed suitably to what is inmost only while man is in the world. it cannot be reformed afterwards because as it is carried along by the man after death it falls quiescent and conforms to his inner life, that is, they act as one. . (ii) _evils cannot be removed unless they appear._ this does not mean that man must do evils in order for them to appear, but that he must examine himself, his thoughts as well as his deeds, and see what he would do if he did not fear the laws and disrepute--see especially what evils he deems allowable in his spirit and does not regard as sins, for these he still does. to enable him to examine himself, man has been given understanding, and an understanding separate from his will, in order that he may know, comprehend and acknowledge what is good and what is evil, likewise see the character of his will or what it loves and desires. to see this his understanding has been given higher and lower or interior and exterior thought, so as to see from the higher or interior what his will prompts in the lower or exterior thinking: he sees this quite as he does his face in a mirror. when he does and knows what is sin, he is able, on imploring the lord's help, not to will it but to shun it, then to act contrary to it, if not freely, then by overcoming it through fighting it, and finally to become averse to it and abominate it. then first does he perceive and also sense that evil is evil and good is good. this, now, is self-examination--to see one's evils, acknowledge them, confess them and thereupon desist from them. [ ] but as few know that this is the christian religion itself, and these alone have charity and faith and are led by the lord and do good from him, something will be said of those who fail to examine themselves but still think that they possess religion. they are . those who confess themselves guilty of all sins but do not search out any one sin in themselves. . those who neglect the search on religious principle. . those who in absorption with the mundane give no thought to sins and hence do not know them. . those who favor them and therefore cannot know them. . with all these, sins do not appear and therefore cannot be removed. . finally, the reason, so far unknown, will be made plain why evils cannot be removed apart from their being searched out, appearing, being acknowledged, confessed and resisted. r. but these points will be considered one by one, for they are fundamentals of the christian religion on man's part. first, _of those who confess themselves guilty of all sins, but do not search out any one sin in themselves._ they say, "i am a sinner. i was born in sin. from head to foot there is nothing sound in me. i am nothing but evil. good god, be gracious to me, pardon, cleanse and save me. make me to walk in purity and in a right path"; and more of the kind. and yet the man does not examine himself and hence does not know any evil, and no one can shun what he is ignorant of, still less fight against it. after his confessions he also thinks that he is clean and washed, when nevertheless he is unclean and unwashed from the head to the sole of the foot. for the confession of all sins is the lulling of them all to sleep and finally blindness to them. it is like a generality devoid of anything specific, which amounts to nothing. [ ] second: _those who omit the search in consequence of their religion._ they are especially those who separate charity from faith. they say to themselves, "why should i search out evil or good? why evil, when it does not condemn me? why good, when it does not save me? faith alone, thought and uttered with trust and confidence, justifies and purifies from all sin, and when once i am justified, i am whole in the sight of god. i am indeed in evil, but god wipes it away the moment it is committed and it no longer appears"; and much else. but who does not see, if he opens his eyes, that these are empty words, without reality because nothing of good is in them? who cannot think and speak so, with trust and confidence, too, even when he is thinking of hell and eternal condemnation? does he want to know anything further about either truth or good? of truth he says, "what is truth except that which confirms this faith?" and of good, "what is good except what is in me from this faith? and that it may be in me i will not do it as from myself, for that would be self-righteous and what is self-righteous is not good." so he neglects all until he does not know what evil is; what then is he to search out and see in himself? is it not his state then that a pent-up fire of lusts of evil consumes the interiors of his mind and lays them waste even to the entrance? he is on guard only at the door to keep the fire from appearing. after death the door is opened and the fire appears for all to see. [ ] third: _those absorbed with the mundane give no thought to sins, hence do not know of any._ these love the world above all things and welcome no truth that would lead them away from any falsity in their religion. they tell themselves, "what is this to me? it is not to my way of thinking." so they reject truth on hearing it and if they listen to it smother it. they do much the same on hearing sermons; they retain some sayings but not any of the substance. dealing in this way with truths they do not know what good is, for truth and good act as one; and from good which is not linked with truth one does not recognize evil except as one calls it good also, which is done by rationalizing from falsities. it is these who are meant by the seed which fell among thorns, of whom the lord said: other seeds fell among thorns; and the thorns sprang up and choked them ... these are they who hear the word, but the cares of this world and the deceitfulness of riches choke the word so that it become unfruitful (mt : , ; mk : , , ; lu : , ). [ ] fourth: _those who favor sins and therefore cannot know them._ these acknowledge god and worship him with the usual ceremonials and assure themselves that a given evil, which is a sin, is not a sin. for they color it with fallacies and appearances and thus hide its enormity. then they indulge it and make it their friend and familiar. we say that those who acknowledge god do this, for others do not regard an evil as a sin, for one sins against god. but let examples illustrate this. a man makes an evil not to be a sin when in coveting wealth he makes some kinds of fraud allowable by reasoning which he devises. so does the man who confirms himself in plundering those who are not his enemies in a war. [ ] fifth: _sins do not appear in these men, therefore cannot be removed._ all evil which does not come to sight nurses itself; it is like fire in wood under ashes or like matter in an unopened wound; for all evil which is repressed increases and does not stop until it destroys all. lest evil be repressed, therefore, everyone is allowed to think in favor of god or against god and in favor of the sanctities of the church or against them, without being punished for it in the world. of this the lord says in isaiah: from the sole of the foot even to the head there is no soundness; wound, and scar, and fresh bruise; they have not been pressed out, nor bound up, nor softened with oil.... wash you, make you clean, remove the evil of your doings from before my eyes; cease to do evil, learn to do good. . . . then if your sins have been as scarlet, they shall be white as snow; if they have been red like crimson, they shall be like wool. . . . but if you refuse and rebel, you shall be devoured by the sword (isa : , , , , ). to be devoured by the sword signifies to perish by falsity of evil. [ ] sixth: _the cause, hidden so far, why evils cannot be removed apart from their being searched out, appearing, being acknowledged, confessed and resisted._ in preceding pages we have mentioned the fact that all heaven is arranged in societies according to affections of good, and all hell in societies according to the lusts of evil opposite to the affections of good. each person as to his spirit is in some society, in a heavenly one if in an affection of good, but in an infernal one if in some lust of evil. while living in the world man does not know this and yet as to his spirit he is in some society; otherwise he cannot live; and by it he is governed by the lord. if he is in an infernal society, he cannot be led out of it by the lord except according to the laws of divine providence, among which is this also, that a man shall see that he is there, want to leave, and make the effort himself to do so. one can do this while in the world but not after death, for then he remains forever in the society in which he put himself in the world. it is for this reason that man is to examine himself, see and avow his sins, do repentance, and thereupon persevere to the close of life. i might substantiate this to full belief by much experience, but this is not the place to document the experience. . (iii) _so far as evils are removed they are remitted._ it is an error of the age to believe . that evils are separated and in fact cast out from man when they are remitted; and . that the state of man's life can be changed in a moment, even to its opposite, so that from wicked he becomes good, and consequently can be led from hell and be transported straightway to heaven, and this by the lord's sheer mercy. . but those who believe and suppose so, do not know at all what evil and good are and nothing at all about the state of man's life. . moreover, they are wholly unaware that affections, which are of the will, are nothing other than changes and variations of the state of the purely organic substances of the mind; and that thoughts, which are of the understanding, also are; and that memory is the permanent state of these changes. when one knows these things, one can see clearly that an evil can be removed only by successive stages, and that the remission of an evil is not complete removal of it. but all this has been said in summary form and unless the items are demonstrated may be assented to and yet not comprehended. what is not comprehended is as indistinct as a wheel spun around by the hand. the points made above are therefore to be demonstrated one by one in the order in which they were set forth. [ ] first: _it is an error of the age to believe that evils are separated and in fact cast out when they are remitted._ it has been granted me to learn from heaven that no evil into which man is born and which he has made actual in him is separated from him, but is removed so as not to appear. earlier i shared the belief of most persons in the world that when evils are remitted they are cast out and are washed and wiped away as dirt is from the face by water. it is not like this with evils or sins. they all remain. when they are remitted on repentance, they are thrust from the center to the sides. what is in the center, being directly under view, appears as in the light of day, and what is to one side is in shadow and at times in the darkness of night. inasmuch as evils are not separated but only removed, that is, thrust to one side, and as man can go from the center to the periphery, he can return, as it may happen, to his evils, which he supposed had been cast out. for the human being is such that he can go from one affection to another and sometimes to the opposite, and thus from one center into another; the affection in which he is at the time makes the center, for he is then in the enjoyment and light of it. [ ] some who are raised after death into heaven by the lord, for they have lived well, have carried with them, however, the belief that they are clean and rid of sins, therefore are not in a state of guilt. in accord with their belief they are clothed at first in white garments, for white garments signify a state purified from evils. but after a time they begin to think, as they did in the world, that they are washed, as it were, from all evil, and to glory that they are no longer sinners like other men. this can hardly be kept from being an elation of mind and a contempt of others in comparison with oneself. in order, therefore, that they may be delivered from their imaginary belief, they are sent down from heaven and let back into the evils which they pursued in the world; they are also shown that they are in hereditary evils of which they had not known. when they have been led in this way to realize that their evils have not been separated from them but only put aside, thus that in themselves they are impure, indeed nothing but evil, and that they are withheld from evils and held in goods by the lord, and that this only seems to be their doing, they are raised again into heaven by the lord. [ ] second: _it is an error of the age to believe that the state of man's life can be changed in a moment, so that from wicked he can become good, and consequently can be led from hell and transported at once to heaven, and this by the lord's direct mercy._ those who separate charity and faith and place salvation in faith alone, commit this error. for they suppose that merely to think and speak formulas of that faith, if it is done with trust and confidence, justifies and saves one. many think it is done instantly, too, and if not previously, can be done in the last hour of one's life. these are bound to believe that the state of man's life can be changed in a moment and that he can be saved by direct mercy. but in the last chapter of this treatise it will be seen that the lord's mercy is mediated, that man cannot become good in a moment from being wicked, and can be led from hell and transported to heaven only by the continual activity of divine providence from infancy to the very close of life. here it need only be said that all the laws of divine providence have the salvation and reformation of the human being for their object, in other words, the inversion of his state, which by nativity is infernal, into the opposite, which is heavenly. this can only be done progressively as man recedes from evil and its enjoyment and comes into good and its enjoyment. [ ] third: _those who believe in an instantaneous change do not know at all what evil and good are._ for they do not know that evil is the enjoyment of the lust of acting and thinking contrary to divine order, and good is the enjoyment of the affection for acting and thinking in accord with divine order. they do not know, either, that myriads of lusts enter into and compose each individual evil and myriads of affections enter into and compose each individual good, and that these myriads are in such order and connection in man's interiors that it is impossible to change one without changing all at the same time. those who are ignorant of this may believe or suppose that evil, which seems to them to be a single entity, can be easily removed, and that good, which also seems to be a single entity, can be introduced in its place. not knowing what evil and good are, they cannot but suppose that there is such a thing as instantaneous salvation and such a thing as direct mercy. that these are not possible will be seen in the last chapter of this treatise. [ ] fourth: _those who believe in instantaneous salvation and unmediated mercy do not know that affections, which are of the will, are nothing other than changes of state in the purely organic substances of the mind; that thoughts, which are of the understanding, are nothing other than changes and variations in the form of those substances; and that memory is the persisting state of the changes and variations._ everyone acknowledges, on its being said, that affections and thoughts exist only in substances and their forms, which are the subjects; existing in the brain which is full of substances and forms, they are called purely organic forms. no one who thinks rationally can help laughing at the fancies of some that affections and thoughts do not have substantive bases, but are exhalations given shape by heat and light, like images apparently in the air or ether. for thought can no more exist apart from a substantial form than sight can apart from its form, the eye, or hearing apart from its form, the ear, or taste apart from its form, the tongue. if you examine the brain, you will see innumerable substances and fibres, also, and see, too, that everything in it is organized. what more is needed than this ocular proof? [ ] but one may ask, what are affection and thought then? a conclusion can be reached from each and all things in the body. in it are many viscera, each fixed in its place, and all performing their several functions by changes and variations of state and form. it is well known that they are engaged in their own activities--the stomach, the intestines, the kidneys, the liver, the pancreas, the spleen, the heart and the lungs, each in its particular activity. all the activities are maintained from within, and to be actuated from within means that it is by changes and variations of state and form. it may be plain then that the activities of the purely organic substances of the mind are similar, the one difference being that those of the organic substances of the body are natural, but of the mind are spiritual; plainly, also, the two make one by correspondences. [ ] the nature of the changes and variations of state and form in the organic substances of the mind, which are affections and thoughts, cannot be shown to the eye. it may, however, be seen as in a mirror by the changes of state in the lungs on speaking and singing. there is correspondence, moreover; for the sound of the voice in speaking and singing, and the articulations of the sound which are the words of speech and the modulations of song, are produced by means of the lungs; sound corresponds to affection, and speech to thought. sound and speech are produced also from affection and thought. this is done by changes and variations in the state and form of the organic substances of the lungs, and from the lungs through the trachea or windpipe in the larynx and glottis, and then in the tongue, and finally in the lips. the first changes and variations in the state and form of the sound occur in the lungs, the second in trachea and larynx, the third in the glottis by the different openings of its orifice, the fourth in the tongue by its various positions against palate and teeth, and the fifth in the lips by the various modifications of form in them. it may be evident, then, that these consecutive changes and variations in the state of organic forms produce the sounds and their articulations which are speech and song. inasmuch, then, as sound and speech are produced from no other source than the affections and thoughts of the mind (for they exist from them and are never apart from them), clearly the affections of the will are changes and variations in the state of the purely organic substances of the mind, and the thoughts of the understanding are changes and variations in the form of those substances, quite like those in the substances of the lungs. [ ] since affections and thoughts are simply changes of state in the forms of the mind, memory is nothing other than the permanent state of those changes. for all changes and variations of state in organic substances are such that once they are habitual they become permanent. so the lungs are habituated to produce certain sounds in the trachea, to vary them in the glottis, articulate them by the tongue, and modify them by the mouth; once these organic activities have become habitual, they are settled in the organs and can be reproduced. these changes and variations are infinitely more perfect in the organs of the mind than in those of the body, as is evident from what was said in the treatise _divine love and wisdom_ (nn. - ), where we showed that all perfections increase and ascend by and according to degrees. more on this will be seen below (n. ). . _it is also an error of the age to suppose that when sins are remitted they are taken away._ this is the error of those who believe that their sins are pardoned by the sacrament of the holy supper although they have not removed them from themselves by repentance. those also commit this error who believe that they are saved by faith alone; those also who believe that they are saved by papal dispensations. all these believe in unmediated mercy and instant salvation. but when the statement is reversed it becomes truth, that is, when sins are removed they are also remitted. for repentance precedes pardon, and aside from repentance there is no pardon. therefore the lord bade his disciples: that they should preach repentance for the remission of sins (lu : , ), and john preached the baptism of repentance for the remission of sins (lu : ). the lord remits the sins of all; he does not accuse and impute; but he can take sins away only in accordance with laws of his divine providence. for when peter asked how often he was to forgive a brother sinning against him, whether seven times, the lord said to him: that he should forgive not only seven times, but seventy times seven (mt : , ). what then will the lord not do, who is mercy itself? . (iv) _thus the permission of evil is for the sake of the end, namely, salvation._ it is well known that man has full liberty to think and will but not to say and do whatever he thinks and wills. he may think as an atheist, deny god and blaspheme the sanctities of word and church. he may even want to destroy them utterly by word and deed, but this is prevented by civil, moral and ecclesiastical laws. he therefore cherishes this impiety and wickedness inwardly by thinking, willing and even intending to do it, but not doing it actually. the man who is not an atheist also has full liberty to think many evil things, things fraudulent, lascivious, revengeful and otherwise insane; he also does them at times. who can believe that unless man had full liberty, he not only could not be saved but would even perish utterly? [ ] now let us have the reason for this. everyone from birth is in evils of many kinds. they are in his will, and what is in the will is loved. for what a man wills inwardly he loves, what he loves he wills, and the will's love flows into the understanding where it makes its pleasure felt and thereupon enters the thoughts and intentions. if, therefore, he were not allowed to think in accord with the love in his will, which is hereditarily implanted in him, that love would remain shut in and never be seen by him. a love of evil which does not become apparent is like an enemy in ambush, like matter in an ulcer, like poison in the blood, or corruption in the breast, which cause death when they are kept shut in. but when a person is permitted to think the evils of his life's love, even to intend doing them, they are cured by spiritual means as diseases are by natural means. [ ] it will be told now what man would be like if he were not permitted to think in accord with the enjoyment of his life's love. no longer would he be man, for he would lose his two faculties called liberty and rationality in which humanness itself consists. the enjoyment of those evils would occupy the interiors of his mind to such an extent that it would burst open the door. he could then only speak and commit the evils; his unsoundness would be manifest not only to himself but to the world; and at length he would not know how to cover his shame. in order that he may not come into this state, he is permitted to think and to will the evils of his inherited nature but not to say and commit them. meanwhile he is learning civil, moral and spiritual things. these enter his thoughts and remove the unsoundness and he is healed by the lord by means of them, only to the extent, however, of knowing how to guard the door unless he also acknowledges god and implores his aid for power to resist the unsoundness. then, so far as he resists it, he does not let it into his intentions and eventually not even into his thoughts. [ ] since man is free to think as he pleases to the end that his life's love may emerge from its hiding-place into the light of his understanding, and since he would not otherwise know anything of his own evil and consequently would not know how to shun it, it is also true that it would increase in him so much that recovery would become impossible in him and hardly be possible in his children, were he to have children, for a parent's evil is transmitted to his offspring. the lord, however, provides that this may not occur. . the lord could heal the understanding in every man and thus cause him to think not evil but good, and this by means of fears of different kinds, miracles, conversations with the dead, or visions and dreams. but to heal the understanding alone is to heal man only outwardly, for understanding with its thought is the external of man's life while the will with its affection is the internal. the healing of the understanding alone would therefore be like palliative healing in which the interior malignity, closed in and kept from issuing, would destroy first the near and then the remote parts till all would become mortified. the will itself must be healed, not by the influx of the understanding into it, for that is impossible, but by means of instruction and exhortation from the understanding. were the understanding alone healed, man would become like a dead body embalmed or covered by fragrant spices and roses which would soon get such a foul odor from the body that they could not be brought near anyone's nostrils. so heavenly truths in the understanding would be affected if the evil love of the will were shut in. . man is permitted, as was said, to think evils even to intending them in order that they may be removed by means of what is civil, moral and spiritual. this is done when he considers that they are contrary to what is just and equitable, to what is honest and decorous and to what is good and true, contrary therefore to the peace, joy and blessedness of life. by these three means the lord heals the love of man's will, in fear at first, it is true, but with love later. still the evils are not separated from the man and cast out, but only removed in him and put to the side. when they are and good has the center, evils do not appear, for whatever has the central place is squarely under view and is seen and perceived. it should be known, however, that even when good occupies the center man is not for that reason in good unless the evils at the side tend downward or outward. if they look upward or inward they have not been removed, but are still trying to return to the center. they tend downward and outward when man shuns his evils as sins and still more when he holds them in aversion, for then he condemns them, consigns them to hell, and makes them face that way. . man's understanding is the recipient of both good and evil and of both truth and falsity, but not his will. his will must be either in evil or in good; it cannot be in both, for it is the man himself and in it is his life's love. but good and evil are separate in the understanding like what is internal and what is external. thus man may be inwardly in evil and outwardly in good. still, when he is being reformed, the two meet, and conflict and combat ensue. this is called temptation when it is severe, but when it is not severe a fermentation like that of wine or strong drink occurs. if good conquers, evil with its falsity is carried to the side, as lees, to use an analogy, fall to the bottom of a vessel. the good is like wine that becomes generous on fermentation and like strong drink which becomes clear. but if evil conquers, good with its truth is borne to the side and becomes turbid and noisome like unfermented wine or unfermented strong drink. comparison is made with ferment because in the word, as at hosea : , luke : and elsewhere, "ferment" signifies falsity of evil. xv. divine providence attends the evil and the good alike . in every person, good or bad, there are two faculties one of which makes the understanding and the other the will. the faculty making the understanding is the ability to understand and think, therefore is called rationality. the faculty making the will is the ability to do this freely, that is, to think and consequently to speak and act also, provided that it is not contrary to reason or rationality; for to act freely is to act as often as one wills and according as one wills. the two faculties are constant and are present from first to last in each and all things which a man thinks and does. he has them not from himself, but from the lord. it follows that the lord's presence in these faculties is also in the least things, indeed the very least, of man's understanding and thought, of his will and affection too, and thence of his speech and action. if you remove these faculties from even the very least thing, you will not be able to think or utter it as a human being. [ ] it has already been shown abundantly that the human being is a human being by virtue of the two faculties, enabled by them to think and speak, and to perceive goods and understand truths, not only such as are civil and moral but also such as are spiritual, and made capable, too, of being reformed and regenerated; in a word, made capable of being conjoined to the lord and thereby of living forever. it was also shown that not only good men but evil also possess the two faculties. these faculties are in man from the lord and are not appropriated to him as his, for what is divine cannot be appropriated but only adjoined to him and thus appear to be his, and this which is divine with the human being is in the least things pertaining to him. it follows that the lord governs the least things in an evil man as well as in a good man. this government of his is what is called divine providence. . inasmuch as it is a law of divine providence that man shall act from freedom according to reason, that is, from the two faculties, liberty and rationality; and a law of divine providence that what he does shall appear to be from himself and thus his own; and also a law that evils must be permitted in order that man may be led out of them, it follows that man can abuse these faculties and in freedom according to reason confirm whatever he pleases. he can make reasonable whatever he will, whether it is reasonable in itself or not. some therefore ask, "what is truth? can i not make true whatever i will?" does not the world do so? anybody can do it by reasoning. take an utter falsity and bid a clever man confirm it, and he will. tell him, for instance, to show that man is a beast, or that the soul is like a small spider in its web and governs the body as that does by threads, or tell him that religion is nothing but a restraining bond, and he will prove any one of these propositions until it appears to be truth. what is more easily done? for he does not know what appearance is or what falsity is which in blind faith is taken for truth. [ ] hence it is that a man cannot see this truth, namely, that divine providence is in the very least things of the understanding and the will, or what is the same, in the very least things of the thoughts and affections of every person, wicked or good. he is perplexed especially because it seems then that evils are also from the lord, but it will be seen in what follows that nevertheless there is not a particle of evil from the lord but that evil is from man in that he confirms in him the appearance that he thinks, wills, speaks and acts of himself. in order that these things may be seen clearly, they will be demonstrated in this order: i. divine providence is universal in the least things with the evil as well as the good, and yet is not in one's evils. ii. the evil are continually leading themselves into evils, but the lord is continually leading them away from evils. iii. the evil cannot be fully withdrawn from evil and led in good by the lord so long as they believe their own intelligence to be everything and divine providence nothing. iv. the lord rules hell through opposites; and rules the evil who are in the world, in hell as to their interiors, but not as to their exteriors. . (i) _divine providence is universal in the least things with the evil as well as the good, and yet is not in one's evils._ it was shown above that divine providence is in the least things of man's thoughts and affections. this means that man can think and will nothing from himself, but that everything he thinks and wills and consequently says and does, is from influx. if it is good, it is from influx out of heaven, and if evil, from influx out of hell; or what is the same, the good is from influx from the lord and the evil from man's proprium. i know that it is difficult to grasp this, because what flows in from heaven or from the lord is distinguished from what flows in from hell or from man's proprium, and yet divine providence is said to be in the least of man's thoughts and affections, even so far that he can think and will nothing from himself. it appears like a contradiction to say that he can also think and will from hell and from his proprium. yet it is not, and this will be seen in what follows, after some things have been premised which will clarify the matter. . all the angels of heaven confess that no one can think from himself but does so from the lord, while all the spirits of hell say that no one can think from any other than himself. these spirits have been shown many times that no one of them thinks or can think from himself, but that thought flows in; it was in vain, however; they would not accept the idea. but experience will teach, first, that everything of thought and affection even with spirits of hell flows in from heaven, but that the inflowing good is turned into evil there and truth into falsity, thus everything into its opposite. this was shown in this way: a truth from the word was sent down from heaven, was received by those uppermost in hell, and by them sent to lower hells, and on to the lowest. on the way it was turned by stages into falsity and finally into falsity the direct opposite of the truth. those with whom it was so changed thought the falsity of themselves seemingly and knew no otherwise; still it was truth, flowing down from heaven on the way to the lowest hell, which was thus falsified and perverted. i have heard of this several times. the same thing occurs with good; as it flows down from heaven, it is changed step by step into the evil opposite to it. hence it was plain that truth and good, proceeding from the lord and received by those who are in falsity and evil, are completely altered and so transformed that their first form is lost. the like happens in every evil person, for as to his spirit he is in hell. . i have often been shown that no one in hell thinks from himself but through others around him, and these do not, but through others still. thoughts and affections make their way from one society to another, but no one is aware that they do not originate with himself. some who believed that they thought and willed of themselves were dispatched to another society and held there, and communication was cut off with the societies around to which their thoughts usually extended. then they were told to think differently from the spirits of this society, and compel themselves to think to the contrary; they confessed that they could not. [ ] this was done with a number and with leibnitz, too, who was also convinced that no one thinks from himself, but from others, nor do these think from themselves, but all think by an influx from heaven, and heaven by an influx from the lord. some, pondering this, said that it was amazing, and that hardly anyone can be led to credit it, for it is utterly contrary to the appearance, but that they still could not deny it, for it was fully demonstrated. nevertheless, astonished as they were, they said that they are not in fault then in thinking evil; also that it seems then as if evil is from the lord; and, again, that they do not understand how the one lord can cause all to think so diversely. the three points will be explained in what follows. . to the experiences cited this is also to be added. when it was granted me by the lord to speak with spirits and angels, the foregoing arcanum was at once disclosed to me. for i was told from heaven that like others i believed that i thought and willed from myself, when in fact nothing was from myself, but if it was good, it was from the lord, and if evil from hell. that this was so, was shown me to the life by various thoughts and affections which were induced on me, and gradually i was given to perceive and feel it. therefore, as soon as an evil afterwards entered my will or a falsity into my thought, i investigated the source of it. i inquired from whom it came. this was disclosed to me, and i was also allowed to speak with those spirits, refute them, and compel them to withdraw, thus to take back their evil and falsity and keep it to themselves, and no longer infuse anything of the kind into my thought. this has occurred a thousand times. i have remained in this state for many years, and still do. yet i seem to myself to think and will from myself like others, with no difference, for of the lord's providence it should so appear to everyone, as was shown above in the section on it. newly arriving spirits wonder at this state of mine, seeing as they do only that i do not think and will from myself, and am therefore like some empty thing. but i disclosed the arcanum to them, and added that i also think more interiorly, and perceive whether what flows into my exterior thought is from heaven or from hell, reject the latter and welcome the former, yet seem to myself, like them, to be thinking and willing from myself. . it is not unknown in the world that all good is from heaven and all evil from hell; it is known to everyone in the church. who that has been inaugurated into the church's priesthood does not teach that all good is from god, and that man can receive nothing of himself except it be given him from heaven? and also that the devil infuses evils into the thoughts and leads astray and incites one to commit evils? therefore a priest who believes that he preaches out of a holy zeal, prays that the holy spirit may teach him, and guide his thoughts and utterances. some say that they have sensibly perceived being acted upon, and when a sermon is praised, reply piously that they have spoken not from themselves but from god. therefore when they see someone speak and act well, they remark he was led to do so by god; on the other hand, seeing someone speak and act wickedly, they remark he was led to do so by the devil. that there is talk of the kind in the church is known, but who believes that it is so? . everything that a man thinks and wills, and consequently speaks and does, flows in from the one fountain of life, and yet that one fountain of life, namely, the lord, is not the cause of man's thinking what is evil and false. this may be clarified by these facts in the world of nature. heat and light proceed from the sun of the world. they flow into all visible subjects and objects, not only into subjects that are good and objects that are beautiful, but also into subjects that are evil and objects that are ugly, producing varying effects in them. they flow not only into trees that bear good fruit but into trees that bear bad fruit, and into the fruits themselves, quickening their growth. they flow into good seed and into weeds, into shrubs which have a good use and are wholesome, and into shrubs that have an evil use and are poisonous. yet it is the same heat and the same light; there is no cause of evil in them; the cause is in the recipient subjects and objects. [ ] the same warmth that hatches eggs in which a screech-owl, a horned owl, and a viper lie acts as it does when it hatches those in which a dove, a bird of paradise and a swan lie. put eggs of both sorts under the hen and they will be hatched by her warmth, which in itself is innocent of harm. what has the heat in common then with what is evil and noxious? the heat flowing into a marsh or a dung-hill or into decaying or dead matter acts in the same way as it does when it flows into things flavorsome and fragrant, lush and living. who does not see that the cause is not in the heat but in the recipient subject? the same light gives pleasing colors in one object and displeasing colors in another; indeed, it grows brighter in white objects and becomes dazzling, and dims in those verging on black and becomes dusky. [ ] there is what is similar in the spiritual world. there are heat and light in it from its sun, which is the lord, and they flow from the sun into their subjects and objects. now the subjects and objects are angels and spirits, in particular their volitional and mental life, and the heat is divine love going forth, and the light is divine wisdom going forth. the light and heat are not the cause of the different reception of them by one and another. for the lord says, he makes the sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the just and the unjust (mt : ). in the highest spiritual sense by the "sun" the divine love is meant, and by the "rain" the divine wisdom. . let me add to this the view of the angels on will and understanding in man. this is that there cannot be a grain of will or of prudence in man that is his own. they say that if there were, neither heaven nor hell would continue in existence, and all mankind would perish. the reason they give is that myriads of human beings, as many as have been born since the creation of the world, constitute heaven and hell, of which the one is under the other in such an order that each is a unit, heaven one comely humanity, and hell one monstrous humanity. if the individual had a grain of will and intelligence of his very own, that unity could not exist, but would be torn apart. upon this that divine form would perish, which can arise and remain only as the lord is all in all and men are nothing besides. a further reason, they say, is that to think and will actually from one's own being is the divine itself, and to think and will from god, is the truly human. the very divine cannot be appropriated to anyone, for then man would be god. bear the above in mind, and if you wish you will have confirmation of it by angels when on death you come into the spiritual world. . it was stated above (n. ) that when some were convinced that no one thinks from himself but from others, nor the others from themselves, but all by influx through heaven from the lord, they remarked in their astonishment that then they are not in fault when they do evil, also that then it seems evil comes from the lord, nor do they comprehend how the lord can cause them all to think so differently. since these three notions cannot but flow into the thoughts of those who regard effects only from effects and not from causes, they need to be taken up and explained by what causes them. [ ] first: _they are not in fault then in doing evil._ for if all that a person thinks flows into him from others, the fault seems to be theirs from whom it comes. yet the fault is the recipient's, for he receives what inflows as his own and neither knows nor wants to know otherwise. for everyone wants to be his own, to be led by himself, and above all to think and will from himself; this is freedom itself, which appears as the proprium in which every person is. if he knew, therefore, that what he thinks and wills flows in from another, it would seem to him that he was bound and captive and no longer master of himself. all enjoyment in his life would thus perish, and finally his very humanness would perish. [ ] i have often seen this evidenced. it was granted some spirits to perceive and sense that they were being led by others. thereupon they were so enraged that they were reduced almost to mental impotence. they said that they would rather be kept bound in hell than not to be allowed to think as they willed and to will as they thought. this they called being bound in their very life, which was harder and more intolerable than to be bound bodily. not being allowed to speak and act as they thought and willed, they did not call being bound. for the enjoyment of civil and moral life, which consists in speaking and acting, itself restrains and at the same time mitigates that. [ ] inasmuch as man does not want to know that he is led to think by others, but wants to think from himself and believes that he does so, it follows that he himself is in fault, nor can he throw off the blame so long as he loves to think what he thinks. if he does not love it, he breaks his connection with those from whom his thought flows. this occurs when he knows the thought is evil, therefore determines to avoid it and desist from it. he is then also taken by the lord from the society in that evil and transferred to a society free of it. if, however, he recognizes the evil and does not shun it, fault is imputed to him, and he is responsible for the evil. therefore, whatever a man believes that he does from himself is said to be done from the man, and not from the lord. [ ] second: _it then seems as if evil is from the lord._ this may be thought to be the conclusion from what was shown above (n. ), namely, that good flowing in from the lord is turned into evil and truth into falsity in hell. but who cannot see that evil and falsity do not come of good and truth, therefore not from the lord, but from the recipient subject or object which is in evil and falsity and which perverts and inverts what flows into it, as was amply shown above (n. ). the source of evil and falsity in man has been pointed out frequently in the preceding pages. moreover, an experiment was made in the spiritual world with those who believed that the lord could remove evils in the wicked and introduce good instead, thus move the whole of hell into heaven and save all. that this is impossible, however, will be seen towards the end of this treatise, where instantaneous salvation and unmediated mercy are to be treated of. [ ] third: _they do not comprehend how the one lord can cause all to think so diversely._ the lord's divine love is infinite, likewise his divine wisdom. an infinity of love and wisdom proceeds from him, flows in with all in heaven, thence with all in hell, and from heaven and hell with all in the world. thinking and willing therefore cannot lack in anyone, for what is infinite is limitless. the infinite things that issue from the lord flow in not only universally but also in least things. for the divine is universal by being in least things, and the divine in least things constitutes what is called universal, as was shown above, and the divine in something least is still infinite. hence it may be evident that the one lord causes each person to think and will according to the person's nature and does so in accordance with laws of his providence. it was shown above (nn. - ) and also in the treatise _divine love and wisdom_ (nn. - ), that everything in the lord, or proceeding from him, is infinite. . (ii) _the evil are continually leading themselves into evils, but the lord is continually leading them away from evils._ the nature of divine providence with the good is more readily comprehended than its nature with the evil. as the latter is now under consideration, it will be set forth in this order: . in every evil there are innumerable things. . an evil man of himself continually leads himself more and more deeply into his evils. . divine providence with the evil is a continual tolerance of evil, to the end that there may be a continual withdrawal from it. . withdrawal from evil is effected by the lord in a thousand most secret ways. . in order, then, that divine providence with the evil may be seen clearly and therefore understood, the propositions just stated are to be explained in the order in which they were presented. first: _in every evil there are innumerable things._ to man's sight an evil appears to be a single thing. hatred does, and revenge, theft and fraud, adultery and whoredom, pride and presumption, and the rest. it is unknown that in every evil there are innumerable things, exceeding in number the fibres and vessels in the human body. for an evil man is a hell in least form, and hell consists of myriads and myriads of spirits, each of whom is in form like a man, but a monstrous one, in whom all the fibres and vessels are inverted. a spirit himself is an evil which appears to him as one thing, but in it are innumerable things, as numerous as the lusts of that evil. for everyone, from head to foot, is his own evil or his own good. since an evil man is such, plainly he is one evil composed of countless different evils, all severally evils, and called lusts of evil. it follows that all these, one after another, must be cured and changed by the lord for man to be reformed, and that it can be done only by the lord's divine providence, step by step from man's first years to his last. [ ] every lust of evil, when it is visually presented, appears in hell like some noxious creature, a serpent, a cockatrice, a viper, a horned owl, a screech-owl, or some other; so do the lusts of evil in an evil man appear when he is viewed by angels. all these forms of lust must be changed one by one. the man himself, who appears as to his spirit like a monstrous man or devil, must be changed to appear like a comely angel, and each lust of evil changed to appear like a lamb or sheep or pigeon or turtle dove, as affections of good in angels appear in heaven when they are visually represented. changing a serpent into a lamb, or a cockatrice into a sheep, or an owl into a dove, can be done only gradually, by uprooting evil together with its seed and implanting good seed in its place. this can only be done, however, comparatively as is done in the grafting of trees, of which the roots with some of the trunk remain, but the engrafted branch turns the sap drawn through the old root into sap that produces good fruit. the branch to be engrafted in this instance is to be had only from the lord, who is the tree of life; this is also in keeping with the lord's words in john : - . [ ] second: _an evil man from himself continually leads himself more deeply into his evils._ he does so "from himself" because all evil is from man, for, as was said, he turns good, which is from the lord, into evil. he leads himself more and more deeply into evil for the reason, essentially, that as he wills and commits evil, he enters more and more interiorly and also more and more deeply into infernal societies. hence the enjoyment of evil increases, too, and occupies his thoughts until he feels nothing more agreeable. one who has entered more interiorly and deeply into infernal societies becomes like one bound by chains. so long as he lives in the world, however, he does not feel his chains; they seem to be made of soft wool or smooth silken threads. he loves them, for they titillate; but after death, from being soft, those chains become hard, and from being pleasant become galling. [ ] that the enjoyment of evil grows is known from thefts, robberies, plunderings, revenge, tyranny, lucre, and other evils. who does not feel a heightening of enjoyment in them as he succeeds in them and practices them uninhibited? a thief, we know, feels such enjoyment in thefts that he cannot desist from them, and, a wonder, he loves one stolen coin more than ten that are given him. it would be similar with adultery, had it not been provided that the power to commit this evil decreases with the abuse, but with many there still remains the enjoyment of thinking and talking about it, and if nothing more, there is still the lust of touch. [ ] it is not known, however, that this heightening of enjoyment comes from a man's entering into infernal societies more and more interiorly and deeply as he perpetrates evils from the will as well as from thought. if the evils are only in the thoughts, and not in the will, he is not yet in an infernal society having that evil; he enters it when the evils are also in the will. then, if he also thinks the evil is contrary to the precepts of the decalog and regards these precepts as divine, he commits the evil of set purpose and by so doing plunges to a depth from which he can be brought out only by active repentance. it is to be understood that everyone as to his spirit is in the spiritual world, in one of its societies, an evil man in an infernal society and a good man in a heavenly society; sometimes, when in deep meditation one also appears there. moreover, as sound and, along with it, speech spread on the air in the natural world, affection and thought with it spread among societies in the spiritual world; there is correspondence, too, affection corresponding to sound and thought to speech. [ ] third: _divine providence with the evil is a continual tolerance of evil, to the end that there may be a continual withdrawal from it._ divine providence with evil men is continual permission because only evil can issue from their life. for whether he is in good or in evil, man cannot be in both at once, nor by turns in one and the other unless he is lukewarm. evil of life is not introduced into the will and through this into the thought by the lord but by man, and this is named permission. [ ] inasmuch as everything which an evil man wills and thinks is by permission, the question arises, what in this case divine providence is, which is said to be in the least things with every person, evil or good. it consists in this, that it exercises tolerance continually for the sake of its objective, and permits what helps to the end and nothing more. it constantly observes the evils that issue by permission, separates and purifies them, and rejects what is unsuitable and discharges it by unknown ways. this is done principally in man's interior will and through it in his interior thought. divine providence also sees to it constantly that what must be rejected and discharged is not received again by the will, since all that is received by the will is appropriated to the man; what is received by the thought, but not by the will, is set aside and banished. such is the constant divine providence with the evil; as was said, it is a continual tolerance of evil to the end that there may be continual withdrawal from it. [ ] of these activities man knows scarcely anything, for he does not perceive them. the chief reason why he does not, is that the evils come from the lusts of his life's love, and are not felt to be evils but enjoyments, to which one does not give thought. who gives thought to the enjoyments of his love? his thought floats along in them like a skiff carried along by the current of a stream; and he perceives a fragrant air which he inhales with a deep breath. only in one's external thought does one have a sense of the enjoyments, but even in it he pays no attention to them unless he knows well that they are evil. more will be said on this in what follows. [ ] fourth: _withdrawal from evil is effected by the lord in a thousand most secret ways._ only some of these have been disclosed to me, and only the most general ones. for instance, the enjoyments of lusts, of which man knows nothing, are let by clusters and bundles into the interior thoughts of his spirit and thence into his exterior thoughts, where they appear in a feeling of pleasure, delight or longing, and mingle with his natural and sensuous enjoyments. there the means to separation and purification and the ways of withdrawal and unburdening are to be found. the means are chiefly the enjoyments of meditation, thought and reflection on ends that are uses. such ends are as numerous as the particulars and details of one's business or occupation. just as numerous are the enjoyments of reflection on such an end as that one shall appear to be a civil and moral and also a spiritual person, no matter what interposes which is unenjoyable. these enjoyments, being those of one's love in the external man, are the means to the separation, purification, expulsion and withdrawal of the enjoyments of the lusts in the internal man. [ ] take, for example, an unjust judge who regards gain or friendship as the end or use of his office. inwardly he is constantly in those ends, but outwardly must act as one learned in the law and just. he is constantly in the enjoyment of meditation, thought, reflection and intent to bend and turn a decision and adapt and adjust it so that it may still seem to be in conformity with the laws and resemble justice. he does not know that his inward enjoyment consists in craftiness, defrauding, deceit, clandestine theft, and many other evils, and that this enjoyment, made up of so many enjoyments of the lusts of evil, governs each and all things of his external thought, in which he enjoys appearing just and sincere. into the external enjoyment the internal enjoyment is let down, the two are mingled as food is in the stomach, and thereupon the internal enjoyments are separated, purified, and withdrawn. still this is true only of the more grievous enjoyments of the lusts of evil. [ ] for in an evil man the only separation, purification and withdrawal possible is of the more grievous evils from the less grievous. in a good man, however, separation, purification and withdrawal is possible not only of the more grievous evils but also of the less grievous. this is effected by the enjoyments of the affections of what is good and true, and of what is just and sincere, affections into which one comes so far as he regards evils as sins and therefore avoids and is averse to them, and still more as he fights against them. it is by these means that the lord purifies all who are saved. he purifies them by external means also, such as fame and standing and sometimes wealth, but put into these means by the lord are the enjoyments of affections of good and truth, by which they are directed and fitted to become enjoyments of love for the neighbor. [ ] if one saw the enjoyments of the lusts of evil assembled in some form, or perceived them distinctly by some sense, he would see and perceive that they are too numerous for definition. for hell in its entirety is nothing but the form of all the lusts of evil, and no one lust in it is quite similar to or the same as another, nor can be to eternity. of these countless lusts man knows scarcely anything, and even less how they are connected with one another. yet the lord in his divine providence continually allows them to come forth, for them to be drawn away, and this is done in perfect order and sequence. for the evil man is a hell in miniature, and the good man a heaven in miniature. [ ] the withdrawal from evils, which the lord effects in a thousand highly secret ways, may best be seen and concluded about from the secret activities of the soul in the body. man knows that he examines the food he is about to eat, perceives what it is by its odor, hungers for it, tastes it, chews it, and by the tongue rolls it down into the esophagus and so into the stomach. but then there are the hidden activities of the soul of which he knows nothing, for he has no sensation of them. the stomach rolls about the food it receives, opens and breaks it up by solvents, that is, digests it, and offers fit portions to the little mouths opening in it and to veins which imbibe it. some it sends to the blood, some to the lymphatic vessels, some to the lacteal vessels of the mesentery, and some down to the intestines. then the chyle, conveyed through the thoracic duct from its cistern in the mesentery, is carried to the vena cava, and so to the heart. from the heart it is carried into the lungs, from them through the left ventricle of the heart into the aorta, and from this by its branches to viscera throughout the body and also to the kidneys. in each organ separation and purification of the blood are effected and removal of the heterogeneous, not to mention how the heart sends its blood up to the brain after purification in the lungs, which is done by the arteries called carotids, and how the brain returns the blood, now vivified, to the vena cava just above where the thoracic duct brings in the chyle, and so back again to the heart. [ ] these and countless other activities are secret operations of the soul in the body. man has no sense of them, and unless he is acquainted with the science of anatomy, knows nothing of them. yet similar activities take place in the interiors of the human mind. nothing can take place in the body except from the mind, for man's mind is his spirit, and his spirit is equally man; the sole difference being that what is done in the body is done naturally, while what is done in the mind is done spiritually; there is all similarity. plainly, then, divine providence operates with every man in a thousand hidden ways, and its incessant care is to cleanse him, since its purpose is to save him. plainly, too, nothing more is incumbent on man than to remove evils in the outward man; the lord sees to the rest, when he is implored. . (iii) _the evil cannot be fully withdrawn from evil and led in good by the lord so long as they believe their own intelligence to be everything and divine providence nothing._ it would seem that man could withdraw himself from evil provided he thought that this or that was contrary to the common good, or to what is useful, or to national or international law, and this an evil as well as a good man can do if by birth or through practice he is such that he can think clearly within himself, analysing and reasoning. but even then he is not capable of withdrawing himself from evil. the faculty of understanding and of perceiving, even abstractly, has indeed been given everyone by the lord, to the evil as well as to the good, as has been shown above in many places, and yet man cannot deliver himself from evil by means of this faculty. for evil comes of the will, and the understanding influences the will only with light, enlightening and instructing. if the heat of the will, that is, man's love, is hot with the lust of evil, it is cold towards the affection of good, therefore does not receive the light but either repels or extinguishes it, or by some fabricated falsity turns it into evil. the light is then like winter light, which is as clear as the light in summer and remains as clear even when it flows into frozen trees. but this can be seen better in the following order: . when the will is in evil, one's own intelligence sees only falsity, and neither desires to see, nor can see, anything else. . if then one's own intelligence is confronted with truth, it either turns away from it or falsifies it. . divine providence continually causes man to see truth, and also gives him affection for perceiving and receiving it. . through this means man is withdrawn from evil, not by himself, but by the lord. . for these things to be made apparent to the rational man, whether he is evil or good, thus whether he is in the light of winter or in the light of summer (for colors appear the same in them), they are to be explained in due order. first: _when the will is in evil, one's own intelligence sees only falsity, and neither desires nor is able to see anything else._ this has often been demonstrated in the spiritual world. everyone, on becoming a spirit, which takes place after death when he puts off the material body and puts on the spiritual, is introduced by turns into the two states of his life, the external and the internal. in the external state he speaks and acts rationally, quite as a rational and wise man does in the world; he can also instruct others in much that pertains to moral and civil life, and if he has been a preacher he can also give instruction in the spiritual life. but when he is brought from this external state into his internal state, and the external is put to sleep and the internal awakes, the scene changes if he is evil. from being rational he becomes sensuous, and from being wise he becomes insane. for he thinks then from the evil of his will and its enjoyments, thus from his own intelligence, and sees only falsity and does nothing but evil, believing that evil is wisdom and that cunning is prudence. from his own intelligence he believes himself to be a deity and with all his mind sucks up nefarious ways. [ ] i have often seen instances of such insanity. i have also seen spirits introduced into these alternating states two or three times within an hour, and it was granted them to see and also acknowledge their insanities. nevertheless they were unwilling to remain in a rational and moral state, but voluntarily returned to their internal sensuous and insane state. they loved this more than the other because the enjoyment of their life's love was in it. who can believe that an evil man is such beneath his outward appearance and that he undergoes such a transformation when he enters on his internal state? this one experience makes plain the nature of one's own intelligence when one thinks and acts from the evil of one's will. it is otherwise with the good. when they are admitted from their external state into their internal state, they become still wiser and still more moral. [ ] second: _if then one's own intelligence is confronted with truth, it either turns away from it or falsifies it._ the human being has a volitional and an intellectual proprium. the volitional proprium is evil, and the intellectual proprium is falsity derived from evil; the latter is meant by "the will of man" and the former by "the will of the flesh" in john : . the volitional proprium is in essence self-love, and the intellectual proprium is the pride coming of that love. the two are like married partners, and their union is called the marriage of evil and falsity. into this union each evil spirit is admitted before he enters hell; he then does not know what good is; he calls his evil good, because that is what he feels to be enjoyable. he also turns away from truth then and has no desire to see it, because he sees the falsity which accords with his evil as the eye beholds what is beautiful, and hears it as the ear hears what is harmonious. [ ] third: _divine providence continually causes man to see truth and also gives him affection for perceiving and receiving it._ for divine providence acts from within and flows thence into the exteriors, that is, flows from what is spiritual into what is in the natural man, by the light of heaven enlightening his understanding and by the heat of heaven quickening his will. the light of heaven in essence is divine wisdom, and the heat of heaven in essence is divine love. from divine wisdom nothing can flow but truth, and from divine love nothing but good. with good the lord bestows an affection in the understanding for seeing and also perceiving and receiving truth. man thus becomes man not only in external aspect but in internal aspect, too. everyone desires to appear a rational and spiritual man, and knows he so desires in order that others may believe him to be truly man. if then he is rational and spiritual in external form only, and not at the same time in his internal form, is he man? is he different from a player on the stage or from an ape with an almost human face? may one not know from this that only he is a human being who is inwardly what he desires others to think he is? one who acknowledges the one fact must admit the other. man's own intelligence can induce the human form only on externals, but divine providence induces it on internals and thence on externals. when it has been so induced, a man does not only appear to be a man; he is one. [ ] fourth: _through this means man is withdrawn from evil, not by himself, but by the lord._ when divine providence gives man to see truth and to be affected by it, he can be withdrawn from evil for the reason that truth points the way and dictates; doing what truth dictates, the will unites with truth and within itself turns it into good, for it becomes something one loves, and what is loved is good. all reformation is effected through truth, not without it, for without truth the will continues in its evil, and should it consult the understanding, is not instructed, rather the evil is confirmed by falsities. [ ] with regard to intelligence, this seems to the good man as well as to an evil man to be his and proper to him. like an evil man, he is also bound to act from intelligence as if it were his own. but one who believes in divine providence is withdrawn from evil, and one who does not believe in it is not withdrawn; he believes who acknowledges that evil is sin and desires to be withdrawn from it, and he does not believe who does not so acknowledge and desire. the difference between the two kinds of intelligence is like that between what is believed to exist in itself and what is believed not to exist in itself but to appear as if it did. it is also like the difference between an external without an internal similar to it and an external with a similar internal. thus it is like the difference between impersonations of kings, princes or generals by mimes and actors through word and bearing, and actual kings, princes or generals. the latter are such in fact as well as outwardly, but the former only outwardly, and when the exterior is laid off, are known only as comedians, actors or players. . (iv) _the lord governs hell by means of opposites, and those in the world who are evil he governs in hell as to their interiors but not as to their exteriors._ one who does not know the character of heaven and hell cannot know at all that of man's mind; his mind is his spirit which survives death. for the mind or spirit of man is altogether in form what heaven or hell is. the only difference is that one is vast and the other very small, or one is archetype and the other a copy. as to his mind or spirit, accordingly, the human being is either heaven or hell in least form, heaven if he is led by the lord, and hell if he is led by his proprium. inasmuch as it has been granted me to know what heaven and hell are, and it is important to know what the human being is in respect to his mind or spirit, i will describe both heaven and hell briefly. . all who are in heaven are nothing other than affections of good and thoughts thence of truth, and all who are in hell are nothing other than lusts of evil and imaginations thence of falsity. these are so arranged respectively that the lusts of evil and the imaginings of falsity in hell are precisely opposite to the affections of good and the thoughts of truth in heaven. therefore hell is under heaven and diametrically opposite, that is, the two are like two men lying in opposite directions, or standing, invertedly, like men at the antipodes, only the soles of their feet meeting and their heels hitting. at times hell also appears to be so situated or inverted relatively to heaven, for the reason that those in hell make lusts of evil the head and affections of good the feet, while those in heaven make affections of good the head and lusts of evil the soles of the feet; hence the mutual opposition. when it is said that in heaven there are affections of good and thoughts of truth from them, and in hell lusts of evil and imaginations of falsity from them, the meaning is that there are spirits and angels who are such. for everyone is his affection or his lust, an angel of heaven his affection and a spirit of hell his lust. . the angels of heaven are affections of good and thoughts thence of truth because they are recipients of divine love and wisdom from the lord; for all affections of good are from the divine love and all thoughts of truth are from the divine wisdom. but the spirits of hell are lusts of evil and the imaginations thence of falsity because they are in self-love and their own intelligence, and all lusts of evil come of self-love and imaginations of falsity from one's own intelligence. . the ordering of affections in heaven and of lusts in hell is marvelous, and is known to the lord alone. they are each distinguished into genera and species, and are so conjoined as to make a unit. as they are distinguished into genera and species, they are distinguished into larger and smaller societies, and as they are so conjoined as to make a unit, they are conjoined as all things in man are. hence in its form heaven is like a comely man, whose soul is divine love and wisdom, thus the lord, and hell in its form is like a monstrous man, his soul self-love and self-intelligence, thus the devil. no devil is sole lord there; self-love is so called. . but that the nature of heaven and of hell respectively may be better known, instead of affections of good let enjoyments of good be understood, and enjoyments of evil instead of lusts of evil, for no affections or lusts are without their enjoyments, and enjoyments make one's life. these enjoyments are distinguished and conjoined as we said affections of good and lusts of evil are. the enjoyment of his affection fills and surrounds each angel, the enjoyment common to a society of heaven fills and surrounds each society, and the enjoyment of all the angels together or the most widely shared enjoyment fills and envelops heaven as a whole. similarly, the pleasure of his lust fills and envelops each spirit of hell, a common enjoyment every society in hell, and the enjoyment of all or the most widely shared enjoyment fills and envelops all hell. since, as was said, the affections of heaven and the lusts of hell are diametrically opposite to each other, plainly a heavenly joy is so unenjoyable to hell that it is unbearable, and in turn an infernal joy is so unenjoyable to heaven that it is unbearable, too. hence the antipathy, aversion and separateness. . as these enjoyments constitute the life of each individual and of all in general, they are not sensed by those in them, but the opposite enjoyments are sensed when brought near, especially if they are turned into odors; for every enjoyment corresponds to an odor and in the spiritual world may be converted into it. then the general enjoyment in heaven is sensed as the odor of a garden, varied according to the fragrance of flowers and fruits; the general enjoyment in hell is sensed as the odor of stagnant water, into which filth of various sorts has been thrown, the odor varied according to the stench of the things decaying and reeking in it. while i have been given to know how the enjoyment of a particular affection of good is sensed in heaven, and the enjoyment of some lust of evil in hell, it would take too long to relate it here. . i have heard many newcomers from the world complain that they had not known that their destiny would be according to the affections of their love. to these, they said, they had given no thought in the world, much less to the enjoyments of the affections, for they loved what they found enjoyable. they had believed that each person's lot would be according to his thoughts from his intelligence, especially according to thoughts of piety and of faith. but they were answered, that they could have known, if they wished, that evil of life is unacceptable to heaven and displeasing to god, but acceptable to hell and pleasing to the devil, and the other way about, that good of life is acceptable to heaven and pleasing to god, but unacceptable to hell and displeasing to the devil; consequently that evil in itself is malodorous and good is fragrant. as they might have known this if they wished, why did they not shun evils as infernal and diabolical, but indulge in them merely because they were enjoyable? aware now that the enjoyments of evil smell so foully, they might also know that those full of them cannot enter heaven. upon this reply they betook themselves to those who were in similar enjoyments, for only there could they breathe. . from the idea of heaven and hell just given, it may be evident what the nature of man's mind is. for, as was said, man's mind or spirit is either a heaven or a hell in least form, that is, his interiors are nothing other than affections and thoughts thence, distinguished into genera and species, like the larger and smaller societies of heaven or hell, and so connected as to act as a unit. the lord governs them as he does heaven or hell. that the human being is either heaven or hell in least form may be seen in the work _heaven and hell,_ published at london in . . now to the subject proposed, that the lord governs hell by means of opposites, and those in the world who are evil he governs in hell as to their interiors but not as to their exteriors. on the first point, that _the lord governs hell through opposites,_ it was shown above (nn. , ) that the angels of heaven are not in love and wisdom, or in the affection of good and thence in thought of truth from themselves, but from the lord, likewise that good and truth flow from heaven into hell where good is turned into evil and truth into falsity because the interiors of the minds of those in heaven and in hell respectively are turned in opposite directions. inasmuch then as all things in hell are the opposite of all things in heaven, the lord governs hell by means of opposites. [ ] the second point, that _the lord governs in hell those in the world who are evil._ this is for the reason that the human being as to his spirit is in the spiritual world and in some society there, in an infernal society if he is evil, in a heavenly one if he is good. for his mind, which in itself is spiritual, cannot be anywhere but among spiritual beings, of whom he becomes one after death. this has also been stated and demonstrated above. a man is not there, however, in the same way as a spirit is who has been assigned to the society, for man is constantly in a state to be reformed, and therefore, if he is evil, is transferred by the lord from one infernal society to another according to his life and the changes in it. but if he permits himself to be reformed, he is led out of hell and elevated to heaven, and there, too, he is carried from one society to another until his death, after which this does not take place as he is then no longer in a state to be reformed, but remains in the state which is his from his life. when a person dies, therefore, he is assigned his place. [ ] thirdly, _the lord governs the evil who are in the world in this way as to their interiors, but in another way as to their exteriors._ the lord governs the interiors of man's mind in the manner just stated, but governs the exteriors in the world of spirits, which is between heaven and hell. the reason is that commonly man is different in externals from what he is in internals. he can feign outwardly to be an angel of light and yet inwardly be a spirit of darkness. his external is therefore governed in one way, and his internal in another; as long as he is in the world, his external is governed in the world of spirits, and his internal in either heaven or hell. on death one also enters the world of spirits first, therefore, and comes into his external, which he puts off there; having put it off, he is conducted to the place assigned as his. what the world of spirits is and its nature may be seen in the work _heaven and hell,_ published at london in , nn. - . xvi. divine providence appropriates neither evil nor good to anyone, but one's own prudence appropriates both . almost everyone believes that man thinks and wills, hence speaks and acts, from himself. who of himself can believe otherwise? for the appearance that he does is so strong that it differs not at all from actually thinking, willing, speaking and acting from oneself, which is impossible. in _angelic wisdom about divine love and wisdom_ it was shown that there is only one life and that men are recipients of life; also that the human will is the receptacle of love, and the human understanding the receptacle of wisdom; love and wisdom are the one life. it was also demonstrated that by creation and steadily therefore by divine providence this life appears in the human being quite as though it sprang from him and hence was his own, but that this is the appearance so that man can be a receptacle. it was also shown above (nn. - ) that no one thinks from himself but from others, nor the others from themselves, but all from the lord, an evil person as well as a good person. we showed further that this is well known in christendom, especially to those who not only say but also believe that all good and truth, all wisdom and thus all faith and charity are from the lord, also that all evil and falsity are from the devil or hell. [ ] one can only conclude from all this that everything which a man thinks and wills flows into him. and since all speech flows from thought as an effect from its cause, and all action flows similarly from the will, it follows that everything which one speaks and does also flows in, albeit derivatively or indirectly. it is undeniable that all which one sees, hears, smells, tastes or feels flows in; why not then what he thinks and wills? can there be any difference other than this, that entities in the natural world flow into the organs of the external senses or of the body, while entities in the spiritual world flow into the organic substances of the internal senses or of the mind? hence as the organs of the external senses or of the body are receptacles of natural objects, so the organic substances of the internal senses or of the mind are receptacles of spiritual objects. as this is man's situation, what then is his proprium? it cannot consist in his being such or such a receptacle, for then it would only be the man's manner of reception, not the life's proprium. no one understands by proprium anything else than that he lives of himself and consequently thinks and wills of himself; but that there is no such proprium and indeed cannot be with anyone follows from what was said above. . but let me relate what i have heard from some in the spiritual world. they were of those who believe that one's own prudence is everything and divine providence nothing. i remarked that man has no proprium unless you want to call it his proprium that he is such or such a subject or organ or form. this is not the proprium that is meant, however, for it is only descriptive of the nature of man. no man, i said, has any proprium as the word is commonly understood. at this those who ascribed everything to their own prudence and who may be called the very picture of proprietorship, flared up so that flames seemed to come from their nostrils as they said, "you speak paradox and insanity! would man not be an empty nothing then? or an idea or fancy? or a graven image or statue?" [ ] to this i could only reply that it is paradox and insanity to believe that man has life of himself, and that wisdom and prudence, likewise the good of charity and the truth of faith, do not flow in from god but are in man. to attribute them to oneself every wise person calls insane and also paradoxical. those who attribute them to themselves are like tenants of another's house and property who persuade themselves by living there that it is their own; or like stewards and administrators who consider all that their master owns to be theirs; or like servants in business to whom their master gave talents and pounds to trade with, but who rendered no account to him but kept all as theirs and thus behaved like robbers. [ ] it may be said of such that they are insane, indeed are nothing and empty, likewise are idealists, since they do not have in them from the lord good which is the esse itself of life, thus do not have truth, either. they are also called "dead" therefore and "nothing and empty" (isa : , ), and elsewhere "makers of images," "graven images" and "statues." more about them in what follows, to be done in this order: i. what one's own prudence is, and what prudence not one's own is. ii. by his own prudence man persuades himself and confirms in himself that all good and truth are from him and in him; similarly all evil and falsity. iii. all that a man is persuaded of and confirms remains with him as his own. iv. if man believed, as is the truth, that all good and truth are from the lord, and all evil and falsity from hell, he would not appropriate good to himself and consider it merited, nor appropriate evil to himself and make himself responsible for it. . (i) _what one's own prudence is, and what prudence not one's own is._ those are in prudence of their own who confirm appearances in themselves and make them truths, especially the appearance that one's own prudence is all and divine providence nothing--unless it is something universal, which it cannot be without singulars to constitute it, as was shown above. they are also in fallacies, for every appearance confirmed as truth becomes a fallacy, and so far as they confirm themselves by fallacies they become naturalists and to that extent believe nothing that they cannot perceive by one of the bodily senses, particularly that of sight, for this especially acts as one with thought. they finally become sensuous. if they confirm themselves in favor of nature instead of god, they close the interiors of their mind, interpose a veil as it were, and then do their thinking below it and not at all above it. such sense-ridden men were called serpents of the tree of knowledge by the ancients. it is also said of them in the spiritual world that as they confirm themselves they at length close the interiors of their mind "to the nose," for the nose signifies perception of truth, of which they have none. what their nature is will be told now. [ ] they are more cunning and crafty than others and are ingenious reasoners. they call cunning and craftiness intelligence and wisdom, nor do they know otherwise. they look on those who are not like themselves as simple and stupid, especially those who worship god and acknowledge divine providence. in respect of the interior principles of their minds, of which they know little, they are like those called machiavellians, who make murder, adultery, theft and false witness, viewed in themselves, of no account; if they reason against them it is only out of prudence not to appear to be of that nature. [ ] of man's life in the world they think it is like that of a beast, and of his life after death that it is like a vital vapor which, rising from the body or the grave, sinks back again and dies. from this madness comes the notion that spirits and angels are airy entities, and with those who have been enjoined to believe in everlasting life that the souls of men also are. they therefore do not see, hear or speak, but are blind, deaf and dumb, and only cogitate in their particle of air. the sense-ridden ask, "how can the soul be anything else? the external senses died with the body, did they not? they cannot be resumed before the soul is reunited with the body." inasmuch as they could comprehend the state of the soul after death only sensuously and not spiritually, they have fixed upon the state described; otherwise their belief in everlasting life would have perished. above all, they confirm self-love in themselves, calling it the fire of life and the incentive to various uses in the kingdom. being of this nature, they are their own idols, and their thoughts, being fallacies and from fallacies, are images of falsity. indulging in the enjoyments of lusts, they are satans and devils; those who confirm lusts of evil in themselves are satans, and those who live them are called devils. [ ] it has also been granted me to know the nature of the most crafty sensuous men. their hell is deep down at the back, and they want to be inconspicuous. therefore they appear to hover about there like spectres, which are their fantasies, and they are called _genii._ some were sent out from that hell once for me to learn what they are like. they immediately addressed themselves to my neck below the occiput and thus entered my affections, not wanting to enter my thoughts, which they adroitly avoided. they altered my affections one by one with a mind to bend them imperceptibly into their opposites, which are lusts of evil; and as they did not touch my thought at all they would have bent and inverted my affections without my knowledge, had not the lord prevented it. [ ] such do they become who do not believe that there can be any divine providence, and who search only for cupidities and cravings in others and thus lead them along until they dominate them. they do this so secretly and artfully that one does not know it, and they remain the same on death; therefore they are cast down into that hell as soon as they enter the spiritual world. seen in heaven's light they appear to be without a nose, and it is remarkable that although they are so crafty they are more sense-ridden than others. [ ] the ancients called a sensuous man a serpent, and such a man is more cunning and crafty and a more ingenious reasoner than others; therefore it is said, the serpent was more crafty than any beast of the field (ge : ), and the lord said: be prudent as serpents and simple as doves (mt : ). the dragon, too, called "that old serpent" and the "devil" and "satin," is described as having seven heads and ten horns, and on his heads seven crowns (apoc : , ). craftiness is signified by the seven heads; the power to persuade by fallacies is meant by the ten horns; and holy things of the word and the church which have been profaned are signified by the seven crowns. . from the description of one's own prudence and of those who are in it, the nature of prudence not one's own and of those who are in it may be seen. those have prudence not their own who do not confirm in themselves that intelligence and wisdom are from man. they ask, "how can anyone be wise of himself or do good of himself?" when they speak so, they see in themselves that it is so, for they think interiorly. they also believe that others think similarly, especially the learned, for they are unaware that any-one can think only exteriorly. [ ] they are not in fallacies by any confirmation of appearances. they know and perceive, therefore, that murder, adultery, theft and false witness are sins and accordingly shun them on that account. they also know that wickedness is not wisdom and cunning is not intelligence. when they hear ingenious reasoning from fallacies they wonder and smile to themselves. this is because with them there is no veil between interiors and exteriors, or between the spiritual and the natural things of the mind, as there is with the sensuous. they therefore receive influx from heaven by which they see these things. [ ] they speak more simply and sincerely than others and place wisdom in life and not in talk. relatively they are like lambs and sheep while those who are in their own prudence are like wolves and foxes. or they are like those living in a house who see the sky through the windows while those who are in prudence of their own are like persons living in the basement of a house who can look out through the windows only on what is down on the ground. again they are like persons standing on a mountain who see those who are in prudence of their own as wanderers in valleys and forests. [ ] hence it may be plain that prudence not one's own is prudence from the lord, in externals appearing similar to prudence of one's own, but totally unlike it in internals. in internals prudence not one's own appears in the spiritual world as man, while prudence which is one's own appears like a statue, which seems living only because those who are in such prudence still possess rationality and freedom or the capacity to understand and to will, hence to speak and act, and by means of these faculties can make it appear that they also are men. they are such statues because evils and falsities have no life; only goods and truths do. by their rationality they know this, for if they did not they would not feign goods and truths; hence in their simulation of them they possess a vital humanness. [ ] who does not know that a man is what he is inwardly? consequently that he is a man who is inwardly what he wishes to appear to be outwardly, while he is a copy who is a man outwardly only and not inwardly. think, as you speak, in favor of god and religion, of righteousness and sincerity, and you will be a man, and divine providence will be your prudence; you will perceive in others that one's own prudence is insanity. . (ii) _by his own prudence man persuades himself and confirms in himself that all good and truth are from him and in him; similarly all evil and falsity._ rest the argument on the parallel between natural good and truth and spiritual good and truth. ask what truth and good are to the sight of the eye. is not what is called beautiful truth to it, and what is called enjoyable good to it? for enjoyment is felt in beholding what is beautiful. what are truth and good to the hearing? is not what is called harmonious truth to it, and what is called pleasing good to it? for pleasure is felt in hearing harmonies. it is the same with the other senses. what natural good and truth are is plain, then. consider now what spiritual good and truth are. is spiritual truth anything other than beauty and harmony in spiritual matters and objects? and is spiritual good anything other than the enjoyment and pleasure of perceiving the beauty and harmony? [ ] let us see now whether anything different is to be said of the one from what is said of the other, that is, of the spiritual from what is said of the natural. of the natural we say that what is beautiful and enjoyable to the eye flows in from objects, and what is harmonious and pleasing to the ear flows in from musical instruments. is something different to be said in relation to the organic substances of the mind? of these it is said that the enjoyable and pleasing are in them, while it is said of eye and ear that they flow in. if you inquire why it is said that they flow in, the one answer possible is that distance appears between the objects and the organs. but when one asks why it is said that in the other case they are indwelling, the one possible answer is that no distance appears between the two. consequently, it is the appearance of distance that results in believing one thing about what one thinks and perceives, and another thing about what one sees and hears. but this becomes baseless when one reflects that the spiritual is not in space as the natural is. think of sun or moon, or of rome or constantinople: do you not think of them apart from distance (provided the thought is not joined to the experience gained by sight or hearing)? why then persuade yourself that because there is no appearance of distance in thought, that good and truth, as also evil and falsity, are indwelling, and do not flow in? [ ] let me add to this an experience which is common in the spiritual world. one spirit can infuse his thoughts and affections into another, and the other not know that it is not his own thinking and affection. this is called in that world thinking from and in another. i have witnessed it a thousand times and also done it a hundred times; and it seemed to occur at a considerable distance. as soon as the spirits learned that another was introducing the thoughts and affections, they were indignant and turned away, recognizing then, however, that to the internal thought or sight no distance is apparent unless it is disclosed, as it may be, to the external sight or the eye; as a result it is believed that there is influx. [ ] i will add to this experience an everyday experience of mine. evil spirits have often put into my thoughts evils and falsities which seemed to me to be in me and to originate from me, or seemed to be my own thought. knowing them to be evils and falsities, i searched out the spirits who had introduced them, and they were detected and driven off. they were at a great distance from me. it may be manifest from these things that all evil with its falsity flows in from hell and all good with its truth flows in from the lord, and that both appear to be in man. . the nature of men who are in prudence of their own, and the nature of those in prudence not their own and hence in the divine providence, is depicted in the word by adam and his wife eve in the garden of eden where were two trees, one of life and the other of the knowledge of good and evil, and by their eating of the latter tree. it may be seen above (n. ) that in the internal or spiritual sense of the word by adam and eve, his wife, the most ancient church of the lord on this earth is meant and described, which was more noble and heavenly than subsequent churches. [ ] following is what is signified by other particulars. the wisdom of the men of that church is signified by the garden of eden; the lord in respect to divine providence is signified by the tree of life, and man in respect to his own prudence is meant by the tree of knowledge; his sensuous life and his proprium, which in itself is self-love and pride in one's own intelligence, and thus is the devil and satan, is signified by the serpent; and the appropriation of good and truth with the thought that they are not from the lord and are not the lord's, but are from man and are his, is signified by eating of the tree of knowledge. inasmuch as good and truth are what is divine with man (for everything of love is meant by good, and everything of wisdom by truth), if man claims them as his, he cannot but believe that he is as god. therefore the serpent said: in the day you eat of it, your eyes will be opened, and you will be as god, knowing good and evil (ge : ). so do those in hell believe, who are in self-love and thence in the pride of their own intelligence. [ ] condemnation of self-love and self-intelligence is meant by the condemnation of the serpent; the condemnation of the volitional proprium is meant by the condemnation of eve and the condemnation of the intellectual proprium by the condemnation of adam; sheer falsity and evil are signified by the thorn and thistle which the earth would produce for adam; the loss of wisdom is signified by the expulsion from the garden; the lord's care lest holy things of the word and the church be violated is meant by guarding the way to the tree of life; moral truths, veiling men's self-love and conceit, are signified by the fig leaves with which adam and eve covered their nakedness; and appearances of truth, in which alone they were, are signified by the coats of skin with which they were later clothed. such is the spiritual understanding of these particulars. let him who wishes remain in the sense of the letter, only let him know that it is so understood in heaven. . the nature of those who are infatuated with their own intelligence can be seen from their fancies in matters of interior judgment, as, for example, about influx, thought and life. their thinking about influx is inverted. they think that the sight of the eye flows into the internal sight of the mind or into the understanding, and that the hearing of the ear flows into the internal hearing, which also is the understanding. they do not perceive that the understanding from the will flows into the eye and the ear, and not only constitutes those senses but also employs them as its instruments in the natural world. as this is not according to the appearance, they do not perceive even if it is only said that the natural does not flow into the spiritual, but the spiritual into the natural. they still think, "what is the spiritual except a finer natural?" and again, "when the eye beholds something beautiful or the ear hears something melodious, of course the mind, which is understanding and will, is delighted." they do not know that the eye does not see of itself, nor the tongue taste, nor the nose smell, nor the skin feel of itself, but that it is the man's mind or spirit which has the perceptions in the sensation and which is affected according to its nature by the sensation. indeed, the mind or spirit does not sense things of itself, but does so from the lord; to think otherwise is to think from appearances, and if these are confirmed, from fallacies. [ ] regarding thought, they say that it is something modified in the air, varied according to topic, and widened by cultivation; thus that the ideas in thoughts are images appearing, meteor-like, in the air; and that the memory is a tablet on which they are imprinted. they do not know that thought goes on in purely organic substances just as much as sight and hearing do. only let them examine the brain, and they will see that it is full of such substances; injure them and you will become delirious; destroy them and you will die. but what thought and memory are see above at n. end. [ ] regarding life, they know it only as an activity of nature, which makes itself felt in different ways, as a live body bestirs itself organically. if it is remarked that nature is alive then, they deny this, and say it enables to life. if one asks, "is life not dissipated then on the death of the body?" they reply that life remains in a particle of air called the soul. asked "what then is god? is he not life itself?" they keep silence and do not want to utter what they think. asked, "would you grant that divine love and wisdom are life itself?" they answer, "what are love and wisdom?" for in their fallacies they do not see what these are or what god is. these things have been adduced that it may be seen how man is infatuated by prudence of his own because he draws all conclusions then from appearances and thus from fallacies. .* by one's own prudence one is persuaded and confirmed that all good and truth are from man and in man, because a man's own prudence is his intellectual proprium, flowing in from self-love, which is his volitional proprium; proprium inevitably makes everything its own; it cannot be raised above doing so. all who are led by the lord's divine providence are raised above the proprium and then see that all good and truth are from the lord, indeed see that what in the human being is from the lord is always the lord's and never man's. he who believes otherwise is like one who has his master's goods in his care and claims them himself or appropriates them--he is no steward, but a thief. as man's proprium is nothing but evil, he also immerses the goods in his evil, by which they are destroyed like pearls thrown into dung or into acid. * so numbered in the latin original. . ( iii) _all that a man is persuaded of and confirms remains with him as his own._ many believe that no truth can be seen by man without confirmations of it, but this is false. in civic and economic matters in a kingdom or republic what is useful and good can be seen only with some knowledge of its numerous statutes and ordinances; in judicial matters only with knowledge of the law; and in natural subjects, like physics, chemistry, anatomy, mechanics and others, only on acquaintance with those sciences. but in purely rational, moral and spiritual matters, truths appear in light of their own, if man has become somewhat rational, moral and spiritual through a suitable education. this is because everyone as to his spirit, which is what thinks, is in the spiritual world and is one among those there, consequently is in spiritual light, which enlightens the interiors of his understanding and, as it were, dictates. for spiritual light in essence is the divine truth of the lord's divine wisdom. thence it is that man can think analytically, form conclusions about what is just and right in matters of judgment, see what is honorable in moral life and good in spiritual life, and see many truths, which are darkened only by the confirmation of falsities. man sees them almost as readily as he sees another's disposition from his face or perceives his affections from the sound of his voice, with no further knowledge than is implanted in one. why should not man in some measure see from influx the interiors of his life, which are spiritual and moral, when there is no animal that does not know by influx all things necessary to it, which are natural? a bird knows how to build its nest, lay its eggs, hatch its young and recognize its food, besides other wonders which are named instinct. . how this state is changed, however, by confirmations and consequent persuasions will be told now in this order: . there is nothing that cannot be confirmed, and falsity is confirmed more readily than truth. . truth does not appear when falsity has been confirmed, but falsity is apparent from confirmed truth. . the ability to confirm whatever one pleases is not intelligence but only ingenuity, to be found in the worst of men. . confirmation may be mental and not at the same time volitional, but all volitional confirmation is also mental. . confirmation of evil both volitional and intellectual causes man to believe that one's own prudence is everything and divine providence nothing, but not confirmation solely intellectual. . everything confirmed by the will and at the same time by the understanding, remains to eternity, but not what has been confirmed only by the understanding. [ ] touching the first, that _there is nothing that cannot be confirmed, and that falsity is confirmed more readily than truth._ what, indeed, cannot be confirmed when atheists confirm that god is not the creator of the universe but that nature is her own creator; that religion is only a restraint and is for simple and common folks; that man is like the beast and dies like one; that adultery and secret theft, fraud and deceitful schemes are allowable, and that cunning is intelligence and wickedness is wisdom. everyone confirms his heresy. volumes are filled with confirmations of the two heresies prevalent in christendom. assemble ten heresies, however abstruse, ask an ingenious man to confirm them, and he will confirm them all. if you regard them then solely from the confirmations of them, will you not be seeing falsities as truth? since all that is false lights up in the natural man from its appearances and fallacies, but truth lights up only in the spiritual man, plainly falsity can be confirmed more readily than truth. [ ] for it to be known that everything false and everything evil can be confirmed even to the point that what is false seems true and what is evil seems to be good, take for example the confirmation that light is darkness and darkness is light. a man may ask: "what is light `in itself'? is not light only something which appears in the eye according to the eye's condition? what is light when the eye is closed? do not bats and owls have eyes to see light as darkness and darkness as light? i have heard it said that some persons see in like manner, and that infernal spirits, despite being in darkness, see one another. does one not have light in his dreams in the middle of the night? is darkness not light, therefore, and light darkness?" it can be replied, "what of that? light is light as truth is truth, and darkness is darkness as falsity is falsity." [ ] take a further example: confirmation that the crow is white. may its blackness not be said to be only a shading which is not the real fact? its feathers are white inside, its body, too; and these are the stuff of which the bird is made. as its blackness is a shading, the crow turns white as it grows old--some such have been seen. what is black in itself but white? pulverize black glass and you will see that the powder is white. when you call the crow black, therefore, you are speaking of the shadow and not of the reality. the reply can be, "what of it? all birds should be called white then." contrary as they are to sound reason, these arguments have been recited to show that it is possible to confirm falsity that is directly opposite to truth and evil that is directly opposite to good. [ ] second: _truth does not appear when falsity has been confirmed, but falsity is apparent from truth confirmed._ all falsity is in darkness and all truth in light. in darkness nothing is seen, nor indeed is it known what anything is except by contact with it, but it is different in the light. in the word falsities are therefore called darkness, and those who are in falsities are said to walk in darkness and in the shadow of death. in turn, truths are called light in it, and those who are in truths are said to walk in the light and to be the children of light. [ ] there is much to show that when falsity has been confirmed, truth does not appear, but when truth has been confirmed, falsity is apparent. for instance, who would see a spiritual truth unless the word taught it? would there not be darkness that could be dispelled only by the light in which the word is, and only with one who wishes to be enlightened? what heretic can see his falsities unless he welcomes the genuine truth of the church? until then he does not see them. i have talked with those who confirmed themselves in faith apart from charity and who were asked whether they saw the frequent mention in the word of love and charity, works and deeds, and keeping the commandments, and the declaration that the man who keeps the commandments is blessed and wise, but the man who does not is foolish. they said that on reading these things they saw them only as matters of faith, and passed them by with their eyes closed, so to speak. [ ] those who have confirmed themselves in falsities are like men who see streaks on a wall, and at twilight fancy that they see the figure of a horseman or just of a man, a visionary image which is dissipated when the daylight floods in. who can sense the spiritual uncleanness of adultery except one who is in the cleanliness of chastity? who can feel the cruelty of vengeance except one who is in good from love to the neighbor? what adulterer or what avenger does not sneer at those who call enjoyment in such acts as theirs infernal but the enjoyments of marital love and neighborly love heavenly? and so on. [ ] third: _the ability to confirm whatever one pleases is not intelligence but only ingenuity, to be found in the worst of men._ some show the greatest dexterity in confirmation, who know no truth and yet can confirm both truth and falsity. some of them remark, "what is truth? is there such a thing? is not that true which i make true?" in the world they are believed to be intelligent, and yet they are only daubing a wall.* only those are intelligent who perceive truth to be truth and who confirm it by verities constantly perceived. little difference may be seen between the latter and the former because one cannot distinguish between the light of confirmation and the light of the perception of truth. those in the light of confirmation seem also to be in the light of the perception of truth. yet the difference is like that between illusory light and genuine. in the spiritual world illusory light is such that it turns into darkness when genuine light flows in. there is such illusory light with many in hell; on being brought out into genuine light they see nothing at all. it is evident, then, that to be able to confirm whatever one pleases is only ingenuity, which the worst of men may have. * cf. ezekiel : , and _arcana caelestia_ n. ( ), apocalypse explained nn. ( ) and ( ). tr. [ ] fourth: _confirmation may be mental and not at the same time volitional, but all volitional confirmation is also mental._ let an example serve to illustrate this. those who confirm faith separate from charity and yet live the life of charity, and in general those who confirm a falsity of doctrine and yet do not live according to it, are in intellectual confirmation but not at the same time volitional. on the other hand, those who confirm falsity of doctrine and live according to it are in volitional and at the same time in intellectual confirmation. for the understanding does not flow into the will, but the will into the understanding. hence it is plain what falsity of evil is, and what falsity not of evil is. falsity which is not of evil can be conjoined with good, but falsity of evil cannot be. for falsity which is not of evil is falsity in the understanding but not in the will, while falsity of evil is falsity in the understanding which comes of evil in the will. [ ] fifth: _confirmation of evil, both volitional and intellectual, but not confirmation only intellectual, causes man to believe that his own prudence is everything and divine providence nothing._ many confirm their own prudence in themselves on the strength of appearances in the world, and yet do not deny divine providence; theirs is only intellectual confirmation. but in others, who deny divine providence at the same time, there is volitional confirmation; this, together with persuasion, is found chiefly in worshipers of nature and also in worshipers of self. [ ] sixth: _everything confirmed by the will and at the same time by the understanding remains to eternity, but not what is confirmed only by the understanding._ for what pertains to the understanding alone is not within man but outside him; it is only in the thought. nothing enters man and is appropriated to him except what is received by the will; then it comes to be of his life's love. this, it will be shown in the next number, remains to eternity. . everything confirmed by both the will and the understanding remains to eternity because everyone is his own love, and love attaches to the will; also because everyone is his own good or his own evil, for that is called good or evil which belongs to the love. since man is his own love he is also the form of his love, and may be called the organ of his life's love. it was stated above (n. ) that the affections of man's love and his resulting thoughts are changes and variations of the state and form of the organic substances of his mind. what these changes and variations are and their nature will be explained now. some idea of them may be obtained from the alternating expansions and compressions or dilations and contractions in the heart and lungs, called in the heart systole and diastole, and in the lungs respirations. these are reciprocal extensions and retractions or expansions and contractions of their lobes. such are the changes and variations in the state of the heart and lungs. such changes and variations occur in the other viscera of the body and in their parts, too, by which the blood and the animal juices are received and transmitted. [ ] similar changes and variations take place in the organic forms of the mind, which, as we showed above, are the substances underlying man's affections and thoughts. there is a difference. their expansions and compressions or reciprocal activities in comparison have so much greater perfection that they cannot be described in words of natural language, but only in words of spiritual language, which can sound only as saying that the changes and variations are vortical gyrations in and out, after the manner of perpetually winding spirals wonderfully massed into forms receptive of life. [ ] now to tell the nature of these purely organic substances and forms in the evil and in the good respectively: in the good the spiral forms travel forward, in the evil backward; the forward-traveling are turned to the lord and receive influx from him; the retrogressive are turned towards hell and receive influx from hell. it should be known that in the measure in which they turn backward these forms are open behind and closed in front; and on the other hand in the measure in which they turn forward, they are open in front and closed behind. [ ] this can make plain what kind of form or organ an evil man is and what kind of form or organ a good man is, and that they are turned in opposite directions. as the turning once established cannot be twisted back it is plain that man remains to eternity such as he is at death. the love of man's will is what effects this turning, or is what either converts or inverts, for, as was said above, each person is his own love. hence, on death, everyone goes the way of his love, the man in a good love to heaven, and the man in an evil love to hell, nor does he rest except in that society where his ruling love is. marvelous it is that each knows the way; it is as though he scents it. . (iv) _if man believed, as is the truth, that all good and truth are from the lord and all evil and falsity from hell, he would not appropriate good to himself and consider it merited, nor evil and make himself responsible for it._ this is contrary to the belief of those who have confirmed in themselves the appearance that wisdom and prudence come from man and do not flow in according to the state of the organization of the mind, treated of above (n. ). it must therefore be demonstrated, and to be done clearly, it will be done in this order: . one who confirms in himself the appearance that wisdom and prudence are from man and thus in him as his, must take the view that otherwise he would not be a man, but either a beast or a statue; yet the contrary is true. . to believe and think, as is the truth, that all good and truth are from the lord and all evil and falsity from hell, seems impossible, yet is truly human and hence angelic. . so to believe and think is impossible to those who do not acknowledge the divine of the lord and that evils are sins, but possible for those who make these two acknowledgments. . those who make the two acknowledgments alone reflect on the evils in themselves, and so far as they flee them and are averse to them, they send them back to hell from which they come. . so divine providence appropriates neither evil nor good to anyone, but one's own prudence appropriates both. . these propositions will be explained in the order proposed. first: _one who confirms in himself the appearance that wisdom and prudence are from man and thus in him as his, must take the view that otherwise he would not be a man, but either a beast or a statue; yet the contrary is true._ it comes from a law of divine providence that man is to think as it were from himself and act prudently as of himself, but still acknowledge that he does so from the lord. it follows that one who thinks and acts prudently as of himself and acknowledges at the same time that he does so from the lord, is a man, but that person is not who confirms in himself the idea that all he thinks and does is from himself. neither is he a man who, knowing that wisdom and prudence are from god, keeps awaiting influx. this man becomes like a statue, the other like a beast. one who waits for influx is obviously like a statue; he is sure to stand or sit motionless, his hands dropped, his eyes closed or, if open, unblinking, and neither thinking nor breathing. what life has he then? [ ] plainly, too, one who believes that everything he thinks and does is from himself is not unlike a beast. for he thinks only from the natural mind which man has in common with beasts, and not from the spiritual, rational mind which is the truly human mind; for this mind acknowledges that god alone thinks from himself and that man does so from god. therefore one who thinks only from the natural mind knows no difference between man and animal except that man speaks and a beast makes sounds, and he believes they die alike. [ ] something further is to be said about those who await influx. they receive none, except for a few who desire it with the whole heart. these at times receive some response through a living perception in thought or by tacit utterance but rarely by an explicit one, and this then is that they should think and act as they determine and are able, and that one who acts wisely is wise and one who acts foolishly is foolish. they are never instructed what to believe or do, in order that human rationality and liberty may not perish, that is, in order that everyone shall act in freedom according to reason in all appearance as of himself. those who are told by influx what they are to believe or do are not being instructed by the lord, nor by any angel of heaven, but by some spirit, an enthusiast, quaker or moravian, and are being misled. all influx from the lord is effected by enlightenment of the understanding and by an affection of truth, and passes by the latter into the former. [ ] second: _to believe and think, as is the truth, that all good and truth are from the lord and all evil and falsity from hell, seems impossible, yet is truly human and hence angelic._ to believe and think that all good and truth are from god seems possible, if no more is said, for it falls in with a theological belief contrary to which it is not allowable to think. but to believe and think also that all evil and falsity are from hell seems impossible, for in that belief man would not think at all. but man still thinks as from himself though it is from hell, for the lord grants to everyone that his thought, wherever it is from, shall appear to be his own in him. else man would not live as a human being, nor could he be led out of hell and brought into heaven, that is, be reformed, as we have shown many times. [ ] therefore the lord also grants man to know and consequently to think that when he is in evil he is in hell, and that if he thinks evil he thinks from hell. he likewise grants him to think of the means by which he can escape from hell and not think from hell, but enter heaven and in heaven think from the lord, and he grants man the freedom to choose. from all this it may be seen that man can think evil and falsity as if from himself and also think that this or that is evil or false; consequently that it is only an appearance that he does so of himself, an appearance without which he would not be man. to think from truth is what is human itself and consequently angelic itself; it is a truth that man does not think from himself, but is granted by the lord to think from himself to all appearance. [ ] third: _so to believe and think is impossible to those who do not acknowledge the divine of the lord and that evils are sins, but possible to those who make the two acknowledgments._ it is impossible to those who do not acknowledge the divine of the lord, for the lord alone gives man to think and will; and those who do not acknowledge the divine of the lord, being separated from him believe that they think for themselves. it is impossible also to those who do not acknowledge evils to be sins, for they think then from hell, and in hell everyone supposes that he thinks from himself. that it is possible, however, to those who make the two acknowledgments can be seen from what was set forth fully above (nn. - ). [ ] fourth: _only those who live in the two acknowledgments reflect on the evils in themselves, and so far as they shun and are averse to them, they send them back to hell from which they come._ all know or can know that evil is from hell and good is from heaven. who then cannot know that so far as man shuns and is averse to evil he shuns and is averse to hell? he can know then, too, that so far as he shuns and is averse to evil, he wills and loves what is good, and consequently is so far released from hell by the lord and led to heaven. every rational person may see these things provided he knows that heaven and hell exist, where good and evil have their respective origins. if, now, he reflects on the evils in him, which is the same thing as examining himself, and shuns them, he disengages himself from hell, puts it behind him, and brings himself into heaven, where he beholds the lord before him. man does this, we say, but he does it as of himself and from the lord now. when a man acknowledges this truth out of a good heart and in a devout faith, it lies inwardly hidden in all that he thinks and does afterwards as of himself. it is like the prolific force in a seed which remains in it even until new seed is produced, and like the pleasure in one's appetite for food the wholesomeness of which one has learned; in a word, like heart and soul in all he thinks and does. [ ] fifth: _so divine providence appropriates neither evil nor good to anyone, but one's own prudence appropriates both._ this follows from all that has been said. good is the objective of divine providence; it purposes good in all its activity, therefore. accordingly, it does not appropriate good to anyone, for then this would become self-righteous; nor does it appropriate evil to anyone, for so it would make him responsible for evil. but man does both by his proprium, for this is nothing but evil. the proprium of the will is self-love and that of the understanding is the pride of self-intelligence, and of these comes man's own prudence. xvii. every man can be reformed, and there is no predestination [as commonly understood*] * see n. - tr. . sound reason dictates that all are predestined to heaven and none to hell, for all are born human beings and consequently god's image is in them. god's image in them consists in their ability to understand truth and to do good. the ability to understand truth comes from the divine wisdom, and the ability to do good from the divine love. this ability, which is god's image, remains in any sane person and is not eradicated. hence it is that he can become a civil and moral man, and one who is civil and moral can also become spiritual, for the civil and moral is a receptacle of what is spiritual. he is called a civil man who knows and lives according to the laws of the kingdom of which he is a citizen; he is called a moral man who makes those laws his ethics and his virtues and from reason lives by them. [ ] let me say how civil and moral life is the receptacle of spiritual life. live these laws not only as civil and moral laws but also as divine laws, and you will be a spiritual man. there is hardly a nation so barbarous that it has not by law prohibited murder, adultery, theft, false witness and damage to what is another's. the civil and moral man keeps these laws that he may be, or seem to be, a good citizen. if he does not consider them divine laws also he is only a civil and moral natural man, but if he considers them divine also, he becomes a civil and moral spiritual man. the difference is that the latter is a good citizen both of an earthly kingdom and of a heavenly, while the former is a good citizen only of the earthly kingdom and not of the heavenly. they are distinguishable by the good they do. the good done by civil and moral natural men is not in itself good, for man and the world are in it; the good done by civil and moral spiritual men is in itself good, because the lord and heaven are in it. [ ] from all this it may be seen that every person, because he is born able to become a civil and moral natural being, is also born able to become a civil and moral spiritual man. he has only to acknowledge god and not commit evils because they are against god, but do good because good is siding with god. then spirit enters into his civil and moral actions and they live; otherwise there is no spirit in them and hence they are not living. therefore the natural man, however much he acts like a civil and moral being, is spoken of as dead, but the spiritual man is spoken of as living. [ ] of the lord's divine providence every nation has some religion, and primary in every religion is the acknowledgment that god is, else it is not called a religion. every nation that lives its religion, that is, does not do evil because this is contrary to its god, receives something spiritual in its natural life. who, on hearing a gentile say he will not do this or that evil because it is contrary to his god, does not say to himself, "is this person not saved? it seems, it cannot be otherwise." sound reason tells him this. on the other hand, hearing a christian say, "i make no account of this or that evil. what does it mean to say that it is contrary to god?" one says to himself, "this man is not saved, is he? it would seem, he cannot be." sound reason dictates this also. [ ] should someone say, "i was born a christian, have been baptized, have known the lord, read the word, observed the sacrament of the supper," what does this amount to when he does not count as sins murder, or the revenge breathing it, adultery, stealing, false witness, or lying, and different sorts of violence? does such a person think of god or of eternal life? does he think they exist? does sound reason not dictate that such a man cannot be saved? this has been said of a christian, for a gentile in his life gives more thought to god from religion than a christian does. but more is to be said on these points in what follows in this order: i. the goal of creation is a heaven from mankind. ii. of divine providence, therefore, every man can be saved, and those are saved who acknowledge god and live rightly. iii. man himself is in fault if he is not saved. iv. thus all are predestined to heaven, and no one to hell. . (i) _the goal of creation is a heaven from mankind._ it has been shown above and in the work, _heaven and hell_ (london, ), that heaven consists solely of those who have been born as human beings. since heaven consists of no others, it follows that the purpose of creation is a heaven from mankind. this has been shown above (nn. - ), it is true, but will be seen more clearly still with explanation of the following: . everyone is created to live forever. . everyone is created to live forever in a blessed state. . thus every person has been created to enter heaven. . the divine love cannot but will this, and the divine wisdom cannot but provide it. . one can see from these points that divine providence is none other than predestination to heaven and cannot be altered into anything else. we must now demonstrate, therefore, in the order proposed, that the goal of creation is a heaven from the human race. first: _everyone has been created to live to eternity._ in the treatise _divine love and wisdom,_ parts iii and v, it was shown that there are three degrees of life in man, called natural, spiritual and celestial, that they are actually in everyone, and that in animals there is only one degree of life, which is like the lowest degree in man, called the natural. the result is that by the elevation of his life to the lord man is in such a state above that of animals that he can comprehend what is of divine wisdom, and will what is of divine love, in other words, receive what is divine; and he who can receive what is divine, so as to see and perceive it within him, cannot but be united with the lord and by the union live to eternity. [ ] what would the lord do with all the created universe if he had not also created images and likenesses of himself to whom he could communicate his divine? what would he exist for, otherwise, except to make this and not that or bring something into existence but not something else, and this merely to be able to contemplate from afar only incidents and constant changes as on a stage? what would there be divine in these unless they were for the purpose of serving subjects who would receive the divine more intimately and see and sense it? the divine is of an inexhaustible glory and would not keep it to itself, nor could. for love wants to communicate its own to another, indeed to impart all it can of itself. must not divine love do this, then, being infinite? can it impart and then take away? would that not be to give what will perish, what in itself is nothing, coming to nothing when it perishes? what really _is_ is not in it. but divine love imparts what really _is_ or what does not cease to be, and this is eternal. [ ] in order that a man may live forever, what is mortal with him is taken away. this mortal of his is his material body, which is taken away by its death. his immortal, which is his mind, is thus laid bare and he becomes a spirit in human form; his mind is this spirit. ancient sages and wise men perceived that man's mind cannot die. they asked how the mind could die when it is capable of wisdom. few today know the interior idea they had in this. it was the idea, slipping into their general perception from heaven, that god is wisdom itself, of which man partakes, and god is immortal or eternal. [ ] since it has been granted me to speak with angels, i will say something from experience. i have spoken with those who lived many ages ago, with some who lived before the flood and some who lived after it, with some who lived at the time of the lord and with one of his apostles, and with many who lived in the centuries since. they all seemed like men of middle age and said that they do not know what death can be unless it is condemnation. further, all who have lived well, on coming into heaven, come into the state of early manhood in the world and continue in it to eternity, even those who had been old and decrepit in the world. women, too, although they had become shrunken and old, return into the bloom and beauty of their youth. [ ] that man lives after death to eternity is manifest from the word, where life in heaven is called eternal life, as in mt : , : ; mk : ; lu : , : ; jn : , , , : , , , : , , , : ; also called simply life (mt : , ; jn : , : ). the lord also told his disciples, because i live, you will live also (jn : ), and concerning resurrection said that god is god of the living and not god of the dead, and that they cannot die any more (lu : , ). [ ] second: _everyone is created to live forever in a blessed state._ this naturally follows. he who wills that man shall live forever also wills that he shall live in a blessed state. what would eternal life be without this? all love desires the good of another. the love of parents desires the good of their children, the love of the bridegroom and the husband desires the good of the bride and the wife, and love in friendship desires the good of one's friends. what then must divine love desire! what is good but enjoyment, and divine good but eternal blessedness? all good is so named for its enjoyableness or blessedness. true, anything one is given or possesses is also called good, but again, unless it is enjoyable, it is a barren good, not in itself good. clearly, then, eternal life is also eternal blessedness. this state of man is the aim of creation; that only those who come into heaven are in that state is not the lord's fault but man's. that man is in fault will be seen in what follows. [ ] third: _thus every person has been created to come into heaven._ this is the goal of creation, but not all enter heaven because they become imbued with the enjoyments of hell, the opposite of heavenly blessedness. those who are not in the blessedness of heaven cannot enter heaven, for they cannot endure doing so. no one who comes into the spiritual world is refused ascent into heaven, but when one ascends who is in the enjoyment of hell his heart pounds, his breathing labors, his life ebbs, he is in anguish and torment and writhes like a snake placed near a fire. this happens because opposites act against each other. [ ] nevertheless, having been born human beings, consequently with the faculties of thought and volition and hence of speech and action, they cannot die, but they can live only with those in a similar enjoyment of life and are sent to them, those in enjoyments of evil to their like, as those in enjoyments of good are to their like. indeed, everyone is granted the enjoyment of his evil provided that he does not molest those who are in the enjoyment of good. still, as evil is bound to molest good, for inherently it hates good, those who are in evil are removed lest they inflict injury and are cast down to their own places in hell, where their enjoyment is turned into joylessness. [ ] but this does not alter the fact that by creation and hence by birth man is such that he can enter heaven. for everyone who dies in infancy enters heaven, is brought up there and instructed as one is in the world, and by the affection of good and truth is imbued with wisdom and becomes an angel. so could the man become who is brought up and instructed in the world; the same is in him as in an infant. on infants in the spiritual world see the work _heaven and hell,_ london, (nn. - ). [ ] this does not take place, however, with many in the world because they love the first level of their life, called natural, and do not purpose to withdraw from it and become spiritual. the natural degree of life, in itself regarded, loves only self and the world, for it keeps close to the bodily senses, which are to the fore, also, in the world. but the spiritual degree of life regarded in itself loves the lord and heaven, and self and the world, too, but god and heaven as higher, paramount and controlling, and self and the world as lower, instrumental and subservient. [ ] fourth: _divine love cannot but will this, and divine wisdom cannot but provide it._ it was fully shown in the treatise _divine love and wisdom_ that the divine essence is divine love and wisdom, and it was also demonstrated there (nn. - ) that in every human embryo the lord forms two receptacles, one of the divine love and the other of the divine wisdom, the former for man's future will and the latter for his future understanding, and that in this way the lord has endowed each human being with the faculty of willing good and the faculty of understanding truth. [ ] inasmuch as man is endowed from birth with these two faculties by the lord, and the lord then is in them as in what is his own with man, it is manifest that his divine love cannot but will that man should come into heaven and his divine wisdom cannot but provide for this. but since it is of the lord's divine love that man should feel heavenly blessedness in himself as his own, and this cannot be unless man is kept in the appearance that he thinks, wills, speaks and acts of himself, the lord can therefore lead man only according to the laws of his divine providence. . (ii) _of divine providence, therefore, every man can be saved, and those are saved who acknowledge god and live rightly._ it is plain from what has been demonstrated above that every human being can be saved. some persons suppose that the lord's church is to be found only in christendom, because only there is the lord known and the word possessed. still many believe that the lord's church is general, that is, extends and is scattered throughout the world, existing thus with those who do not know the lord or possess the word. they say that those men are not in fault and are without means to overcome their ignorance. they believe that it is contrary to god's love and mercy that any should be born for hell who are equally human beings. [ ] inasmuch as many christians, if not all, have faith that the church is common to many--it is in fact called a communion--there must be some very widely shared things of the church that enter all religions and that constitute this communion. these most widely shared factors are acknowledgment of god and good of life, as will be seen in this order: . acknowledgment of god effects a conjunction of god and man; denial of god causes disjunction. . each one acknowledges god and is conjoined with him in accord with the goodness of his life. . goodness of life, or living rightly, is shunning evils because they are contrary to religion, thus to god. . these are factors common to all religions, and by them anyone can be saved. . to clarify and demonstrate these propositions one by one. first: _acknowledgment of god brings conjunction of god and man; denial of god results in disjunction._ some may think that those who do not acknowledge god can be saved equally with those who do, if they lead a moral life. they ask, "what does acknowledgment accomplish? is it not merely a thought? can i not 'acknowledge god when i learn for certain that god there is? i have heard of him but not seen him. let me see him and i will believe." such is the language of many who deny god when they have an opportunity to argue with one who acknowledges god. but that an acknowledgment of god conjoins and denial disjoins will be clarified by some things made known to me in the spiritual world. in that world when anyone thinks of another and desires to speak with him, the other is at once present. the explanation is that there is no distance in the spiritual world such as there is in the natural, but only an appearance of distance. [ ] a second phenomenon: as thought from some acquaintance with another causes his presence, love from affection for another causes conjunction with him. so spirits move about, converse as friends, dwell together in one house or in one community, meet often, and render one another services. the opposite happens, also; one who does not love another and still more one who hates another does not see or encounter him; the distance between them is according to the degree in which love is wanting or hatred is present. indeed, one who is present and recalls his hatred, vanishes. [ ] from these few particulars it may be evident whence presence and conjunction come in the spiritual world. presence comes with the recollection of another with a desire to see him, and conjunction comes of an affection which springs from love. this is true also of all things in the human mind. there are countless things in the mind, and its least parts are associated and conjoined in accord with affections or as one thing attracts another. [ ] this is spiritual conjunction and it is the same in things large and things small. it has its origin in the conjunction of the lord with the spiritual world and the natural world in general and in detail. it is manifest from this that in the measure in which one knows the lord and thinks of him from knowledge of him, in that measure the lord is present, and in the measure in which one acknowledges him from an affection of love, in that measure the lord is united with him. on the other hand, in the measure of one's ignorance of the lord, in that measure he is absent; and so far as one denies him, so far is he separated from one. [ ] the result of conjunction is that the lord turns man's face towards himself and thereupon leads him; the disjunction results in hell's turning man's face to it and it leads him. therefore all the angels of heaven turn their faces towards the lord as the sun, and all the spirits of hell avert their faces from the lord. it is plain from this what the acknowledgment of god and the denial of god each accomplish. those who deny god in the world deny him after death also; they have become organized as described above (n. ); the organization induced in the world remains to eternity. [ ] second: _everyone acknowledges god and is conjoined with him according to the goodness of his life._ all who know something of religion can know god; from information or from the memory they can also speak about god, and some may also think about him from the understanding. but this only brings about presence if a man does not live rightly, for despite it all he can turn away from god and towards hell, and this takes place if he lives wickedly. only those who live rightly can acknowledge god with the heart, and these the lord turns away from hell and towards himself according to the goodness of their life. for these alone love god; for in doing what comes from him they love what is divine. the precepts of his law are divine things from him. they are god because he is his own proceeding divine. as this is to love god, the lord says: he who keeps my commandments is he who loves me . . . but he who does not keep my commandments does not love me (jn : , ). [ ] here is the reason why there are two tables of the decalog, one having reference to god and the other to man. god works unceasingly that man may receive what is in his table, but if man does not do what he is bidden in his own table he does not receive with acknowledgment of heart what is in god's table, and if he does not receive this he is not conjoined. the two tables were joined, therefore, to be one and are called the tables of the covenant; covenant means conjunction. one acknowledges god and is conjoined to him in accord with the goodness of his life because this good is like the good in the lord and consequently comes from the lord. so when man is in the good of life there is conjunction. the contrary takes place with evil of life; it rejects the lord. [ ] third: _goodness of life, or living rightly, is shunning evils because they are contrary to religion, thus to god._ that this is good of life or living rightly is fully shown in _doctrine of life for the new jerusalem,_ from beginning to end. to this i will only add that if you do good aplenty, build churches for instance, adorn them and fill them with offerings, spend money lavishly on hospitals and hostels, give alms daily, aid widows and orphans, diligently observe the sanctities of worship, indeed think and speak and preach about them as from the heart, and yet do not shun evils as sins against god, all those good deeds are not goodness. they are either hypocritical or done for merit, for evil is still deep in them. everyone's life pervades all that he does. goods become good only by the removal of evil from them. plainly, then, shunning evils because they are contrary to religion and thus to god is living rightly. [ ] fourth: _these are factors common to all religions, and anyone can be saved by them._ to acknowledge god, and to refrain from evil because it is contrary to god, are the two acts that make religion to be religion. if one is lacking, it cannot be called religion, for to acknowledge god and to do evil is a contradiction; so it is, too, to do good and yet not acknowledge god; one is impossible apart from the other. the lord has provided that there should be some religion almost everywhere and that these two elements should be in it, and has also provided that everyone who acknowledges god and refrains from doing evil because it is against god shall have a place in heaven. for heaven as a whole is like one man whose life or soul is the lord. in that heavenly man are all things to be found in a natural man with the difference which obtains between the heavenly and the natural. [ ] it is a matter of common knowledge that in the human being there are not only forms organized of blood vessels and nerve fibres, but also skins, membranes, tendons, cartilages, bones, nails and teeth. these have a smaller measure of life than those organized forms, which they serve as ligaments, coverings or supports. for all these entities to be in the heavenly humanity, which is heaven, it cannot be made up of human beings all of one religion, but of men of many religions. therefore all who make these two universals of the church part of their lives have a place in this heavenly man, that is, heaven, and enjoy happiness each in his measure. more on the subject may be seen above (n. ). [ ] that these two are primary in all religion is evident from the fact that they are the two which the decalog teaches. the decalog was the first of the word, promulgated by jehovah from mount sinai by a living voice, and also inscribed on two tables of stone by the finger of god. then, placed in the ark, the decalog was called jehovah, and it made the holy of holies in the tabernacle and the shrine in the temple of jerusalem; all things in each were holy only on account of it. much more about the decalog in the ark is to be had from the word, which is cited in _doctrine of life for the new jerusalem_ (nn. - ). to that i will add this. from the word we know that the ark with the two tables in it on which the decalog was written was captured by the philistines and placed in the temple of dagon in ashdod; that dagon fell to the ground before it, and afterward his head, together with the palms of the hands, torn from his body, lay on the temple threshold; that the people of ashdod and ekron to the number of many thousands were smitten with hemorrhoids and their land was ravaged by mice; that on the advice of the chiefs of their nation, the philistines made five golden hemorrhoids, five golden mice and a new cart, and on this placed the ark with the golden hemorrhoids and mice beside it; with two cows that lowed before the cart along the way, they sent the ark back to the children of israel and by them cows and cart were offered in sacrifice ( sa and ). [ ] to state now what all this signified: the philistines signified those who are in faith separated from charity; dagon signified that religiosity; the hemorrhoids by which they were smitten signified natural loves which when severed from spiritual love are unclean, and the mice signified the devastation of the church by falsification of truth. the new cart on which the philistines sent back the ark signified a new but still natural doctrine (chariot in the word signifies doctrine from spiritual truths), and the cows signified good natural affections. hemorrhoids of gold signified natural loves purified and made good, and the golden mice signified an end to the devastation of the church by means of good, for in the word gold signifies good. the lowing of the kine on the way signified the difficult conversion of the lusts of evil of the natural man into good affections. that cows and cart were offered up as a burnt offering signified that so the lord was propitiated. [ ] this is how what is told historically is understood spiritually. gather all into a single conception and make the application. that those who are in faith severed from charity are represented by the philistines, see _doctrine of the new jerusalem about faith_ (nn. - ), and that the ark was the most holy thing of the church because of the decalog enclosed in it, see _doctrine of life for the new jerusalem_ (nn. - ). . (iii) _man himself is in fault if he is not saved._ as soon as he hears it any rational man acknowledges the truth that evil cannot issue from good nor good from evil, for they are opposites; consequently only good comes of good and only evil of evil. when this truth is acknowledged this also is: that good can be turned into evil not by a good but by an evil recipient; for any form changes into its own nature what flows into it (see above, n. ). inasmuch as the lord is good in its very essence or good itself, plainly evil cannot issue from him or be produced by him, but good can be turned into evil by a recipient subject whose form is a form of evil. such a subject is man as to his proprium. this constantly receives good from the lord and constantly turns it into the nature of its own form, which is one of evil. it follows that man is in fault if he is not saved. evil is indeed from hell but as man receives it from hell as his and appropriates it to himself, it is the same whether one says that evil is from man or from hell. but whence there is an appropriation of evil until finally religion perishes will be told in this order: . every religion declines and comes to an end in the course of time. . it does so through the inversion of god's image in man. . this takes place through a continual increase of hereditary evil over the generations. . nevertheless the lord provides that everyone may be saved. . it is also provided that a new church shall succeed in place of the former devastated church. . these points are to be demonstrated in the order given. first: _every religion declines and comes to an end in the course of time._ there have been several churches on this earth, one after another, for wherever mankind is, a church is. for, as was shown above, heaven, which is the goal of creation, is from mankind, and no one can enter heaven unless he is in the two universal marks of the church which, as was shown just above (n. ), are the acknowledgment of god and living aright. it follows that there have been churches on this earth from the most ancient times to the present. these churches are described in the word, but not historically except the israelitish and jewish church. there were churches before it which are only described in the word under the names of nations and persons and in a few items about them. [ ] the first, the most ancient church, is described under the names of adam and his wife eve. the next church, to be called the ancient church, is described by noah, his three sons and their posterity. this church was widespread and extended over many of the kingdoms of asia: the land of canaan on both sides of the jordan, syria, assyria and chaldea, mesopotamia, egypt, arabia, tyre and sidon. these had the ancient word _(doctrine of the new jerusalem about sacred scripture,_ nn. - ). that this church existed in those kingdoms is evident from various things recorded about them in the prophetical parts of the word. this church was markedly altered by eber, from whom arose the hebrew church, in which worship by sacrifices was first instituted. from the hebrew church the israelitish and jewish church was born and solemnly established for the sake of the word which was composed in it. [ ] these four churches are meant by the statue seen by nebuchadnezzar in a dream, the head of which was of pure gold, the breast and arms of silver, the belly and thighs of brass, and the legs and feet of iron and clay (da : , ). nor is anything else meant by the golden, silver, copper and iron ages mentioned by ancient writers. needless to say, the christian church succeeded the jewish. it can be seen from the word that all these churches declined in the course of time, eventually coming to an end, called their consummation. [ ] the consummation of the most ancient church, brought about by the eating of the tree of knowledge, meaning by the pride of one's own intelligence, is depicted by the flood. the consummation of the ancient church is depicted in the various devastations of nations mentioned in the historical as well as the prophetical word and especially by the expulsion of the nations from the land of canaan by the children of israel. the consummation of the israelitish and jewish church is understood by the destruction of the temple at jerusalem and by the carrying away of the people of israel into permanent captivity and of the jewish nation to babylon, and finally by the second destruction of the temple and of jerusalem at the same time, and by the dispersion of that nation. this consummation is foretold in many places in the prophets and in daniel : - . the gradual devastation of the christian church even to its end is pictured by the lord in matthew ( ), mark ( ) and luke ( ), but the end itself in the apocalypse. hence it may be manifest that in the course of time a church declines and comes to an end; so does a religion. [ ] second: _every religion declines and comes to an end through the inversion of god's image in man._ it is known that the human being was created in the image and after the likeness of god (ge : ), but let us say what the image and the likeness of god are. god alone is love and wisdom; man was created to be a receptacle of both love and wisdom, his will to be a receptacle of divine love and his understanding a receptacle of the divine wisdom. these two receptacles, it was shown above, are in man from creation, constitute him, and are formed in everyone in the womb. man's being an image of god thus means that he is a recipient of the divine wisdom, and his being a likeness of god means that he is a recipient of the divine love. therefore the receptacle called the understanding is an image of god, and the receptacle called the will is a likeness of god. since, then, man was created and formed to be a receptacle, it follows that he was created and formed that his will might receive love from god and his understanding wisdom from god. he receives these when he acknowledges god and lives according to his precepts, receiving them in lesser or larger measure as by religion he has some knowledge of god and of his precepts, consequently according to his knowledge of truths. for truths teach what god is and how he is to be acknowledged, also what his precepts are and how man is to live according to them. [ ] the image and likeness of god have not been destroyed in man, but seem to have been; they remain inherent in his two faculties called liberty and rationality, of which we have treated above at many places. they seem to have been destroyed when man made the receptacle of divine love, namely, his will, a receptacle of self-love, and the receptacle of divine wisdom, namely, his understanding, a receptacle of his own intelligence. doing this, he inverted the image and likeness of god and turned these receptacles away from god and towards himself. consequently they have become closed above and open below, or closed in front and open behind, though by creation they were open in front and closed behind. when they have been opened and closed contrariwise, the receptacle of love, the will, receives influx from hell or from one's proprium; so does the receptacle of wisdom, the understanding. hence worship of men arose in the churches instead of the worship of god, and worship by doctrines of falsity instead of worship by doctrines of truth, the latter arising from man's own intelligence, and the former from love of self. thence it is evident that religion falls away in the course of time and is ended by the inversion of god's image in man. [ ] third: _this takes place as a result of a continual increase of hereditary evil over the generations._ it was said and explained above that hereditary evil does not come from adam and his wife eve by their having eaten of the tree of knowledge, but is derived and transmitted successively from parents to offspring. thus it grows by continual increase from generation to generation. when evil increases so among many, it spreads to many more, for in all evil there is a lust to lead astray, in some burning with anger against goodness--hence a contagion of evil. when the contagion reaches leaders, rulers and the prominent in the church, religion has become perverted, and the means of restoring it to health, namely truths, become corrupted by falsifications. as a result there is a gradual devastation of good and desolation of truth in the church on to its end. [ ] fourth: _nevertheless the lord provides that everyone may be saved._ he provides that there shall be religion everywhere and in it the two essentials for salvation, acknowledgment of god and ceasing from evil because it is contrary to god. other things, which pertain to the understanding and hence to the thinking, called matters of faith, are provided everyone in accord with his life, for they are accessory to life and if they have been given precedence, do not become living until they are subsidiary. it is also provided that those who have lived rightly and acknowledged god are instructed by angels after death. then those who were in the two essentials of religion while in the world accept such truths of the church as are in the word, and acknowledge the lord as god of heaven and of the church. this last they receive more readily than do christians who have brought with them from the world an idea of the lord's human nature parted from his divine. it is also provided by the lord that all are saved who die as infants, no matter where they have been born. [ ] furthermore, every person is given the opportunity after death of amending his life if possible. all are instructed and led by the lord by means of angels. knowing now that they live after death and that heaven and hell exist, they at first receive truths. but those who did not acknowledge god and shun evils as sins when in the world soon show a distaste for truths and draw back, and those who acknowledged truths with the lips but not with the heart are like the foolish virgins who had lamps but no oil and begged oil of others, also went off and bought some, but still were not admitted to the wedding. "lamps" signify truths of faith and "oil" signifies the good of charity. it may be evident then that divine providence sees to it that everyone can be saved and that man is himself in fault if he is not saved. [ ] fifth: _it is also provided that a new church shall succeed in place of a former devastated church._ it has been so from the most ancient days that on the devastation of a church a new one followed. the ancient church succeeded the most ancient; the israelitish or jewish church followed the ancient; after this came the christian church. and this, it is foretold in the apocalypse, will be followed by a new church, signified in that book by the new jerusalem descending from heaven. the reason why a new church is provided by the lord to follow in place of a former devastated church may be seen in _doctrine of the new jerusalem about sacred scripture_ (nn. - ). . (iv) _thus all are predestined to heaven, and no one to hell._ in the work _heaven and hell_ (london, ) we showed at nn. - that the lord casts no one into hell; the spirit himself does this. so it happens with every evil and impious person after death and also while he is in the world, with the difference that while he is in the world he can be reformed and can embrace and avail himself of the means of salvation, but not after departure from the world. the means of salvation are summed up in these two: that evils are to be shunned because they are contrary to the divine laws in the decalog and that it be acknowledged that god exists. everyone can do both if he does not love evils. for the lord is constantly flowing into his will with power for shunning evils and into his understanding with power to think that god there is. but no one can do the one without doing the other; the two are joined together like the two tables of the decalog, one relating to god and the other to man. in accordance with what is in his table the lord enlightens and empowers everyone, but man receives power and enlightenment so far as he does what he is bidden in his table. until then the two tables appear to be laid face to face and to be sealed, but as man acts on the biddings in his table they are unsealed and opened out. [ ] today is not the decalog like a small, closed book or document, opened only in the hands of children and the young? tell someone farther along in years, "do not do this because it is contrary to the decalog" and who gives heed? he may give heed if you say, "do not do this because it is contrary to divine laws," and yet the precepts of the decalog are the divine laws themselves. experiment was made with a number in the spiritual world, who at mention of the decalog or catechism rejected it with contempt. this is because in the second table, which is man's, the decalog teaches that evils are to be shunned, and one who does not do so, whether from impiety or from the religious tenet that deeds effect nothing, only faith does, hears mention of the decalog or catechism with disdain, as though it was a child's book he heard mentioned, no longer of use to adults. [ ] these things have been said in order that it may be known that a knowledge of the means by which one can be saved is not lacking to anyone, nor power if he wants to be saved. it follows that all are predestined to heaven and no one to hell. since, however, a belief in a predestination not to salvation but to damnation has prevailed with some, and this belief is damaging and cannot be broken up unless one's reason sees the insanity and cruelty in it, it is to be dealt with in this order: . predestination except to heaven is contrary to divine love and its infiniteness. . predestination other than to heaven is contrary to divine wisdom and its infiniteness. . that only those born in the church are saved is an insane heresy. . that any of mankind are condemned by predestination is a cruel heresy. . that it may be apparent how damaging the belief is in predestination as this is commonly understood, these four arguments are to be taken up and confirmed. first: _predestination except to heaven is contrary to divine love and its infiniteness._ in the treatise _divine love and wisdom_ we demonstrated that jehovah or the lord is divine love, is infinite, and is the esse of all life; also that the human being was created in god's image after god's likeness. as everyone is formed in the womb by the lord into that image and after that likeness, as was also shown, the lord is the heavenly father of all human beings and they are his spiritual children. so jehovah or the lord is called in the word, and so human beings are. therefore he says: do not call your father on earth your father, for one is your father, who is in the heavens (mt : ). this means that he alone is the father with reference to the life in us, and the earthly father is father of the covering on life, which is the body. in heaven, therefore, no one but the lord is called father. and from many passages in the word it is clear that those who do not pervert that life are said to be his sons and to be born from him. [ ] plainly, then, the divine love is in every man, an evil man as well as a good man, and the lord who is divine love cannot act otherwise than a father on earth does with his children, infinitely more lovingly because divine love is infinite. furthermore, he cannot withdraw from anyone because everyone's life is from him. he appears to withdraw from those who are evil, but it is they who withdraw, while he still in love leads them. thus the lord says: ask, and it shall be given you; seek and you will find; knock and it shall be opened to you . . . what man of you, if his son shall ask bread, will give him a stone? if you, then, who are evil, know how to give good things to your children, how much more shall your father, who is in heaven, give good things to those who ask him (mt : - ), and in another place, he makes his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the just and unjust (mt : ). it is also known in the church that the lord desires the salvation of all and the death of no one. it may be seen from all this that predestination except to heaven is contrary to divine love. [ ] second: _predestination other than to heaven is contrary to divine wisdom, which is infinite._ by its divine wisdom divine love provides the means by which every man can be saved. to say that there is any predestination except to heaven is therefore to say that divine love cannot provide means to salvation, when yet the means exist for all, as was shown above, and these are of divine providence which is boundless. the reason that there are those who are not saved is that divine love desires man to feel the felicity and blessedness of heaven for himself, else it would not be heaven to him, and this can be effected only as it seems to man that he thinks and wills of himself. for without this appearance nothing would be appropriated to him nor would he be a human being. to this end divine providence exists, which acts by divine wisdom out of divine love. [ ] but this does not do away with the truth that all are predestined to heaven and no one to hell. were the means to salvation lacking, it would; but, as was demonstrated above, the means to salvation have been provided for everyone, and heaven is such that all of whatever religion who live rightly have a place in it. man is like the earth which produces fruits of every kind, a power the earth has as the earth. that it also produces evil fruits does not do away with its capability of producing good fruits; it would if it could only produce evil fruits. or, again, man is like an object which variegates the rays of light in it. if the object gives only unpleasing colors, the light is not the cause, for its rays can be variegated to produce pleasing colors. [ ] third: _that only those who have been born in the church are saved is an insane heresy._ those born outside the church are human beings equally with those born within it; they have the same heavenly origin, and like them they are living and immortal souls. they also have some religion by virtue of which they acknowledge god's existence and that they should live aright. one who acknowledges god and lives aright becomes spiritual in his measure and is saved, as we showed above. it may be protested that they have not been baptized, but baptism does not save any who are not washed spiritually, that is, regenerated, of which baptism is a sign and reminder. [ ] it is also objected that the lord is not known to them and that there is no salvation without him. but salvation does not come to a person because the lord is known to him, but because he lives according to the lord's precepts. moreover, the lord is known to everyone who acknowledges god, for he is god of heaven and earth, as he himself teaches (mt : and elsewhere). furthermore, those outside the church have a clearer idea about god as man than christians have, and those who have a concept of god as man and live rightly are accepted by the lord. they also acknowledge god as one in person and essence, differently from christians. they also give thought to god in their lives, for they regard evils as sins against god, and those who do this regard god in their lives. christians have precepts of religion from the word, but few draw precepts of life from it. [ ] roman catholics do not read the word, and the reformed who are in faith apart from charity do not attend to those utterances in it which concern life, only to those which concern faith, and yet the word as a whole is nothing else than a doctrine of life. christianity obtains only in europe; mohammedanism and gentilism are found in asia, the indies, africa and america, and the people in these parts of the globe are ten times more numerous than those in the christian part, and in this part few put religion in life. what then is more mad than to believe that only these latter are saved and the former condemned, and that a man has heaven on the strength of his birth and not on the strength of his life? so the lord says: i say to you, many will come from the east and the west, and recline with abraham, isaac and jacob in the kingdom of heaven; but the children of the kingdom shall be cast out (mt : , ). [ ] fourth: _that any of mankind are condemned by predestination is a cruel heresy._ for it is cruel to believe that the lord, who is love itself and mercy itself, suffers so vast a throng of persons to be born for hell or so many myriads of myriads to be born condemned and doomed, that is, to be born devils and satans, and that he does not provide out of his divine wisdom that those who live aright and acknowledge god should not be cast into everlasting fire and torment. the lord is still the creator and the savior of all men and wills the death of no one. it is cruel therefore to believe and think that a vast multitude of nations and peoples under his auspices and care should be handed over as prey to the devil by predestination. xviii. the lord cannot act contrary to the laws of divine providence because to do so would be to act contrary to his divine love and wisdom, thus contrary to himself . it was shown in _angelic wisdom about divine love and wisdom_ that the lord is divine love and wisdom, and that these are being itself and life itself from which everything is and lives. it was also shown that they proceed from him, so that the proceeding divine is the lord himself. paramount in what proceeds is divine providence, for this is constantly in the end for which the universe was created. the operation and progress of the end through means is what is called divine providence. [ ] inasmuch as the proceeding divine is the lord himself and paramount in it is divine providence, to act contrary to the laws of his divine providence is to act contrary to himself. one can also say that the lord is providence just as one says that god is order, for divine providence is the divine order with reference primarily to the salvation of men. as order does not exist without laws, for they constitute it, and each law derives from order that it, too, is order, it follows that god, who is order, is also the law of his order. similarly it is to be said of divine providence that as the lord is providence himself, he is also the law of his providence. hence it is clear that the lord cannot act contrary to the laws of his divine providence because to do so would be to act contrary to himself. [ ] furthermore, there is no activity except on a subject and on the subject by means; action is impossible except on a subject and on it by means. man is the subject of divine providence; divine truths by which he has wisdom, and divine goods by which he has love, are the means; and by these means divine providence pursues its purpose, which is the salvation of man. for he who wills the purpose, wills the means. therefore when he who wills the purpose pursues it, he does so through means. but these things will become plainer on being examined in this order: i. the activity of divine providence to save man begins at his birth and continues to the close of his life and afterwards to eternity. ii. the activity of divine providence is maintained steadily out of pure mercy through means. iii. instantaneous salvation by direct mercy is impossible. iv. instantaneous salvation by direct mercy is the flying fiery serpent in the church. . (i) _the activity of divine providence to save man begins at his birth and continues to the close of his life and afterwards to eternity._ it was shown above that a heaven from mankind is the very purpose of the creation of the universe; that this purpose in its operation and progress is the divine providence for the salvation of man; and that all which is external to man and available to him for use is a secondary end in creation--in brief, all that is to be found in the three kingdoms, animal, vegetable and mineral. when all this constantly proceeds according to laws of divine order fixed at the first of creation, how can the primary end, which is the salvation of the human race, fail to proceed constantly according to laws of its order, which are the laws of divine providence? [ ] observe just a fruit tree. it springs up first as a slender shoot from a tiny seed, grows gradually into a stalk, spreads branches which become covered with leaves, and then puts forth flowers and bears fruit, in which it deposits fresh seed to provide for its perpetuation. this is also true of every shrub and of every herb of the field. do not each and all things in tree or shrub proceed constantly and wonderfully from purpose to purpose according to the laws of their order of things? why should not the supreme end, a heaven from the human race, proceed in similar fashion? can there be anything in its progress which does not proceed with all constancy according to the laws of divine providence? [ ] as there is a correspondence of man's life with the growth of a tree, let us draw the parallel or make the comparison. his infancy is relatively like the tender shoot of the tree sprouting from seed out of the ground; his childhood and youth are like the shoot grown to a stalk with its small branches; the natural truths with which everyone is imbued at first are like the leaves with which the branches are covered ("leaves" signify precisely this in the word); man's first steps in the marriage of good and truth or the spiritual marriage are like the blossoms which the tree puts forth in the springtime; spiritual truths are the petals in these blossoms; the earliest signs of the spiritual marriage are like the start of fruit; spiritual goods, which are goods of charity, are like the fruit (they are also signified in the word by "fruits"); the procreations of wisdom from love are like the seed and by them the human being becomes like a garden or paradise. man is also described in the word by a tree, and his wisdom from love by a garden; nothing else is meant by the garden of eden. [ ] true, man is a corrupt tree from the seed, but still a grafting or budding with shoots taken from the tree of life is possible, by which the sap drawn from the old root is turned into sap producing good fruit. the comparison was drawn for it to be known that when the progression of divine providence is so constant in the growth and rebirth of trees, it surely must be constant in the reformation and rebirth of human beings, who are of much more value than trees; so the lord's words: are not five sparrows sold for two farthings, yet not one of them is forgotten by god? but even the hairs of your head are all numbered; fear not therefore; you are of more value than many sparrows. which of you moreover can by taking thought add a cubit to his stature? .. . if then you are unable to do what is least, why do you take thought for the rest? consider the lilies, how they grow . . . if then god so clothed the grass, which is in the field today and is cast into an oven tomorrow, how much more will he clothe you, men of little faith? (lu : , , - ). . the activity of divine providence for man's salvation is said to begin with his birth and continue to the close of his life. for this to be understood, it should be known that the lord sees what a man's nature is and foresees what he wills to be and thus what he will be. for him to be man and thus immortal, his freedom of will cannot be taken away. the lord therefore foresees his state after death and provides for it from the man's birth to the close of his life. with the evil he makes the provision by permitting and withdrawing from evils, in the case of the good by leading to good. divine providence is thus continually acting for man's salvation, but more cannot be saved than are willing to be saved, and those are willing who acknowledge god and are led by him. those are not willing who do not acknowledge god and who lead themselves. the latter give no thought to eternal life and to salvation, the former do. the lord sees the unwillingness but still he leads such men, and does so in accordance with the laws of his divine providence, contrary to which he cannot act, for to act contrary to them would be to act contrary to his divine love and wisdom, and this is to act contrary to himself. [ ] inasmuch as the lord foresees the states of all after death, and also foresees the places in hell of those who do not desire to be saved and the places in heaven of those who do desire to be saved, it follows that he provides their places for the evil by the permitting and withdrawing of which we spoke, and their places for the good by leading them. unless this was done steadily from birth to the close of life neither heaven nor hell would remain standing, for apart from this foresight and providence neither would be anything but confusion. it may be seen above (nn. , ) that everyone has his place provided for him by the lord through this foresight. [ ] a comparison may throw light on this. if a javelin thrower or a marksman should aim at a target, from which a line was drawn straight back for a mile and should err in aim by only a finger's breadth, the missile or the bullet at the end of the mile would have deviated very far from the line. so would it be if the lord did not, at every moment and even the least fraction of a moment, look to what is eternal in foreseeing and making provision for one's place after death. but this the lord does: the entire future is present to him, and the entire present is to him eternal. that divine providence looks in all it does to what is infinite and eternal, may be seen above, nn. - , ff. . as was said also, the activity of divine providence continues to eternity, for every angel is being perfected in wisdom to eternity, each, however, according to the degree of affection of good and truth in which he was when he left this world. it is this degree that is perfected to eternity; what is beyond that is outside the angel and not in him, and what is external to him cannot be perfected in him. this perfecting is meant by the "good measure, pressed down and shaken together and running over" which will be given into the bosom of those who forgive and give to others (lu : , ), that is, those who are in the good of charity. . (ii) _the activity of divine providence is maintained steadily out of pure mercy through means._ divine providence has means and methods. its means are the things by which man becomes man and is perfected in will and understanding; its methods are the ways this is accomplished. the means by which man becomes man and is perfected in understanding are collectively called truths. in the thought they become ideas, are called objects of the memory, and in themselves are forms of knowledge from which information comes. all these means, viewed in themselves, are spiritual, but as they exist in what is natural, they seem by reason of their covering or clothing to be natural and some of them seem to be material. they are infinite in number and variety, and more or less simple or composite, and also more or less imperfect or perfect. there are means for forming and perfecting natural civil life; likewise for forming and perfecting rational moral life; as there are for forming and perfecting heavenly spiritual life. [ ] these means advance, one kind after another, from infancy to the last of man's life, and thereafter to eternity. as they come along and mount, the earlier ones become means to the later, entering into all that is forming as mediate causes. from these every effect or conclusion is efficacious and therefore becomes a cause. in turn what is later becomes means; and as this goes on to eternity, there is nothing farthest on or final to make an end. for as what is eternal is without end, so a wisdom that increases to eternity is without end. if there were an end to wisdom for a wise man, the enjoyment of his wisdom would perish, which consists in the perpetual multiplication and fructification of wisdom. his life's enjoyment would also perish; in its place an enjoyment of glory would succeed, in which by itself there is no heavenly life. the wise man then becomes no longer like a youth but like an old man, and at length like a decrepit one. [ ] although a wise man's wisdom increases forever in heaven, angelic wisdom cannot approximate the divine wisdom so much as to touch it. it is relatively like what is said of a straight line drawn about a hyperbola, always approaching but never touching it, and like what is said about squaring a circle. hence it may be plain what is meant by the means by which divine providence acts in order that man may be man and be perfected in understanding, and that these means are called by the common term truths. there are an equal number of means by which man is formed and perfected as to his will. these are called collectively goods. by them man comes to have love, by the others wisdom. the conjunction of love and wisdom makes the man, for what he is is in keeping with the nature of this conjunction. this conjunction is what is called the marriage of good and truth. . the methods by which divine providence acts on and through the means to form and perfect the human being are also infinite in number and variety. they are as numerous as the activities of divine wisdom from divine love to save man, and therefore as numerous as the activities of divine providence in accordance with its laws, treated of above. that these methods are most secret was illustrated above by the activities of the soul in the body, of which man knows so little it is scarcely anything--how, for instance, eye, ear, nose, tongue and skin sense things; how the stomach digests; how the mesentery elaborates the chyle and the liver the blood; how the pancreas and the spleen purify the blood, the kidneys separate it from impure humors, the heart collects and distributes it, and the lungs purify it and pass it on; how the brain refines the blood and vivifies it anew; besides innumerable other things which are all secret, and of which one can scarcely know. clearly, the hidden activities of divine providence can be entered into even less; it is enough to know its laws. . divine providence acts in all things out of pure mercy. for the divine essence is itself pure love; this love acts through divine wisdom and its activity is what is called divine providence. this pure love is pure mercy because . it is active with all men the world over, who are such that they can do nothing of themselves. . it is active with the evil and unjust and the good and just alike. . it leads the former in hell and rescues them from it. . it strives with them there perpetually and fights for them against the devil, that is, against the evils of hell. . to this end pure love came into the world and endured temptations even to the last of them, which was the passion of the cross. . it acts continually with the unclean to make them clean and with the unsound to make them sound in mind. thus it labors incessantly out of pure mercy. . (iii) _instantaneous salvation by direct mercy is impossible._ we have just shown that the activity of divine providence to save man begins at his birth and continues to the close of his life and afterwards to eternity; also that this activity is continually pursued out of pure mercy through means. it follows that there is neither instantaneous salvation nor unmediated mercy. but as many, not thinking from the understanding about things of the church or of religion, believe that they are saved by immediate mercy and hence that salvation is instantaneous, and yet this is contrary to the truth and in addition is a pernicious belief, it is important that it be considered in due order: . belief in instantaneous salvation by direct mercy has been assumed from man's natural state. . this belief comes from ignorance of the spiritual state, which is completely different from the natural state. . the doctrines of all churches in christendom, viewed interiorly, are opposed to instantaneous salvation by direct mercy, but external men of the church nevertheless maintain the belief. [ ] first: _belief in instantaneous salvation by direct mercy has been assumed from man's natural state._ from his state the natural man does not know otherwise than that heavenly joy is like worldly joy and that it flows in and is received in the same way; that, for example, it is like a poor man's becoming rich and from a sad state of poverty coming into a happy one of plenty, or like a lowly person's being raised to honors and passing thus from contempt to renown; or like one's going from a house of mourning to happy nuptials. as these states can be changed in a day and as there is a like idea of man's state after death, it is plain whence it comes that instantaneous salvation by direct mercy is believed in. [ ] in the world, moreover, many can join in one group or in one civic community and enjoy the same things, yet all differ in mind; this is true of the natural state. the reason is that the external of one person can be accommodated to that of another, no matter how unlike their internals are. from this natural situation it is also concluded that salvation is merely admission among angels in heaven, and that admission is by direct mercy. it is also believed, therefore, that heaven can be given to the evil as well as to the good, and that their association then is similar to that in the world, with the difference that it is filled with joy. [ ] second: _this belief comes from ignorance of the spiritual state, which is altogether different from the natural state._ the spiritual state, which is man's state after death, has been treated of in many places above. it has been shown that everyone is his own love, that no one can live with others than those who are in a like love, and that if he comes among others he cannot breathe his own life. for this reason everyone comes after death into a society of his own people, that is, who are in a like love, and recognizes them as relatives and friends, and what is remarkable, on meeting and seeing them it is as if he had known them from infancy. spiritual relationship and friendship bring this about. what is more, in a society no one can dwell in any other house than his own. everyone in a society has his own home, which he finds prepared for him as soon as he enters the society. he may be in close company with others outside his home, but he cannot dwell elsewhere. again, in somebody else's apartment one can sit only in his own place; seated elsewhere he becomes frustrated and mute. and it is remarkable that on entering he knows his own place. this is as true in temples he enters and in any companies in which people gather. [ ] it is plain from this that the spiritual state is altogether different from the natural state, and is such that no one can be anywhere but where his ruling love is to be found. for there the enjoyment of one's life is, and everyone desires to be in the enjoyment of his life. a man's spirit cannot be anywhere else because that enjoyment constitutes his life, his very breathing, in fact, and his heartbeat. it is different in the natural world; there man's external is taught from infancy to simulate in look, speech and bearing other enjoyments than those of his internal man. accordingly, no conclusion can be formed about man's state after death from his state in the natural world. for after death everyone's state is spiritual and is such that he cannot be anywhere except in the enjoyment of his love, an enjoyment that he has acquired in the natural world by his life. [ ] hence it is quite plain that no one who is in the enjoyment of hell can be admitted into the enjoyment of heaven, commonly called heavenly happiness, or what is the same, no one who is in the enjoyment of evil can be admitted into the enjoyment of good. this can be concluded still more plainly from the fact that after death no one is denied going up to heaven; he is shown the way, has the opportunity given him, and is admitted, but as soon as he enters heaven and inhales its enjoyment, he begins to feel constricted in his chest and racked at heart, and falls into a swoon, in which he writhes as a snake does brought near a fire. then with his face turned away from heaven and towards hell, he flees headlong and does not stop until he is in a society of his own love. hence it may be plain that no one reaches heaven by direct mercy. consequently, just to be admitted is not enough, as many in the world suppose. nor is there any instantaneous salvation, for this presupposes unmediated mercy. [ ] when some who had believed in the world in instantaneous salvation by direct mercy became spirits, they wanted their infernal enjoyment or enjoyment of evil changed by both divine omnipotence and divine mercy into heavenly enjoyment or enjoyment in the good. as they ardently desired this, permission was given for it to be done by angels, who proceeded to remove their infernal enjoyment. but as this was the enjoyment of their life's love and consequently their life, they thereupon lay as if dead, devoid of all feeling and movement; nor could any life be breathed into them except their own, because all things of mind and body which had been turned backward could not be reversed. they were therefore revived by letting in the enjoyment of their life's love. they said afterwards that in that state they had experienced something dreadful and horrible, which they did not care to divulge. there is a saying in heaven, therefore, that it is easier to change an owl into a turtle-dove or a serpent into a lamb than an infernal spirit into an angel of heaven. [ ] third: _the doctrines of all churches in christendom, viewed interiorly, are opposed to instantaneous salvation by direct mercy, but still some external men of the church maintain the idea._ viewed interiorly, the doctrines of all the churches teach life. is there a church whose doctrine does not teach that man ought to examine himself, see and acknowledge his sins, confess them, repent and then live a new life? who is admitted to holy communion without this admonition and precept? inquire and you will be assured of it. is there a church whose doctrine is not based on the precepts of the decalog? the precepts of the decalog are precepts of life. what man of the church, in whom there is anything of the church, does not, on hearing it, acknowledge that he who lives rightly is saved and he who lives wickedly is condemned? in the athanasian creed, which is also the doctrine received in the whole christian world, it is therefore said: the lord will come to judge the quick and the dead; and then those who have done good will enter into eternal life, and those who have done evil into everlasting fire. [ ] it is clear, then, that the doctrines of all churches, when viewed interiorly, teach life, and teaching life they teach that salvation is according to the life. man's life is not breathed into him in a moment but is formed gradually, and it is reformed as the man shuns evils as sins, consequently as he learns what sin is, recognizes and acknowledges it, does not will it but desists from it, and also learns the helps that come with a knowledge of god. by all these means man's life is formed and reformed, and they cannot be given on the instant. for hereditary evil, in itself infernal, has to be removed, and good, in itself heavenly, implanted in its place. because of his hereditary evil man may be compared to an owl as to the understanding and to a serpent as to the will, but when he has been reformed, he may be compared to a dove as to the understanding and to a sheep as to the will. instantaneous reformation and hence salvation would be like changing an owl at once into a dove or a serpent at once into a sheep. who that knows anything about man's life does not see the impossibility of this? salvation is impossible unless the owl and serpent nature is removed and the nature of the dove and sheep implanted instead. [ ] moreover, it is common knowledge that every intelligent person can become more intelligent than he is, and every wise man wiser than he is, and that intelligence and wisdom in man may increase and do so in some men from infancy to the close of life, and that man is thus continually perfected. why should not spiritual intelligence and wisdom increase as well? these rise by two degrees above natural intelligence and wisdom, and as they ascend become angelic intelligence and wisdom, which are ineffable. these in turn increase to eternity with the angels. who cannot understand, if he will, that what is being perfected to eternity cannot possibly be made perfect in an instant? . thence it is evident now that all who give thought to salvation for their life's sake do not think of an instantaneous salvation by immediate mercy. their thought is about the means to salvation, on and by which the lord acts in accord with the laws of his divine providence, and thus by which man is led by the lord out of pure mercy. those, however, who do not think of salvation for their life's sake presume an instantaneousness in salvation and an immediacy in mercy, as do those who, separating faith from charity (charity is life), presume that faith can be instantaneous, at the final hour of death, if not earlier. those do this, too, who believe remission of sins without any repentance to be absolution from sins and thus salvation, when attending the holy supper. so again those do who trust to indulgences of monks, their prayers for the dead, and the dispensations they grant by the authority which they claim over the souls of men. . (iv) _instantaneous salvation by unmediated mercy is the flying fiery serpent in the church._ by a flying fiery serpent evil aglow with infernal fire is meant, as it is by the flying fiery serpent in isaiah: rejoice not, all philistia, that the rod which smote you is broken, for out of the serpent's root shall come forth a basilisk, whose fruit is a flying fiery serpent ( : ). evil of the kind is flying about in the church when belief is put in instantaneous salvation by immediate mercy, for this . abolishes religion; . induces security; and . charges condemnation to the lord. [ ] first: _it abolishes religion._ two things are the essentials and at the same time the universals of religion, namely, acknowledgment of god, and repentance. neither has meaning for those who believe that they are saved out of mercy alone no matter how they live. what need then to do more than cry, "have mercy on me, o god"? in all else pertaining to religion they are in darkness, even loving the darkness. in regard to the first essential of the church, which is an acknowledgment of god, they only think, "what is god? who has seen him?" if told that god is, and is one, they say that he is one; if told there are three, they also say there are three, but the three must be called one. such is their acknowledgment of god. [ ] touching the church's second essential, namely, repentance, they give this no thought, nor thought to any sin, and finally do not know that there is such a thing as sin. then they hear and drink in with pleasure that the law does not condemn them because a christian is not under its yoke. if only you say, "have mercy on me, god, for the sake of the son," you will be saved. this is repentance in their life. if, however, you take away repentance, or what is the same thing, separate life from religion, what is left except the words, "have mercy on me"? they are therefore sure to maintain that salvation is instantaneous, accomplished by these words, even if uttered at the hour of death, if not before. what does the word become to them then but an obscure and cryptic utterance issuing from a tripod in a cave, or like an incomprehensible response from the oracle of an idol? in a word, if you remove repentance, that is, sever life from religion, what is human nature then but evil aglow with infernal fire or a flying fiery serpent in the church? for without repentance man is in evil, and evil is hell. [ ] second: _by the belief in instantaneous salvation out of pure mercy alone security of life is induced._ security of life arises either from the belief of the impious man that there is no life after death, or from the belief of one who separates life from salvation. although the latter may believe in eternal life, he still thinks, "whether i live rightly or wickedly, i can be saved, for salvation is by outright mercy, and god's mercy is universal, for he does not desire the death of anyone." if it occurs to him that mercy should be implored in the words of the traditional faith, he can think that this can be done, if not earlier, just before death. everyone who feels this security, makes light of adultery, fraud, injustice, acts of violence, blasphemy and revenge, and gives a free rein to body and spirit for committing all these evils; nor does he know what spiritual evil, or the lust of evil, is. should he hear something about it from the word, it is like something falling on ebony and rebounding, or falling into a ditch and being swallowed up. [ ] third: _by this belief condemnation is charged to the lord._ if the lord can save anybody out of pure mercy, who is not going to conclude that if man is not saved, it is not he but the lord who is in fault? if it is asserted that faith is the medium of salvation, what man cannot have this faith? for it is only a thought, and this can be imparted, along with confidence, in any state of the spirit withdrawn from the mundane. man may also declare "i cannot acquire this faith of myself." hence if it is not vouchsafed him and he is condemned, what else can he think except that the lord is in fault who could have given him the faith but would not? would this not amount to calling the lord unmerciful? moreover, in the fervor of his belief he may ask, "how can god see so many condemned in hell when he can save them all in an instant from pure mercy?" and more such things, which can only be called an atrocious indictment of the divine. from the above it may be evident that belief in instantaneous salvation out of sheer mercy is the flying fiery serpent in the church. [ ] excuse the addition of what follows to fill the remainder of the sheet. certain spirits were permitted to ascend from hell who said to me, "you have written much from the lord; write something from us, too." i asked, "what shall i write?" they said, "write that every spirit, good or evil, has his own enjoyment; a good spirit is in the enjoyment of his good, and an evil spirit in the enjoyment of his evil." i then asked, "what is your enjoyment?" they answered that it was the enjoyment of committing adultery, stealing, defrauding and lying. again i inquired, "what is the nature of those enjoyments?" they replied, "by others they are perceived as offensive odors from excrement and as the putrid smell from dead bodies and as the reeking stench from stagnant urine." i then said, "do you find them enjoyable?" "most enjoyable," they said. i remarked, "then you are like unclean beasts which live in such filth." they replied to this, "if we are, we are; but such things are delightful to our nostrils." [ ] i asked, "what more shall i write from you?" they said, "write this. everyone is allowed to be in his own enjoyment, even the most unclean, as it is called, provided he does not infest good spirits and angels, but as we could not but infest them, we were driven off and cast into hell, where we suffer fearful things." i asked, "why did you infest the good?" they replied that they could not help it; a fury seems to seize them when they see an angel and feel the divine sphere around him. then i said, "so you are also like savage beasts!" on hearing this, a fury came over them which appeared like the fire of hate, and lest they inflict some injury, they were drawn back into hell. on enjoyments sensed as odors or as stenches in the spiritual world, see above (nn. - , ). none wit and wisdom of lord tredegar [illustration: tredegar] wit and wisdom of lord tredegar . western mail, limited, cardiff, newport, swansea, merthyr, brecon and , fleet street, london. foreword. there are a few observations which may be deemed appropriate in presenting to the public this collection of extracts from the speeches of godfrey charles morgan, first viscount tredegar; but it is inconceivable that any should be necessary by way of apology. during the course of an active and a well-spent life, happily extended beyond the allotted span, lord tredegar has made hundreds of public utterances. innumerable are the functions he has attended during half-a-century and over; and at most of them he has been the central figure. but while his high station would always have secured attention and respect for his words, this volume may serve to prove to future generations what this generation well knows, that lord tredegar has held his listeners by his humour or by his earnestness, according to the occasion, and that, in the homely phrase, he has always had "something to say." it is my hope, however, that this little book may have a still worthier mission. for i think it will be found to reveal a noble mind. the simple words of lord tredegar have time and again struck deep to the hearts of his audience. collected here, they reveal the gentleness of his disposition and the purity of his motives. they show the consistency of his life. but they do much more. they appear to constitute a great moral force. not that his lordship ever posed as preacher, or constituted himself a court of judgment on any class of his fellows. there is no trace of a superior tone in his speeches. his words show sympathetic insight into the trials and difficulties that beset the path of every one of us, and his desire was never to censure, but ever to encourage and assist with kindly suggestion and cheering thought. no aspect of these extracts is so interesting as that which enables us to observe how faithfully and well lord tredegar has discharged his promises. long before he could describe himself as a landowner, he said that if ever he came into that position he would give any assistance he could to his tenants in the way of improving his land. he hoped he would never become "such a ruffian as some people would make landlords out to be." reading later speeches we find lord tredegar undertaking in his turn conscientiously the public duties previously discharged by his father. we find him making the acquaintance of the farmers and studying their difficulties. we find him raising the tredegar show to its present pre-eminence in the world of agriculture. it is a noble record of honesty of purpose. and agriculture, as well we know in wales and monmouthshire, is but one of lord tredegar's many interests. he has spoken wise words on education; he has urged the claims of charity. he has led the way in historical research, and inspired among many whose interest might not otherwise have been aroused a love of our ancient castles and our dear old parish churches. he has spoken eloquently of our welsh heroes and bards. upon the value of eisteddfodau he loves to expound. but it is not these higher interests of his that have made him so beloved. his appeals for the ragged urchin of the streets, his appreciation of the bravery of the worker, his jokes at bazaars, his quips at the cabmen's annual dinners, his love of old customs, his pleasantries at the servants' balls, by these and by his transparent sincerity he has won the affections of all classes of the people, who have found in him a leader who can share sorrows as well as joys. his brave words have been the consolation of the widow of the humble soldier slain in battle, as they have been the encouragement of the boy or girl scholar shyly taking from his hand a prize. he has told the boys they will be all the better for total abstinence, and he has dined and joked with licensed publicans. "here, at least, is inconsistency," may exclaim the stranger into whose hand this book may fall. but lord tredegar justifies himself by the fact that having licensed houses on his estate it is his duty to take an interest in those who conduct them. lord tredegar has never sought to adorn his speeches with rhetoric. he has always spoken so that he who heard could understand. and yet he is reputed justly to be among the best of after-dinner speakers. if it be necessary to delve into the possible secret of his success, one might hazard a guess that it is because in his speeches it is the unexpected that always happens. the transition from grave to gay or from gay to grave is so swift that the mind of the listener is held as it were by a spell, and all is over e'er yet one thought it had begun. much of this, however, is in passing. quite a multitude, at one time or another, has listened to the words of godfrey charles morgan. quite a multitude has been influenced by them. that multitude, i am sure, will be glad to have those words in permanent form. there may be but a sentence chosen from a speech that has been heard, but that sentence will be remembered or recollected. and to that greater multitude who by the natural force of circumstances cannot have listened to the words of viscount tredegar, this little collection may serve to show forth a figure that, though simple, is great in simplicity, and it were strange indeed if some sentences were not found which may help to make a crooked way straight. the editor. wit and wisdom of lord tredegar. epigrammatic eloquence. i would rather trust and be deceived, than be found to have suspected falsely. _reduction of armaments meeting, newport, march th, ._ some people will not go across a street to hear an oratorio, though they would go many miles to listen to that very entertaining melody, "whoa, emma!"--and i'm not sure that i shouldn't be one of them.-- _tredegar show. november th, ._ the other day i was doing a little bit of horse-cropping--i'm fond of that sort of thing--and went into an irish dealer's yard, where i saw a horse which grunted very much. looking at the dealer, i said, "the horse is a roarer," and the irishman replied: "ah, no, me lord, not a bit of it. i've 'ad 'im from two years ould, an' e' 'ad wunce a most desprit froight, an' 'e's 'ad the hiccups ever since!" _tredegar show, november th, ._ [illustration: "_'e's 'ad the hiccups ever since!_"] i do not think there is a man in england who has more at heart than myself the religious education of children. in the chartist riots took place at newport. in the following year national schools were opened, and i believe that had the men who took part in these riots received the education imparted at the national schools they would never have decided upon such a misguided course of action. _jubilee of newport national schools, may th, ._ i was rather alarmed when i received the notice, "peach blossom fancy dress fair," and i telegraphed at once to a lady who i thought knew what was going on and asked, "am i obliged to come in fancy dress?" the answer i got was, "you need not wear anything." _llangibby church fete, august, ._ [illustration: "_you need not wear anything._"] i generally pay great attention to what a clergyman says, but you cannot always take the advice of a clergyman. a certain man had a dog, and his minister told him that he had better sell the dog and get a pig, to which the man replied, "a pretty fool i should look going rat-catching with a pig." _st. paul's garden fete, newport, june rd, ._ without some sort of religion no man can be happy. _st. paul's garden fete, newport, june rd, ._ i am not accustomed to begging, being more accustomed to being begged of. that is one of the hereditary privileges of members of the house of lords. _meeting in connection with the new infirmary for newport, march th, ._ it appears to me that my good qualities increase in proportion as the hair comes off the top of my head, and it is well that in proportion as we grow less ornamental we should grow more useful. _tredegar show, november th, ._ i really think i must be out of place here. you know i am one of the hereditary nonentities. i cannot help the hereditary part of the business, and i have tried all my life to avoid the other. _south monmouthshire conservative association, december nd, ._ you ought, of course, to learn something about ancient art, or you will be like a certain lord mayor of whom i have heard. one day he received a telegram from some people who were carrying on excavations in greece, and who had discovered a statue by phidias. they thought, in common with most foreigners, that the lord mayor was the most powerful person in the kingdom--abroad he is supposed to rule the country. anyway, they sent him a telegram saying "phidias is recovered." the lord mayor wired back that he was pleased to hear it, but that he did not know that phidias had been unwell. _art school prize distribution, newport, december th, ._ a noted musician, when asked whether he thought it was right to carry out capital punishment, replied: "no; because you can do a man to death with a piano." _at llandaff, june th, ._ [illustration: "_you can do a man to death with a piano._"] i believe i have laid more foundation stones than any other man in england. i have mallets and trowels sufficient to supply, i believe, every parish church in the country. they are very handsome and ornamental, and i hope i shall have more of them. _foundation stone laying, st. john's church, cardiff, march th, ._ [illustration: "_i believe i have laid more foundation stones than any other man in england._"] we (agriculturists) are looked upon as a long-suffering and patient race, and some of the manufacturing class think we are fit subjects for bleeding. in fact, it has been said that agriculturists are like their own sheep, inasmuch as they can bear a close shaving without a bleat; whereas the manufacturers are like pigs; only touch their bristles and they will "holler like the devil." _tredegar show, december th, ._ lord rosebery is alternately a menace and a sigh. _conservative dinner, newport, november th, ._ we have had an old-fashioned winter, and i do not care if i never see another. the only people, i fancy, who have enjoyed the winter are the doctors and the press. _servants' ball_, _january th, ._ memories of balaclava. i consider myself one of the most fortunate men in england to have been one of those spared out of the about whom so much has been said and sung. although my military career has been brief, i have seen a great deal. i have seen war in all its horrors. it is said to be "an ill wind that blows nobody good"; so it has been with me. i have learned to doubly appreciate home and all its comforts. before going out to the crimea i was accustomed to see, on these occasions, farmers looking happy and contented, and i was in the habit of thinking what a great nation england was, and how she flourished in all things; but since the war commenced i have seen the other side of the picture. i have seen an army march into an hostile country, and in the midst of farms flowing with milk and honey, and teeming with corn and every luxury--and there, in a few hours, all was desolation, one stone not being left on another, and the people made slaves to the invaders. how thankful we ought to be that we are not suffering at the hand of an invading army. now that my military career is at an end i am sure that a great many of you will sympathise with my father, whose anxiety has been very great. we were out during the most dreadful period of the war, and it need not be wondered at that i yielded to the most earnest entreaties of my father to relinquish my connection with the army lest i should bring his grey hairs with sorrow to the grave. my father thought that one such action as i have been in was sufficient to prove the mettle of his son. i will not further enlarge on the horrors and miseries of war. may you never see them as i have done, and may we all meet at this festive board next year. _newport agricultural show, december th, ._ i do not intend to say much about balaclava to-day because you have heard the old story over and over again, and i am too old now to invent stories of balaclava. on my way down here i stopped to receive a telegram worded in these terms:--"fifteen survivors of the balaclava charge send your lordship hearty congratulations and affectionate remembrances on this day, the th anniversary." well, recollections of a sad event are at any time, of course, unpleasant, but it is particularly sad to think that there are now only survivors remaining out of the light brigade of . that attenuated number does not include myself, and there are three other officers still alive. you may be pretty confident that of these few survivors there were at least two or three with whom i conversed within a few hours of the balaclava charge. you can imagine those conversations. they were not very lively ones. they referred probably to some comrade who had been killed or to the difficulty of filling the place of some officer who had fallen; because when we drew up after the balaclava charge i was the officer in command of the decimated regiment. all my superior officers had been either killed or wounded, and i was placed in the difficult position to find men suddenly to fill the vacancies. so you can imagine the recollections of those survivors. since that time there have been a number of gallant deeds on the part of the british army, and i hope that those gallant deeds will be remembered, just as the balaclava charge is remembered here. i hope the british nation will never forget such events as trafalgar and waterloo, but will always hoist a flag or do something else to commemorate them. _balaclava dinner, bassaleg, october th, ._ my own courage in the memorable charge was small, but the deed of daring conferred everlasting credit on the senior officers who took part in it. i trust that you will keep your offspring fully acquainted with the heroic deeds of the british army, and induce them to display similar courage in the hour of their country's danger. _balaclava dinner, castleton, october th, ._ when a person gets beyond the allotted age of man there must, i think, be in his mind a melancholy thought regarding the possibility of his being present on a similar occasion twelve months hence. i am afraid that some men of my age would have to limp into a room, probably assisted by a crutch. fortunately, however, i was able to walk into the room without a crutch and without assistance, and i am thankful for that to the power above. the term "hero" is a term with which many soldiers do not agree. the mention of the word recalls to my mind the well-known lines of rudyard kipling: "we aren't no thin red 'eroes, an' we aren't no blackguards, too, but single men in barracks, most remarkable like you." i am sure the soldiers who fought with the light cavalry at balaclava did not think themselves greater heroes than others in the crimea who did their duty. quite recently i read an article in a military magazine, it dealt with the question of the advance of cavalry and the arms which should be given them--the lance, the sword, and the rifle. the article commenced with the statement that it was the business of every soldier to go into action with the determination to try and kill someone. i suppose that is right in its way, but it was hardly the sentiment we went into action with. we went into action to try to defeat the enemy, but the fewer we killed the better. i have to confess that i tried to kill someone, but to this day i congratulate myself on the fact that i do not know whether i succeeded or no. in these days of long range guns our consciences are saved a great deal, and so far as killing anyone goes i always give myself the benefit of the doubt, so that the charge of murder cannot be brought against me. _balaclava dinner, bassaleg, october th, ._ quips at the servants' ball. i have arrived at the age when to clasp the waist of one of the opposite sex for three hours is not considered the height of human happiness. i remember, however, with pleasure, a time in my younger days when i thought it was so, and perhaps some of those who can indulge in a valse without feeling giddy, or a polka without being "blown," think so now. _servants' ball, january th, ._ [illustration: "_i remember, however, with pleasure, a time in my younger days._"] i am happy to be able truly and honestly to say that i have not a word of difference with any servant of my establishment. each year as it rolls onward finds me stiffer in the joints, shorter in the breath, and less able than formerly to perform the double shuffle, but there are others coming on--the younger members of the family--who will be able to kick up their heels as lightly as once i was able to do. as each year rolls round, too, there are always saddening memories, but on an occasion of this sort i will make no allusions to them, ... i hope you will stick to old fashions and old ways. you may be told of new-fangled ways, and be advised to get rid of the old, but i think it will be well if you do not pay too much attention to those advisers. england is like old tredegar house, and you will find that the customs now prevailing have been in vogue for over years. you will probably be told that the best way to make people happy is to make the poor rich and the rich poor; but, in truth, the richer people are, the better able they are to help the poor. _servants' ball, january th, ._ many of you waited last night for the old year to go out and the new year to come in. i did for one. i listened at the window and i heard bells ringing, and noises which i can only describe as hideous. there is an invention in this part of the world, which i believe comes from america (where they have a great many disagreeable things) called a "hooter." when i listened last night it seemed to me that it was deliberately hooting out the old year which to so many of us had painful recollections; and it occurred to me that it was a most appropriate thing to do. it was the wettest spring, the coldest summer, the windiest autumn that i have ever known. _servants' ball, january st, ._ i can imagine the bassaleg parish council rejoicing in a license for dancing in the hall, and the teetotallers passing a resolution in favour of total abstinence, in which case we should have to obtain our refreshments from the village pump. _servants' ball, january th, ._ railways are springing up all round, and, reading the signs of the times as i do, i think there will be increased prosperity. if all the railways now proposed are constructed, we shall be able to paraphrase the poet's lines:-- railways to right of them, railways to left of them, railways behind them, most of them silly 'uns. into the lawyer's jaw, and the contractor's paw, go the eight millions. i shall be able to convert tredegar house into the "railway hotel," join the licensed victuallers' association, and do a good trade--if i can get a license. we have progressed a good deal lately, even in dancing. i can remember the minuet being the fashion. it was danced with a great deal of bowing and scraping. then the waltz, quadrille, and lancers came. we next had a kitchen lancers, and this year we have a barn dance. next year, perhaps, we shall have a pigstye polka, which will no doubt be very amusing. _servants' ball, january th, ._ [illustration: "_i shall be able to convert tredegar house into the 'railway hotel.'_"] there have been many changes in the manners and customs of the country during late years. i am very fond of old customs, and i hope this old-fashioned servants' ball will be kept up by those who come after me. i am sure there is no gentleman in england who is blessed with a better lot of servants than i have. if sometimes by my manner i do not appear pleased, i hope you will make allowance for the business anxieties constantly hanging over my head, and which do not always conduce to a pleasant expression. i will relate an incident. an individual who apparently takes a great deal of interest in me wrote to me not so long ago and asked, "why did you look so proud and haughty when you met me the other day?" i have no recollection of having been proud and haughty, but i have a very distinct recollection of a very tight boot and a very bad corn. _servants' ball, january th, ._ [illustration: "_when your toe begins to take a fantastic shape it is pretty nearly time to give up dancing._"] i always sympathise with you in your sorrows and try to join you in your pleasures. in this life, unfortunately, for a good many, there are more sorrows than pleasures, but i think it is the duty of all who have it in their power to try to make those around them have, if possible, more pleasures in their lives than sorrows. i congratulate myself that i have still a kick left in me. you know that milton, the poet, has said in two lines: "come and trip it as you go on the light fantastic toe." but when your toe begins to take a fantastic shape it is pretty nearly time to give up dancing. as my toes are beginning to take that shape, i am afraid i shall not have a kick left much longer. i have always spoken a few words to you on these occasions--sometimes of sentiment, sometimes of politics, and sometimes of fun. i usually prefer fun, because there is generally enough of the other phases around us. i will therefore content myself with giving the establishment a little bit of advice, or rather a hint. i have found that what i say on these occasions has somehow or other found its way into the papers. i do not know exactly how that is. however, i think it will be more impressive in print, because if you forget what i say before the end of the evening, you will be able to read it in the press next day. my hint is about fires. there are large fireplaces in tredegar house, which is an old one, full of old oak which is liable to catch fire. during the last few weeks some fine old country houses have been destroyed by fire. i do not think this has occurred through carelessness. i know my servants are not careless. what i want you to understand is the difference between a fire and a furnace. old welsh families--and my family is really an old welsh family--all believe that they have very long pedigrees. there are in the strong room at tredegar house a great many old records--some of which i have read out of curiosity. many of them, no doubt, are mythical, and some are accurate, but in all my study of them i have not been able to discover that i bear any relationship to shadrach, meshach and abednego. i therefore fail to see why the household staff should pile up furnaces, especially now that i assure them i am not quite impervious to fire. i always like to entertain you a little on these occasions. i will therefore just sing to you a few lines, and ask young charley (the huntsman) to come in at the end. i notice that old charley (the former huntsman) is also present, and he, perhaps, will join in as well. his lordship then sang the following verses to the tune of "ben bolt":-- there are soul-stirring sounds in the fiddle and flute when music begins in the hall, and a goddess in muslin that's likely to suit as the mate of your choice for the ball. but the player may strain every finger in vain and the fiddler may resin his bow, nor fiddle nor string such rapture shall bring as the sound of the sweet "tally-ho." _servants' ball, january th, ._ times have changed, and fashions change very quickly--so much so that i was half afraid you would have petitioned me to allow you to have a ping-pong tournament. i am glad to see that you still prefer to stick to the old custom of a ball. of all entertainments a ball is, in my opinion, the most harmless. it will always follow that there will be some who perhaps on the morrow will think that their affections had not been quite under control, and that they had spoken words of endearment that perhaps they regretted, and the lady might not. and perhaps there will always be those whose control over their thirst at a ball is not quite so strong as that of others. _servants' ball, january rd, ._ [illustration: "_perhaps there will always be those whose control over their thirst at a ball is not quite so strong as that of others._"] i have no doubt that much of what mr. perrott has just told you about the revels that have taken place in the hall during the last or years is perfectly true. there may perhaps have been more fun in the old days--that is a matter of history. i very much doubt it myself, and i have a sort of idea, and i hope and trust that at the servants' ball which still takes place here annually--unless there is some misfortune to prevent it--there is as much fun and revelry as has ever before taken place in this hall. the old lamp hung over your heads belonged to a former lord mayor of london--sir edward clark--from whom i inherited some property and plate. that lamp probably hung in the mansion house in london some two or three hundred years ago, and i have no doubt it has seen some peculiar scenes. _servants' ball, january th, ._ i also have my little anxieties. i have been hoping and praying that the enemy will not come up the bristol channel and land somewhere near here before i have got my territorial army into position. at the present moment the territorial army in monmouthshire consists exactly of men, all of whom are officers. so that unless the enemy give us due notice that they are coming here, i am afraid that we shall have to depend principally upon the tredegar house establishment. i am quite certain that you will all answer my call, the ladies more particularly. i don't care so much about the enemy, whenever he comes, so long as i have the ladies with me. _servants' ball, jan. th, ._ [illustration: "_i don't care so much about the enemy, whenever he comes, so long as i have the ladies with me._"] i take this opportunity of thanking you, and all those in my service who have spent this year together with me, for the happy way in which we have been enabled to pass the whole year together in our mutual admiration for each other. i was going to say affection for each other, and i should like to think so. we are--i propose using a silly phrase to express our relations at tredegar house--a brotherhood of men. we are here as a brotherhood of men, and a sisterhood of women, and i should like you to look upon me as one of yourselves. it may be, before this time next year, if things go on as they are, that i shall be calling you comrade perrot, and you will be calling me comrade morgan. things are going very fast just now, but i think there is a right feeling throughout the country that we are going too fast. it may be that next year, instead of being summoned to the ball here you will be asked to "come and trip as you go to the light fantastic veto," and we shall be invited to dance the referendum lancers. _servants' ball, january th, ._ [illustration: "_i shall be calling you comrade perrot, and you will be calling me comrade morgan._"] on archbishops and bishops. it is customary among certain classes to look upon bishops as men living in beautiful palaces, faring sumptuously, and rolling about in carriages; but there is no ploughman who does a harder day's work than does our bishop. as to the clergy, many of them labour amongst us for a stipend which many an artizan would despise. _bassaleg farmers' dinner, october th, ._ there is a certain class of advanced politicians who never lose an opportunity of serving their own ends by impressing upon their hearers their particular notions of what a bishop of the church of england is like. that dignitary is generally pictured as a gentleman who receives a large salary, is clothed in purple and fine linen, fares sumptuously every day, and lives in luxurious idleness. _the opening of the seamen's mission church, newport, january th, ._ we should remember the duties and responsibilities which rest on an archbishop. he has a vast correspondence, in which there is not a single letter that he can write without weighing every word. he is not like ordinary people, who are able to scribble off their correspondence; for if a word in a letter from an archbishop is in the wrong place, it may upset a college or cause a revolution. if you study the history of the archbishopric of canterbury, beginning with st. augustine, then going on to lanfranc, to anselm, to theodore, and down to benson and temple, you will, i believe, come to the conclusion that i have reached--that whilst many of the men who have gone before him have filled great parts in making the history of the nation, there is not one whose character, whose powers of speech, and whose earnestness in carrying out his duties, exceeded those of the present archbishop (dr. temple). _seventy-fifth anniversary of st. david's college, lampeter october th, ._ [illustration: "_there is not one whose character, and whose powers of speech exceeded those of the present archbishop (dr. temple)._"] the trials of the clergy. bishops and clergy have to deal with all sorts of communications from parishioners. i remember one case where a clergyman received a letter telling him he would never do for st. phillip's because he was altogether too quiet in his preaching, and not half sensational enough, but that if he would preach in a red coat in the morning, and with no coat at all at night, he would be just the man for the job. as to the bishops, they have so much to do that one of them--bishop magee, of peterborough, i believe--summed up the situation by saying that people seemed to have an idea that a bishop had nothing to do but sit in his library with the windows open, so that every jackass might put in his head and bray. _church luncheon, newport, may th, ._ sermons and sinners. if the clergy only preached as well as they might, there ought not to be a single sinner in their parishes. _licensed victuallers' dinner, newport, february th, ._ the old parish church. i believe that all classes, including the nonconformists, have a real love for the old parish church and its grey tower, beneath the shade of which so many of their ancestors are laid. here at michaelston-y-vedw we have a fine historic building, erected about . i may tell you that one of its old parish registers contains an interesting entry. it is that "godfrey charles morgan was baptised here on may th, ." _eisteddfod, cefn-mably, september th, ._ [illustration: "_godfrey charles morgan was baptised here on may th, ._"] i always take more interest in these historical little rural parish churches than i do in a brand new church erected in some populous district. of course, the church is really more necessary there than among the small communities; still, there is the sentiment, the old association of the old parish church and the churchyard in which "the rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep." those lines of the poet gray: "the cock's shrill clarion, nor the echoing horn, no more shall raise him from his lonely bed," often strike me, because the little church is so closely connected with the llangibby family. the llangibby and morgan families have been associated very often before in the long vista of history, but you have amongst you now a relation of mine, come to live amongst you, and who will look after this little church. religious tolerance. it is possible that i am very tolerant in my religious opinions. but seeing that we are now living under perfect tolerance, and that the religious wants of the people must be supplied, i think it is the duty of those who own property to see that there is accommodation for the religious needs of all who live thereon. as science advances there must be considerable differences of opinion on religion in a large and important town like cardiff. a great man once said that tolerance was simply indifference; i do not agree with him. i think it is possible to be tolerant without being indifferent to one's own opinions. there is a great leaning nowadays towards scientific religion. education is advancing very rapidly, and philosophical men are trying to make reasons for every line in scripture and every line in the prayer book. that may be useful in a way, but i cannot help thinking that many books written lately by men who are very learned, and with very good intent, will, if circulated among the young of the country, do a great deal of harm. i look forward to an increase of religious feeling throughout the country, and i shall be always ready to assist, as far as i can, in erecting chapels and other places for religious instruction and religious worship. _chapel, cardiff, september th, ._ i have never posed as one made of that stuff of which martyrs are made--and perhaps my remarks may offend some, or scandalize others. but i would rather see any place of worship in the town than none at all, i will go so far as to say i would rather see a mohammedan mosque in the town than no place of worship at all. i have the greatest possible admiration for faith of any sort. early in my life i had occasion to look with admiration upon the faith even of a mohammedan. i have listened to the minister of the mosque calling the faithful to prayers two, three or more times a day, and i have seen the mohammedans in the street go down on their knees and say their prayers in front of everybody. i have seen a regiment of mohammedans on the march, and at the hour of sunset every man in the regiment would kneel on his carpet and say his prayers. those were soldiers who were not afraid of their faith, though it might have been the wrong one. i have watched a poor italian peasant kneel on the roadside and offer his small tribute to the shrine. he was not afraid of praying before anybody; but i am afraid that some of us would rather be seen with our hands in somebody else's pocket than kneel down and say our prayers in the club-room. _foundation-stone laying at baptist church, cardiff, june th, ._ [illustration: "_but i am afraid that some of us would rather be seen with our hands in somebody else's pocket than kneel down and say our prayers in the club-room._"] the cricketer curate. cricket is the nicest, best and most gentlemanly exercise in great britain. how general is the love of cricket is shown by the story of some parishioners who, when asked by their vicar what sort of a curate they would like, said:--"we don't care much about the preaching, but what we want in the curate is a good break to the off." [illustration: "_we don't care much about the preaching but what we want in the curate is a good break to the off._"] the brotherhood of man. i think you are quite right in commencing with a religious service a ceremony such as i am about to perform. these institutions are established for the welfare of the inhabitants, and we begin with a religious service in order to impress on those who are going to use the hall hereafter that, whatever is done inside the hall should be done in a way which is really a christian way. it will not affect in any way the feelings of those who attend for amusement or instruction, except to prompt a religious feeling which we all wish to have some time or other in our lives. i was very pleased to be able to come to-day and perform the opening ceremony. a little pressure was put on me because at my time of life you don't recover from any extra exertion. i do like this term of brotherhood. those who have arrived at my time of life know what it is to have and to value a really sympathising brother. i am referring to my own dear brother, who has recently left us. throughout our lives we did not have a single word of difference or a thought of difference, and the word "brother" will draw me out at any time. it is the idea of universal feeling that everybody is trying his or her best in this world in whatever he or she may be trying to do--it is the feeling of brotherhood which helps us to get that feeling. _speech at the victoria brotherhood, newport, march th, ._ the uses of the parish room. [illustration: "_the ploughman returning from his weary work may just scrape his boots outside._"] in olden days the ordinary village school was the only place available for meetings or for general gatherings of the parishioners, and a long time ago that did very well. but the advance of education is tending to interfere a good deal with our old ideas and places, and it is now almost necessary that every church, or every parish, should have a clubroom--a room where all classes can mix together and improve the knowledge they have gained at the various county schools--intermediate or otherwise. we want the parish room to be open to everyone. the ploughman returning from his weary work may just scrape his boots outside, and he will be perfectly welcome any time he likes to come in. i am sure there is a great deal of learning to be acquired, a great deal of good to be done, a great deal of instruction to be gathered, in a church room of this description, when it is managed in the way it ought to be. as you know, there are certain superior people who like essays and that sort of thing, and who, are inclined to sneer at the village concerts and penny readings and little dances which are likely to take place here. but we do not all possess the wisdom of socrates, the dignity of pliny, or the wit of horace. perhaps i shall put it more plainly if i say we do not possess the wisdom of shakespeare, the dignity of wordsworth, or the wit of byron. but there is quite likely to be as much good sense in a humble gathering of an evening here as amongst those superior people who always try to teach us by telling us what we ought to do, what to think about, and what we ought to remember. those are the people who advertise the simple life. i fancy most of you are living fairly simple lives, whilst those gentlemen who advocate it so much do not know what the simple life means. not very far from us is where "the rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep," and in gray's beautiful elegy we are told: "perhaps in this neglected spot is laid some heart once pregnant with celestial fire; hands that the rod of empire might have sway'd, or waked to ecstasy the living lyre." might not some of those who are laid in the churchyard close by, if they had enjoyed the advantages we have, have "wakened to ecstasy the living lyre," or been great members of either parish councils or county councils, or even members of parliament! i think that before this room has been in existence many years we shall find that some of those attending the gatherings which i hope will take place here, have done their best to make themselves prominent in life, especially in trying to keep before the world the truths of that religion which we have thought so much of and heard so much of to-day. _opening of church-room at llanvaches, february, ._ gentle manners. there is one great thing that will carry you comfortably through life, and that is a nice, gentle manner. i see you all have nice, gentle manners, and what i ask you to do is to carry them outside the school, and retain them when you are on the roads or in the fields, or in your own homes. i ask the boys to cultivate the same language outside as inside the school, and the girls the same manners. _school prize distribution, rhiwderin, april th, ._ bad language is unnecessary. bad words are used by some people in every other sentence, without any necessity at all, and they mean nothing. if you can only learn to drop those disagreeable words you will be much more pleasant members of society. i like to see boys lively, spirited, and anxious to amuse themselves whenever they can. but they should be kind and gentle to their mothers and sisters. it is the nature of boys to be tyrannical to the other sex, but they will lose nothing by being as kind and gentle as they can be. _boys' brigade inspection, newport, april th, ._ [illustration: "_it is the nature of boys to be tyrannical to the other sex._"] it has been well said that good manners are something to everybody, and everything to somebody. some people will not take anyone into employment unless they have good manners. as an old soldier, i know the value of _esprit de corps_. a hundred soldiers with the spirit of their corps are worth two hundred who do not care a straw about the regiment. _pontywain school, december th, ._ mr. labouchere has said he would rather have a gentleman of bad morals who voted right, than a gentleman whose morals were right but who voted wrong. well, i would rather have a gentleman whose manners are good, even though he votes wrong, than one who votes right and whose manners are bad. _licensed victuallers' dinner, july th, ._ reverence for religion. as i grow older i find that the younger people are the less they like advice, and the less likely they are to take it. but i hope you will henceforth be good citizens of this great country. in your brigade you are taught to have reverence for religion and respect for authority, which are great principles to get on with. _boys' brigade inspection, april th, ._ the teaching of refinement. there has been a great deal of talk lately about education. we have had board schools and national schools, and we are now going to have technical schools. but there is one point we have not yet arrived at--the teaching of refinement. i look upon the eisteddfod as encouraging literature and music and art, as one of the great institutions for the encouragement of refinement in general life. we may become very well educated and very scientific, but unless there is refinement among us in general life, we will naturally tend towards roughness of manners. _brecon eisteddfod, august th, ._ in praise of hospitals. we are met to endeavour to raise sufficient money to erect a hospital or infirmary worthy of the town of newport. there are two statements nobody can dispute: newport is a large and yearly increasing seaport, and a town of this magnitude ought not to be without a large and splendid hospital. i am afraid that with many people the idea of a hospital or infirmary does not go further than a small subscription and a few admission tickets to give away. but i wish to explain to the public generally the enormous advantages and the necessity of a good and well-organized hospital in the town. whatever subscription you give you may be pretty nearly certain that the money will be spent in the right way. all other charities are more or less liable to some sort of imposture, but that is almost impossible with a hospital. i remember, as a soldier in the old days, that there was a certain sort of complaint we used to call malingering. if a man wanted to shirk any duty he pretended to be ill, but was very soon found out by the regimental doctor. so in the same way hospital doctors will soon find out the malingerer. a hospital is a high school of medicine for young doctors, who not only mix with scientific people at the institution, but gain a high moral feeling, so that there is no room for small petty jealousies amongst the medical practitioners. then look at the injured people carried to the hospital. they have the best of care, and in most cases are turned out cured, sound and strong. if it were not for the hospital, they would probably be cripples or invalids for life. in that way hospitals save the rates. i am sure that hundreds are yearly turned out of the infirmary sound in mind and body, able to support their families and keep them off the rates. then, again, a hospital makes an excellent school for nurses. that is one of the greatest benefits possible, because the authorities of the hospital are always strictly careful that nurses, before they are sent out, are thoroughly proficient. i am sure no building ground or house, or any other little present i may have given in the course of my life, will be more useful than the land i have given for this site. i hope, in addition to the land, to be able to give a good sum of money if i see it is required. _meeting in connection with a new infirmary for newport, march th, ._ when is a hospital a success. this toast has always appeared to me very difficult to word. i do not know whether success to the infirmary means a full infirmary with all the wards engaged. it reminds me of a celebrated american who, when asked what sort of a town he had just left, remarked that it was very flourishing, for every hospital was crammed, every workhouse was too full, and they were about to build another wing to the gaol. _cardiff infirmary, january th, ._ reclaim the street urchin. the arabians have a proverb to the effect that "the stone that is fit for the wall should not be allowed to lay in the way." amongst the children who wander about the streets there are many who are, so to speak, quite "fit for the wall"--that is to say, they may, through being brought under drill and other conditions found in the brigade, be turned into respectable members of society. _bazaar at cardiff, april th, ._ [illustration: "_the stone that is fit for the wall should not be allowed to lay in the way._"] the influence of women. [illustration: "_broke the engagement off because the young man said he had never heard of browning._"] women exercise a great deal of influence upon the affairs of the country, even without taking part in business, politics, or anything of that sort. for all i know, there may be some girls here who will affect political and many other movements in connection with the welfare of the nation. girls ought to be made to think that they will have great power in the future, and to realise that they may be able to influence some one for good, not by their great learning so much as by the power that a good girl or a good woman exercises over men. i heard the other day of a young lady who was engaged to be married, but who broke off the engagement because the young man said he had never heard of browning. i am glad to be able to tell you that she thought better of it afterwards.... it was said of the great queen cleopatra that when the roman emperor fell in love with her she was the means of altering the history of the world. some say that if cleopatra's nose had been shorter, the face of the world would have been different. the fate of some young men may depend upon the noses, as well as upon the learning, of some of the girls present. _re-opening of howell's school, llandaff, june th, ._ a friend for the friendless. there cannot possibly be an object in the wide world more worthy of sympathy than a girl without a friend. all over the world this society has its habitations, and it has already befriended , girls. it renders assistance when they are penniless, provides friends when they are friendless, and religious consolation when they require it. _girls' friendly society bazaar, newport, april th, ._ the bravery of the workers. i think it is my duty to allude to the dreadful accident which took place in july at the dock extension works. the facts stated in the report should be printed and go, not only to the shareholders, but to the country generally, as a record of the heroism and endurance that our workers, from the highest engineer to the lowliest navvy, were capable of under distressing and dreadful circumstances. we hear so much of the decadence of the english race nowadays, that i think the report of the disaster at the docks is well worthy of being printed. _half-yearly meeting alexandra (newport and south wales) docks and railway coy., london, august th, ._ i have always admired the working collier, and if british records could be printed thousands of colliers would be found as much entitled to the victoria cross as those soldiers who have performed doughty deeds on the battlefield. _workmen's outing at tredegar park, august th, ._ in the old town hall of newport many great celebrities have received testimonials, compliments and honours--warriors, church dignitaries, financiers and great politicians; but i do not think any circumstance like the present one has arisen before, and there could not be a more interesting ceremony than that which we are about to perform. it is necessary to make a slight excuse for the time which has expired since the great disaster on july nd, . those who remember the incidents know perfectly well that the whole of the dock premises and the town were in a state of excitement for some considerable period, and a large number of unfortunate men were overwhelmed by the disaster, while others fortunately escaped. i think the officials have done their very best to try and select those who really performed heroic efforts. those who have not received recognition, but think they deserve it, will, i feel sure, make all due allowance, and give those responsible the credit for having done their best. it is satisfactory to the directors to know that they have a body of men around them who are ready to do their duty. it is a trait of the educated british workman of to-day that, when given something useful to do, he will perform his task heroically--heroism is characteristic of him. _presentation of certificates for bravery on the occasion of the dock disaster, newport town hall, march th, ._ a tribute to the engine driver. [illustration: "_the feeling of a newport cabman when his horse runs away._"] i have the greatest admiration for engine drivers, particularly those on the great western railway, on which line i travel most. i have often wondered at the admirable manner in which they stop and start their trains. mr. gladstone once said that he could understand the mind of a great historian like gibbon, or of a great poet, like milton, byron, or wordsworth, but that he could not understand the formation of the mind of a man who wrote poems and plays like shakespeare. personally, i cannot understand the mind of an engine driver on an express train. i have been myself, in some very disagreeable positions, and have had some very nasty half minutes. not very long ago i found myself underneath my horse in a muddy ditch and the half minutes i spent in waiting for a friendly hand to drag me out, and in wondering whether assistance would come before i was suffocated, were very unpleasant ones. only a fortnight ago, too, a gentleman was driving me in a light vehicle down a narrow roadway when we saw a runaway horse attached to a lorry galloping towards us. it seemed as if there was nothing for it but for us to be knocked into the proverbial cocked-hat. however, our vehicle was drawn very close to the side and the runaway just cleared us. i can understand, too, the feeling of a man driving four horses when they run away with him, because that has happened to myself; or the feeling of a newport cabman when his horse runs away. but i cannot understand the feeling of sustained courage on the part of a driver of an express engine with his train going at miles an hour through the darkness of the night, perhaps in a storm of snow or sleet. to use a pretty strong expression, it must be like "hell with the lid off." those who travel on railways ought to think more of the responsibilities which rest on railway employees. _railwaymen's dinner, april st, ._ temperance "in all things." [illustration: "_there are many radicals who take a great deal more than they can carry._"] when i talk of temperance i mean temperance not only in drink, but in all things. there is temperance in eating, and temperance in life. in the present case there are three sections--the temperance people, the sunday closing people, and the total abstinence people. i cannot see how the question of religion can enter into party politics. i have known many tories who were habitual drunkards, and there are many radicals who take a great deal more than they can carry. there is always a difficulty in drawing the line between the enthusiast and the fanatic. enthusiastic gentlemen generally get what they require. fanatics, on the other hand, by the way they advocate their principles, turn people away. _opening of the new temperance hall, newport, may nd, ._ i believe that if the medical men of the country published their opinions concerning the cases which come under their notice, it would be a revelation to the general public how great a proportion of illness is due in one way or another to alcoholic drink. i cannot, however, help noticing that a great improvement and advance has taken place in the cause of temperance. a good many years ago, when there was going to be a great family festival--a wedding or something of that sort--one of the family retainers was asked if he was going to be there. "of course," was his reply, "and won't i just get drunk." that seemed to be the prevailing idea of enjoyment--to get drunk. but that attitude has been changed. _band of hope festival, newport, may rd, ._ [illustration: "_coming out and making themselves disagreeable to their neighbours._"] i have no doubt there are several in the hall who, like myself, are not total abstainers, but we are all one in our endeavour to promote temperance generally. to those who cannot be temperate, we advise total abstinence. there is nothing, i am sure, so fruitful of good as the advocacy of temperance amongst children. when children are taught to advocate a particular cause they do it more effectively than older people. but we are sometimes apt to become too much imbued with one particular idea, and it is never well to be too much of a bore to those around us. a little child was asked not long ago what she knew about king john and runnymede. she had evidently been a worker in the temperance cause, and replied, "oh, yes; he's the man they got down to runnymede and made him swear to take the pledge." she had forgotten about magna charta, and thought of only one kind of pledge. there is nothing that disturbs the general happiness and comfort so much as the action of those who persist in going into a public house when they need not do so, and coming out and making themselves disagreeable to their neighbours. i only hope that some of the younger portion of you will live to enjoy a bank holiday without seeing a single drunken person. _band of hope union, newport, may th, ._ total abstinence. there is a rule in the boys' brigade according to which you are supposed to be abstainers from drink. i need not say what a good thing that is. you will all be very much better for being abstainers. you will save a great deal of money, and probably keep your health up better. i wish i had been a total abstainer in my youth. i should have saved a great deal of money. _boys' brigade inspection, newport, april th, ._ an angelic vision. there is a phrase about "the happiness of the greatest number." it is an expressive phrase, but different people have different opinions of happiness. i was hunting in the midland counties and i asked, "where is tom?" the answer was, "he's retired, he's living the life of a hangel; he's a-heating, and a-drinking and a-cussing, and a-swearing all day long." that may not be your idea of the life of an angel, if it was my friend's idea. _the tredegar show, december th, ._ [illustration: "_he's retired, he's living the life of a hangel._"] chats to and about cabbies. i have had many rides in the cabs of newport, and have always found the cabbies very good drivers, prepared to go the pace according to the fare they expected at the end of the journey. _cabmen's dinner, newport, november th, ._ [illustration: "_prepared to go the pace according to the fare they expected at the end of the journey._"] [illustration: "_you try to blow me up on my way to tredegar house._"] i wish you had chosen some other patron saint than guy fawkes, for guy fawkes tried to blow up the house of lords, and on each anniversary you try to blow me up on my way to tredegar house. some persons may think that one conservative peer more or less does not matter, but i prefer that the experiment of blowing up should be tried upon the body of a radical peer. _cabmen's dinner, newport, nov th, ._ [illustration: "_look here, cut it short guv'nor! i've got the cab by the hour._"] there are very odd traditions about cabmen, and i am certain that sometimes they are not deserved. i have been told it is something of a tradition that it is the pride of a cabman to be able to whistle louder, to hit his horse harder, and to tell a bigger lie than anybody else. i believe that to be absolutely untrue, though some of you may know better than i do. one of you is supposed to have nearly upset a wedding. that was a dreadful thing to do. the bride and bridegroom were both at the altar and just about to have the knot tied nicely. the clergyman began to deliver his address, but the bridegroom appeared to be in a great hurry, and said to the clergyman, "look here, cut it short, guv'nor! i've got the cab by the hour." that was rather natural on the part of the bridegroom but the clergyman became very angry, and very nearly threw up the case.... [illustration: "_look here, mr. huddleston, i call you a thief, a blackguard, a scoundrel, and a villain._"] cabmen are limited in the language they may use. judge huddleston, when a barrister, was defending a client against a cabman, who had been using very bad language. the advocacy of huddleston won the case. the next day the cabman called upon him and said: "look here, mr. huddleston, you told me yesterday that i must not call people so and so. what are your charges for telling me what i can call anyone without getting into trouble?" mr. huddleston named his fee, cabby paid the money, and inquired what names he might call a man with impunity. mr. huddleston referred to his law books, and replied: "this is what you may call a man without being had up for libel or defamation of character. you may call him a villain, a scoundrel, a blackguard, and a thief, always supposing you don't accuse him of having stolen anything." the cabby took up his hat and said: "look here, mr. huddleston, i call you a thief, a blackguard, a scoundrel and a villain; not that i mean to say you ever stole anything. good morning." so you know now exactly what you can call a man if you do not like the fare he gives you. at the same time, i do not believe you would say such things. [illustration: "_that's where lord tredegar buried his charger; he made that mound himself._"] then, again, a cabman is always supposed to be a driving encyclopedia. when newport cabmen are driving along caerleon road or chepstow road, credulous individuals ask them the name of every house and place they pass, what it means and what it is. strangers want to know, and you must tell them something. there is an extraordinary tradition about a cabman driving along a road, when a lady fare asked him what "that mountain was with the tump on the top." "but what is the tump for?" persisted the lady. "oh, that's where lord tredegar buried his charger; he made that mound himself," was the reply. such stories are very interesting and amusing, but they spoil history, and that is why i think we are indebted to cabmen for the extraordinary traditions that go about the country. _cabmen's dinner, newport, november th, ._ cabmen have traditionally bad characters, and are supposed to possess a vocabulary which is not taught in the intermediate schools. they are also supposed to have a special method of calculating distances and coin. all those ideas are exploded like nursery rhymes, such as "whittington and his cat." cabmen are well looked after. there is the excise officer and the cruelty to animals society, and, if these are not enough, there is the watch committee. _cabmen's dinner, newport, november th, ._ [illustration: "_but the top of a 'bus is the place for us to see the coves go by._"] you have to compete with tramcars, motor cars, and all kinds of horrible conveyances. having been interested in nursery rhymes since i was very young, i have been looking through some children's books during the last few days to see what is provided for the children of these days, and i came across the following lines in a book for children:-- the hansom takes you quickest, the growler keeps you dry, but the top of the 'bus is the place for us to see the coves go by. i advise you not to give that little book to your children, as it will induce them to ride on the top of a 'bus instead of taking a cab. _cabmen's dinner, newport, november th, ._ [illustration: "_fast women and slow horses._"] i have never been able to find out exactly why the cabmen's dinner is fixed for guy fawkes' day. i have looked up guy fawkes' pedigree, and i cannot find that he ever drove a growler or even a hansom cab. then i thought it might have something to do with inkerman day, which is all upset nowadays, as you know. inkerman was always called a soldiers' battle, because it was so foggy that the generals could not see what they were doing. i have an idea that it must have been a cabmen's battle, and that it was cabmen who fought at inkerman or commanded at inkerman. speaking of cabmen, i think that they are like lord rosebery's dukes--poor, but honest. this is not an epoch-making dinner; it is not even a record dinner. "epoch-making" and "record-making" are terms which are frequently used now-a-days, and i wish people would give them a rest for a time. i remember a young gentleman who came into a fortune and very soon got through it because his company was very indifferent, he being very fond of racecourses and other iniquities of that sort. he went through the bankruptcy court, and when asked how he accounted for getting rid of his fortune so quickly, he replied, "fast women and slow horses." now i think cabmen would probably make a profit out of fast women and slow horses. one of you will take a very fine lady to caerleon racecourse next week, and, having a slow horse, will take two hours to do the journey, and charge a two hours' price. but i always like this society for one particular reason, namely, it has no small societies belonging to it. there is no cabmen's football club to write and ask you for a subscription. so far as i know, there is no cabmen's band, or other small institutions of which we have so many in every other circle of society. there is no cabmen's congress, and no cabmen's conferences and that is a great merit in the society, because i know that when i have done one thing, i have done all that i shall be required to do. _cabmen's dinner, november th, ._ talks to licensed victuallers. although the devil is not as black as he is painted, i hope neither i nor any other gentleman present bears any resemblance to his satanic majesty. the scythians, it is reported, first debated things when drunk, and then whilst sober, and perhaps at the end of this gathering i may be able to form a better opinion of the members of the newport corporation. _mayor's banquet, newport march th, ._ a few months ago, in the silly season, "the times" had about a couple of columns of letters from people discussing the uses and abuses of drink. i read the letters carefully, and came to the conclusion that there was a lot to be said on both sides. an octogenarian of wrote to say that his eyesight, hearing, and teeth were all sound, and that he had not tasted spirituous liquors in his life. shortly after, another octogenarian of , in addition to claiming the healthy condition of the previous writer, spoke of intending matrimony. he, however, said his memory was not so good as it was, but, so far as he could recollect, he had never been to bed sober in his life. after reading the first letter, i thought it was a "clincher," and went to bed without my usual brandy and soda, saying there would be no more licensed victuallers' dinners for me. when, however, i read the second letter, i changed my mind about the dinner. it has been said that life is not all beer and skittles, but it is a good thing to have something to drive away the depression which occasionally visits every one who has arrived at manhood. _licensed victuallers' dinner, cardiff, march th, ._ in the old days barons drank strong ale. the barons would have their liquor strong, and local veto at that time would have meant loss of licensed victuallers' heads. some people may wonder why i so persistently attend the licensed victuallers' association meetings--for i do attend regularly. i will tell you why, in a few words, if you will not tell anybody else. there is a clause in the family settlements that compels me to do it. i endeavour to act up to those settlements. _licensed victuallers' dinner, newport, march th, ._ i am not surprised that members of parliament are rather shy of going to licensed victuallers' dinners. they have to be very careful of what they say. words, it has been said, are given to conceal thoughts. after dinner, sometimes, thoughts get the mastery of words, and members of parliament have to think a good deal of the future. they have to ponder over the teetotal vote, and they have to be very careful that they do not offend the licensed victuallers. the difference as regards the members of the house of lords is this--they do not worry themselves about the teetotal vote, and they do not care a _darn_ for the licensed victuallers. a certain number of people think they can arrange everything satisfactorily upon an arithmetical principle. the latest fad is "one man one vote." if you do not take care it will be one man one glass. i would like to know how that could be arranged on arithmetical principles satisfactorily. there are a few other burning questions which i have never yet seen satisfactorily answered. one is 'what is home rule?' and the other is 'have you used pear's soap?' until we can find satisfactory answers to these, i think that legislation in regard to licensed victuallers will be quiet for a bit. i have never considered it necessary to apologise for dining with licensed victuallers. if there are any who think that in dining with that company i am stepping down from a pedestal on which i ought to remain, all i can do is to answer them in the beautiful motto of the order of the garter, "honi soit qui mal y pense." _licensed victuallers' dinner, cardiff, february th, ._ [illustration: "_if there are any who think that i am stepping down from a pedestal._"] cakes and ale. for my own part, i cannot see how the country could get on without licensed victuallers. some years ago when a frenchman wanted to describe an english country gentleman, he said he was one of those who, whenever he had nothing to do, suggested to those about him that they should go out and kill something. [illustration: "_if a time arrived when there were no more cakes and ale._"] there is a type of politician who, whenever he has nothing to do, says "let us go and abolish something." if this type had its way it would abolish the lord mayor's show and barnum's white elephant. i do not think the country would be one whit happier if a time arrived when there were no more cakes and ale. _licensed victuallers' dinner, january th, ._ the great land tyrant. i am now like the old man of the sea--someone you ought to get rid of. i am a great land tyrant. if you want a bit of land you can't get it. if you want a piece for a recreation ground you can't get it. if you want a piece for a church you can't get it. if you want a piece for a school you can't get it. if you want a place for any other amusement or for athletic grounds you can't get it. why? because it belongs to lord tredegar. so if you treat me like jonah, and throw me overboard, perhaps it would be much better for you. _conservative association meeting, newport. august th, ._ two lord tredegars. it appears to me sometimes that there are two lord tredegars.... most of you have been children at some time or other, and so most of you, i am happy to think, are acquainted with nursery rhymes. there is one which, probably, a great many of you have heard of. it is about an old lady with a basket who was going to market. she laid down on a bank and went to sleep, and a pedlar passing by, for some reason or other, cut her petticoats considerably above her knees. when she awoke the first thing she said was, "surely, this is not i." and sometimes, when he awoke in the morning, and saw what was said about lord tredegar, he was inclined to make the same remark, "surely, this is not i." when i read of a lord tredegar who is trying to reap what he has not sown, who binds his tenants down to covenants which do not exist, and who exacts the uttermost farthing from his miserable tenants, i think sometimes there must be two lord tredegars. _tredegar show, november th, ._ [illustration: "_surely, this is not i!_"] the trials of benefactors. [illustration: "_i have lately started a store in the village._"] the other day a friend of mine was in much the same position as i am to-night. he owned a large estate in the neighbourhood, and he was asked to preside at a meeting of the candidate who was going to come forward. i asked him afterwards if the meeting was successful. "oh, yes," he replied, "it was fairly successful, but they began to find out my failures and shortcomings." i said, "what have they found out about you?" the reply was, "i have lately started a store in the village, so that the agricultural labourers might have their beef and groceries at cost price. i thought that was rather a good thing to do, but it was far from a good thing in the opinion of my opponents. all the butchers and grocers declared they would make it very hot for me." i am in a somewhat similar position, and i told my friend so. "what have you done?" asked my friend, and i replied, "i have given a public park to the newport people." "what has that to do with it?" "well," said i, "they make out that it has increased the rates." _conservative meeting, newport, february nd, ._ what is a philanthropist? there are moments in a man's life when there is a contest between the lip and the eye, whether we should smile or cry. i am sure you would not like to see me cry just now, but there is a certain amount of sentiment in an affair of this sort. for a person in my position it is rather trying. i feel very much like the little boy you all knew in your nursery stories. the boy had a pie, and "he put in his thumb and pulled out a plum and said 'what a good boy am i.'" that is what i feel now. i suppose i should feel like a philanthropist. you probably all know what a philanthropist is. a philanthropist is an old gentleman, probably with a bald head, and he tries to make his conscience think he is doing good all the while he is having his pocket picked. _in reply to a vote of thanks._ "a splendid fellow." [illustration:"_a philanthropist is an old gentleman, probably with a bald head._"] it has been wisely said that there is nothing a man will not believe in his own favour. well, after the way you praise me i believe i am a splendid fellow altogether. but one's name is not always spoken of with that reverence with which a lord's name ought to be mentioned. still, i suppose there is such a thing as ignorance among men about those who do not live in the same station as themselves, and i always put it down to that. some day or other they may come to find out that what they say against lord tredegar is not all true. _st. mellons' show, september th, ._ naturally a conservative. you will not wonder that i am in a graver mood than is usual on these occasions. for more than years my lamented father occupied this chair, and i believe he was present on every occasion of this kind. in that time, the show has been raised from a very small one to be one of the most important in the country. my father has left me, amongst other possessions, an hereditary trust in the shape of this agricultural show. if i have given any hope that i shall fill the position as my father filled it, i shall feel very much flattered. it is not my intention to make great changes. there is no way of showing disrespect more than in making great changes, turning everything topsy-turvey, as if we knew everything better than those who went before us. i am naturally conservative, and come of a conservative family. i intend to keep to what was good of my late father. i have inherited a great trust in this show, and i hope that in future it will be seen that the show has not lost its prestige, its popularity or its utility. _tredegar show, december th, ._ politics on the brain. everybody now has got politics on the brain. we dream of politics and we almost drink politics--at least, we have been drinking politics to-night. so far as i am concerned, i should like, rip van winkle-like, to go to sleep for the next two months and wake up to find the general election over; only then i should like to wake up to find it had gone the right way. _farmers' dinner, bassaleg, october th, ._ the unruly hound. [illustration: "_i lick him whenever i have the opportunity._"] it is wrong to introduce politics at this dinner, and, in fact, i have no great liking for politics on any occasion, though i do at times have a little to do with them. and i have a little way of my own. i have a most unruly hound in my pack, which i call "radical," and i lick him whenever i have the opportunity. it does the hound good, and at the same time eases my own mind. though i have no great love of politics, i think this is a time, if ever, a member of parliament should feel inclined to speak. there is one subject which must be in everybody's mind, and for the consideration of which everyone must brace himself in the next session--that is "tenant's right." that is a question in which every agriculturist must take a deep interest; and for myself i think meetings of this sort much more likely to promote a goodly feeling between landlord and tenant than the provisions of any act of parliament. _tredegar show, december th, ._ the whoo whoops. i thank you for the way the toast of my health has been received; but i do not quite see the propriety of "whoo whoops" at the end. that is an expression that sportsmen use only when they are about to kill something; i do not see its applicability in the present case. i hope that you do not mean all you have expressed. _tredegar show, december th, ._ m.p.'s as badgers. during the intervals of pigeon pie and boiled beef, i have had the pleasure of a few minutes' conversation with mr. cordes, and from that conversation i have come to the conclusion that a member of parliament holds the same position to the human race that a badger does to the animal race. some people think that the only earthly purpose for which a badger can have been created was that of being baited, and i have an idea that some persons seem to imagine that a member of parliament was created for nothing but that we might bait him. but on this occasion we have been brought together not to bait mr. cordes, but to fête him. _conservative banquet, newport, january th, ._ the honour of being m.p. it is a great honour still, i am sure, to be a member of the british house of commons. lord rosebery, when he was chairman of the london county council, in a speech that he made--and i dare say many of you have been interested in some of lord rosebery's speeches because he has a fund of humour, and very often one is not quite certain whether he is in earnest or in jest--once said that the position of a town councillor is much more important than that of a member of parliament. it is quite possible that an individual member of a county council or a town council may be more important as an individual than a member of the house of commons, but his vote can only mainly affect the locality, whilst the action of a member of the house of commons may not only affect the whole of great britain, but the whole of the british empire. so i venture to think the position of a member of parliament is a little more important than that of a member of a town council or a county council. _monmouthshire county council, february nd, ._ nelson's saying. there still exists in the bosoms of our public men the feeling which animated lord nelson before the battle of the nile, when he said, "to-morrow i shall have either a peerage or westminster abbey." _press dinner, cardiff, may th, ._ the disadvantages of the peerage. [illustration: "_receiving eggs that are not fit for breakfast, and cats that have not received honourable interment._"] there are advantages and disadvantages in belonging to the house of lords. the peers are deprived of the right which other citizens have of standing on the hustings and receiving eggs that are not fit for breakfast and cats that have not received honourable interment. but they have the privilege of british citizens of being roundly abused by those whose talents lay in that direction. _associated chambers of commerce, newport, sept. st, ._ sweeps as peers. [illustration: "_i am acquainted with some sweeps._"] a certain gentleman who certainly thinks that the constitution of the country could be reorganised and set straight at once by a magazine article, says that if the house of lords rejects the home rule bill there is a very simple way to remedy the affair. mr. gladstone will then, he states, collect sweeps and make them peers so as to gain a majority. whether the gentleman intended to insult the sweeps or to insult the house of lords i do not know. i am acquainted with some sweeps. i have always looked upon sweeps in the same way as i look upon licensed victuallers. they are a body of men who are carrying on a very difficult profession with credit to themselves and advantage to the country. moreover, the sweeps with whom i am acquainted are most of them tories, and i shall not be surprised if as soon as those sweeps are collected and made peers, and have washed their faces and put on their coronets and robes, they do immediately range themselves on the opposition side of the house, and do, as most new gladstonian peers do, vote conservative directly they are created. _newport licensed victuallers' dinner, february rd, ._ you cannot please everybody. i have no doubt that if the house of lords were to pass by a large majority the disestablishment of the welsh church in the next session, the welsh party would say the hereditary principle was the only one to be depended upon. on the other hand, if the lords were to pass by a large majority a local veto bill, i have no doubt the licensed victuallers would at once go in for the abolition of the house of lords. _cardiff licensed victuallers' dinner, march th, ._ i am not a landlord myself, but i have strong opinions about the right of property, which i hope, in future legislation, will always be considered. if ever i become a landlord, i hope the interest which i have always felt in the welfare of my respected father's tenants will lead them to suppose that i shall never become such a ruffian as some people would make landlords out to be. _monmouthshire chamber of agriculture, february th, ._ i confess i was much comforted in reading one of those amiable, kind and christian-like speeches for the total suppression of landlords. i looked into the dictionary for the meaning of the word "landlord," and i found it was "a keeper of a public-house." when i read that, my soul was comforted. _newport licensed victuallers' dinner, january th, ._ i have always taken great interest in those who live on my property, it does not matter whether on agricultural land or in the bowels of the earth. a great landowner does not rest on a bed of roses. the loss to a landowner who only owns a small agricultural property, in days of agricultural depression when tenants cannot pay their rent, generally means a few hundred pounds and the reducing of all his expenses. but when it comes to great commercial interests, to owning the land on which our great ironworks, great tinworks, and collieries are situated, and when those interests are depressed, it means not a loss of a few hundreds, but the wiping off of several thousands. and it means occupying themselves night and day in ascertaining how they can help to still carry on those great interests which have employed so many hands, and which are so necessary for the welfare of the population of the district.... a great ironmaster, mr. carnegie, who found it to his best interest to carry on his great works in america, has enunciated a sentiment which appeals to me, to the effect that it is the business of every rich man to die poor. sometimes i feel that will probably be my fate if i go on as i am doing. however, i shall be poor in good company. _presentation to lord tredegar of miners' lamp and silver medal at risca eisteddfod, october th, ._ considerable difficulties attach to the position of a man who happens to own land round a large and increasing town. so many demands are placed before him. there are demands for building sites and for open spaces and public parks. it is difficult, when the land is limited in area, to satisfy all requirements. i hope, in a short time, however, to be enabled to make a present to the town of newport of a public park, one which will not cost much in laying out for use. _mayoral dinner, newport, december nd, ._ it may possibly happen that if the order to which i belong is swept away, i may become a candidate for municipal honours, and perhaps aspire to the civic chair. at present, however, i have my own responsibilities, for i am deeply troubled with what i may term the four r's--rates, roads, royalties, and rents. _mayor's banquet, march th, ._ keep us still our shorthorns. a gentleman who was very fond of writing poetry wrote a couple of lines which might be quoted against him although he has long since joined the majority. he wrote:-- let laws and learning, art and commerce die, but keep us still our old nobility. the last line can be altered as you like, and you can put anything you like for laws and learning, i would say buffaloes or anything else, but keep our shorthorns. in breeding shorthorns a pedigree of a long line of ancestors is indispensable. mr. stratton and myself have tried to work on those lines by breeding the nobility of shorthorns. _stock sale at the duffryn, newport, october th, ._ [illustration: "_i always find great difficulty in obtaining entrance to the dairy competitions._"] interest in dairying. my thoughts are at the moment running on ground rents, royalties and wayleaves, so if i wander from the subject i hope you will forgive me. i cannot regard the subject of dairying without thinking how we would have stood now supposing we had taken up the question as we ought to have done twenty years ago. we would not now be taking a back seat with the foreigners. but i always now find great difficulty in obtaining entrance to the dairy competitions, if i go there casually. whether it is the attractions of the pretty dairymaids inside, or the coolness of the atmosphere, there is certainly very great interest taken in the competitions and that is satisfactory. _monmouthshire dairy school prize distribution, november th, ._ where all classes meet. of all meetings which take place in the course of a year, there are none attended with such universal good as an agricultural meeting, because here all classes can meet, whereas in nearly all other meetings the attendances are of a sectional character. for instance, race meetings--many people think them wrong and never attend them. then there are church extension and missionary meetings--a great many do not like to attend them. but as to agricultural meetings, everybody seems to like to attend them, from the clergy to the racing man, the mechanic, the agricultural labourer, and the meetings must, therefore, promote a deal of harmony among classes. an agricultural meeting is much more effective than the proceedings of messrs. bright and cobden, who are going about preaching a war of classes. _tredegar show, december th, ._ where the agriculturist should study. some excursionists were going around the house of either wordsworth or tennyson--i forget which--and asked a servant where was her master's study. she replied, "here is my master's study, but he studies in the fields." that is the lesson to be learnt in respect to agriculture. _agricultural exhibition, newport, december nd, ._ a blue bottle and a bird. i hope you won't do what i did last time. it was a day very different from this. it was very hot. i saw an animal in the ring that i did not care the least about, and just then a great blue-bottle settled on my nose. the consequence was that i bought the worst animal at a very high price. _stock sale at the duffryn, newport, october th, ._ a limit even to science. [illustration: "_just then a great blue-bottle settled on my nose._"] in regard to scientific agriculture, i am not sure whether we are not rather overdoing things; but there is no doubt that, notwithstanding all the science we have, we have never succeeded in making a cow have more than one calf in a year, or a sheep more than two lambs. that goes to prove that there is a limit even to science in agriculture, and it reminds me of the saying, "you may pitchfork nature out of existence, but she is sure to come back to you." _bassaleg show, october th, ._ an eye for a good pair of horses. some men have an eye for one thing and some for another, but i think if i have a weakness it is to fancy that i have an eye for a good pair of horses, and for a straight line. when i see a line i can judge if it has been ploughed straight, and then i can judge whether the ploughman has had too much. of course, that sort of thing never happens at a ploughing match, but still it is as well to be on the look-out. _farmers' association, bassaleg, october th, ._ as cattle dealer. just before i came to the meeting i had put into my hand a small--a very small--paper in which i am described as a cattle-dealer. but i am not at all ashamed of that. _newport conservative meeting, april th, ._ the best farmer. it was the late lord beaconsfield, i believe, who said that the best educated farmer known spent all his life in the open air, and never read a book. there is a great deal of truth in that, and although science may aid farmers, observation and experience in the proper treatment of land and crops will do much more. _tredegar show, december th, ._ fox-hunting and diplomacy. many people imagine that to be a master of foxhounds you have only to get a horse--but besides the matter of pounds, shillings and pence, you have to create an interest amongst the farmers over whose land you hunt, and whose sheep, pigs and lambs you frighten. one, therefore, has to use a certain amount of diplomacy. _gelligaer steeplechases, april th, ._ nothing tends to brush away the cobwebs so much as a bracing run with the hounds. fox hunting is an admirable sport, and my neighbours shall enjoy it as long as there is a fox to be found on my estate. _at tredegar house, october th, ._ at an athletic club dinner. when i came into the room i expected to find one half of the company on crutches and the other half in splints. i am not at all certain that i am the proper man to be president of this club, because i think that the president of an athletic club should measure at least inches round the chest, and ought to have biceps of inches, and scale at least stone lbs. i am afraid all the dumb bells in the world would not get me up to that. i am what might be called an old fossil, though i cannot boast of the garrulity of old age, and therefore i will not tell you that when i played football i was always kicking the ball out of the ground into the river; or that when i played cricket i always drove the ball into the river. those are facts well known in newport. _first annual dinner of the newport athletic club, april th, ._ hunting. i am always delighted to see any member of the corporation at the meet of my hounds. if they came out horrid radicals they would go back half tories. [illustration: "_i am afraid all the dumb bells in the world would not get me up to that._"] "one touch of nature makes the whole world kin," and there is nothing like a meet in the open country for setting things right between friends and neighbours. _mayor's banquet, newport, january th, ._ a clever satirist has said that nature made the horse and hounds and threw in the fox as a connecting link. in my opinion, fox-hounds and hunting are the connecting links between the landlord and the tenant farmer. [illustration: "_'oh the devil!' i exclaimed. 'no, not the devil,' said the farmer, 'but the fox.'_"] i have made many pleasant acquaintances lately in my hunting expeditions, and i hope we shall always remain on the most amicable terms. but some have astonished me with their argument. said one, "beg pardon, major, i have lost such a sight of poultry." "dear me," i said. "yes, we lost forty ducks the other night." "oh, the devil!" i exclaimed. "no, not the devil," said the farmer, "but the fox." i asked the farmer how he managed to count so many. "well," was the reply, "i had four ducks sitting on ten eggs each; and that made forty." well, the chamber of agriculture has not yet settled the knotty point of "compensation for unexhausted improvements." however, the argument ended in our parting very good friends, as, said the farmer, "i and my landlord have been friends hitherto, and as i hope we shall continue to be." two unprofitable honours. i have the honour to hold two offices which, if i did not enjoy the friendship of the farmers, would be very thorny ones. one of them is that of being a member of parliament for an agricultural county. you will agree with me that, in such a position, if i were not on good terms with the farmer, i would often be on a bed of thorns. the other office i hold is that of master of a pack of hounds. i think also if i were not on good terms with the farmer that would not be a very pleasant position. i do not know that there is any similarity between the two offices, except that neither of them has any salary. i hope and trust that it will be a very long time before the country will be unable to find men willing to do the duties in either capacity without being paid for them. _tredegar show, december th, ._ the happy farmer. a great many people fancy that the farmer lives in a beautiful cottage, with vines climbing over it, that the cows give milk without any milking, that the earth yields forth her fruits spontaneously, and that the farmer has nothing to do but sit still and get rich. _tredegar show, december th, ._ equine expressions. our great orators, whenever they want to be more expressive than usual, make use of phrases savouring of horses and carriages. when the grand old man came into power, it was said he would have an awkward team to manage. again, when a great division was expected some time ago, and there were doubts as to which way two gentlemen would go, it was said that mr. fowler had kicked over the traces and that mr. saunders would jib. equine expressions are quite in the fashion. _may horse show dinner, may th, ._ kindness to animals. my experience of life is that a man who loves horses is a good member of society. a man who is kind to his horses is kind to everyone else. i belong to a four-in-hand club, two of the leading members, lord onslow and lord carrington, being close personal friends of mine. a relative of lord onslow once wrote: "what can tommy onslow do he can drive a coach and two; can tommy onslow do no more yes, he can drive a coach and four." yet lord onslow and lord carrington are something more than splendid whips; they are highly successful governors of british dependencies. _may day horse show dinner, march nd, ._ talks on education. i have been delighted to hand so many prizes to lady pupil teachers, and i recall the philosopher who once said, "all that is necessary is that a girl should have the morals of an angel, the manners of a kitten, and the mind of a flea." but after this distribution one cannot go away with the impression that the female mind is only the mind of a flea. _pupil teachers' prize distribution, january th, ._ we have been informed, to-night of different foreign educational systems, the german, the french, and the american, which we are generally told in this country we ought to copy. in the french system there is too much centralization. every teacher, whether at a university or at a small elementary school, is simply a government official. the german system is a splendid one, but it is all subsidized by government. the english government is not generous enough to do that for english schools, so we can hardly hope to copy the german system. then there is the american system. that is also certainly splendid, but unfortunately we have no great millionaires in england who will help us to copy the american system. it has been said that when an englishman becomes a millionaire, and he feels that he is nearing his end, he thinks--to use a sporting expression--that it is time to "hedge for a future state." then he builds a church. the american millionaire founds a university, or leaves large sums of money for a training college, and i think he is right. _technical school prize distribution, newport, december rd, ._ sir william preece has said that there were five new elements discovered within the last century. there were others undiscovered, and it only remained for some student to discover one of them to make himself famous, and, like xenophon, return to find his name writ large on the walls of his native town. a celebrated poet once declared-- "you can live without stars; you can live without books, but civilized man cannot live without cooks." some people may be able to live without books and only with cooks. but without science and books we should not have had our empire. books and science help us to keep up the empire. it is for these reasons that i do what i can to encourage technical and scientific education. _school of science and art prize distribution, december th, ._ you can be quite certain that no hooligan ever attended an art school. the intelligence and refinement of manners brought about by the study of sculpture, painting, and architecture have more to do with the stopping of drunkenness than any other teaching you could think of.... the charm of these art schools for me lies in the fact that we are always expecting something great, just as a fisherman at a little brook, where he has never caught anything much larger than his little finger, is always expecting to hook some big monster. in these art schools i am always expecting some great artist or sculptor turned out--somebody from newport schools--not only a credit to himself but to any town, somebody who will become a second millais or a great sculptor. newport has improved a good deal of late years, and i am sure the study of painting and architecture has had much to do with it. in looking over some old papers in the tredegar archives the other day, i came across a description by two people who passed from cardiff through newport about years ago. they said: "we went over a nasty, muddy river, on an old rotten wooden bridge, shocking to look at and dangerous to pass over. on the whole this is a nasty old town." _school of science and art prize distribution, december th, ._ sir john gorst has made reference to the indisposition of the territorial aristocracy to encourage high intellectual attainment. i think "territorial aristocracy" is rather an undefinable term, and perhaps school children will be asked what it is. i do not think that those who own land are as a class opposed to high intellectual attainment. the county councils to some extent are representative of territorial aristocracy, and of the county councils of england and wales have agreed to spend the whole of the government grant in education. that is a sign that the territorial aristocracy are not averse to intellectual attainment. perhaps colonel wallis will ask some of the children in the school what the meaning of "territorial aristocracy" is. i read that when a child was asked what the meaning of the word yankee was, the reply was that it was an animal bred in yorkshire. _opening of the school board offices, newport, march th, ._ victor hugo once said that the opening of a school means the closing of a prison. that is very true, regarded as an aphorism, and i wish it were true in reality, because there would not be any prisons left in england. _opening of intermediate schools, october th, ._ i am pleased that technical schools are taking such a firm hold in the town. i feel more and more that the teaching of art is doing a great deal of good. there is a great improvement in the tastes of the people, shown by the architectural beauty of their residences and in decorations generally. i was very much surprised a short time ago at reading a strong article by "ouida"--whose novels i have read with a great deal of interest--on the ugliness of our modern life. she certainly took a very pessimistic view of the matter and seemed to look only at the workaday part of the world--at the making of railways, the knocking down of old houses, and the riding of bicycles. i do not see that those things come under the title of art. one of the objects of instruction at the art schools is to induce students to create ideas of their own. at the same time i do not think you could do much better than study the old masters, than whose works i do not see anything better amongst modern productions. the great silver racing cups given away now, worth from £ to £ , do not compare with the handiwork of italian and venetian silver workers. i have some pieces of plate in the great cellar under tredegar house which i do not think it possible to improve upon. _school of science and art prize distribution, newport, january th, ._ one or two little incidents in my own experience lately shew the value of studying some particular trade or science or some form of art. only the other day i met a young lady at a country house. before i had seen her a few minutes she remarked: "i suppose you don't remember me, lord tredegar?" if i had been young and gallant, it would have been natural for me to have replied: "such a face as yours i am not in the least likely to forget." but i thought i was too old for that, and merely said that i did not remember at the moment having met her previously. the young lady then informed me that she had received a prize at my hands at a great school, and that in handing her the prize i had remarked, "you have well earned the prize, and it is a branch of art that, if continued, will prove very useful in after life." that branch of art had enabled her to take the position she then occupied. the other incident was that of a young man who had been left by his parents very poor. he had the greatest difficulty in getting anything at all to do, because he had never made himself proficient in any particular trade or science. i agree with the man who said one should know something about everything and everything about something. _school of science and art prize distribution, newport, december th, ._ it has been well said, i forget by whom, but i think it was dr. johnson, that you can do anything with a scotsman, if you catch him young. i think you can say just the same of the welshman or the monmouthshire man. _newport intermediate boys' school, november th, ._ one day i accompanied a young lady to her carriage on leaving a public function at which i had officiated. the band struck up a martial air, and i stepped actively to the time of the music. remarking to the young lady that the martial air appealed to an old soldier, she said, "why, lord tredegar, were you ever in the army?" that is the reason why i think we should have memorials and why i shall be very glad to have this picture in my house. _on the occasion of the presentation of a portrait of his lordship's statue in cathays park, cardiff, september th, ._ the commander of the french army said of the balaclava charge that it was magnificent, but that it was not war. i do not know what the french general called war, but my recollection of the charge is that it was something very nearly like it. i have to thank the power above for being here now, fifty-five years after the charge took place. whether this statue will commemorate me for a long time or not is of little moment, but i know it will commemorate for ever the sculptor, mr. goscombe john. _unveiling of equestrian statue of viscount tredegar in cathays park, cardiff, on th anniversary of the balaclava charge, october th, _ the archÃ�ology of monmouthshire. anyone who lives in monmouthshire, a county rich in its old castles, churches, camps, and cromlechs, cannot fail to be some sort of an archæologist, and it is this mild type i represent. i have always had a great fancy for history, and anyone who studies the archæology of monmouthshire must be well grounded in the history of england. the county has held a prominent place in history from the earliest period down to the present day, commencing with the silures, and passing on to the romans, saxons, and normans. some locality or other in the county was connected with each of those periods. one little failing about archæology which has always been a sore point with me is that it is apt to destroy some of those little illusions which we like to keep up. i hope when we go to caerwent, during the next day or two, my illusion concerning king arthur will not be dispelled, for i love to think of king arthur and his round table having been at that place. alexander wept because there were no new worlds to conquer, but i hope archæologists will not weep because there are no new ruins to be discovered. an old stone has been picked up on the moors at caldicot, and scientific men know that the stone proves the marches to have been reclaimed from the sea by the romans. the question of the origin of roman encampments is one about which there is a great deal of doubt, and i hope to hear some new story when we inspect the ancient part in tredegar park. _fourth annual meeting, cambrian archæological association, august th, ._ monmouthshire still welsh. in the reign of henry viii, monmouthshire was annexed to england, and therefore we are not now exactly in wales. but years have not eradicated the welsh language and the welsh traditions. _farmers' association dinner, bassaleg, october rd, ._ freedom of morgan brotherhood. i take my opinion of freedom from dr. samuel johnson, and that is good enough for me. dr. johnson said that freedom was "to go to bed when you wish, to get up when you like, to eat and drink whatever you choose, to say whatever occurs to you at the moment, and to earn your living as best you may." [illustration: "_i talk of buccaneer morgan._"] the lord mayor has hoped that he will prove to be a member of the tredegar family. the name of morgan is a splendid name. you can, with that name, get your pedigree from wherever you like. whenever i talk of bishops, i remember to speak of bishop morgan. if i speak to a football player, i talk of buccaneer morgan, and so it goes on in any subject you wish. i do not care--even if there is a great murder--a morgan is sure to be in it! i do not wish to detract from the lord mayor's desire to be in the pedigree, but, at all events, we can all belong to a morgan brotherhood. _reply to toast of "our guest," at city hall, cardiff, october th, ._ when the agitation for the new technical institute was going on, i daresay most of you heard all sorts of objections to it on the ground of expense and of there being no necessity for an institute of this description. some of the agitators went back to solomon. they said, "solomon was the wisest man who ever lived, and he has told us that 'he who increaseth knowledge increaseth sorrow.' so why," said they, "do you want to have more knowledge?" another objector said, "a little knowledge is a dangerous thing," and then somebody else said, "of the making of books there is no end," and "much study is a weariness of the flesh." all those old sayings were trotted out, but there was the other side to bring before you. there was the dear old lady who was so proud of her son--he was a kind of artist--that she thought he would become a second gainsborough. he got on very well, as she thought, and one day, meeting his professor, she said, "oh, professor, do you think my son will ever learn to draw?" and he replied, "yes, madam, if you harness him to a wagon." happily, newport went the right way, and built what i fancy is quite one of the most up-to-date technical institutions in the country. _technical institute prize distribution, newport, december st, ._ it is very difficult to address a mixed school of boys and girls. you require totally different things for boys and girls. a learned gentleman was once asked his ideal of a girl, and he replied, "most like a boy." asked his ideal of a boy, he replied, "only a human boy who dislikes learning anything." i was a human boy myself once, about years ago, and i hated learning anything except running about and making myself disagreeable to everyone. my experience of girls is that girls want to learn when a boy doesn't. a girl is nearly always anxious to learn, whilst a boy only wants to amuse himself. a great m.p. gave an address about education a week or so ago, and said our system was all wrong, that facts were no use, and that thinking was what they wanted. i totally disagree with him. facts are wanted, for it is from facts you get on to thinking. one examiner was much amused by the notion of a boy who said that what struck him most was the toughness of wood, the wetness of water, and the magnificent soapiness of soap. that boy was going to get on; he was thinking more about facts than anything else. [illustration: "_he was what they called 'a devil of a chap to jaw.'_"] another great school question is with regard to punishment, whether it is good to order a boy or girl to write out a certain number of lines or learn so many lines of poetry. a well known gentleman of the world, politically and otherwise, when at school was what they called "a devil of a chap to jaw." that was the expression of a fellow pupil. he was constantly in the playground jawing, and they sentenced him to run around the ground five times when he spoke for more than three minutes. that was supposed to cure him, but it did not. he speaks now more than anyone in the house of commons. _pontywaun school prize distribution, march th, ._ a hybrid county. we in monmouthshire are in a sort of hybrid county. a great many people think we are in wales and a great many people think we are not. cardiff is very jealous of us--jealous because we can get drunk on sundays and they can't. i hope we shall continue to be a county of ourselves, and when this great home rule question, which is so much talked about, is settled we shall, no doubt, have a parliament at newport-on-usk, or else at monmouth-upon-wye. _newport athletic club dinner, april th, ._ interest in exploration. i wish to renew interest among the people of the neighbourhood in the exploration work at caerwent. the reason, perhaps, why some of the interest has fallen off, is the illness and death of the late vicar of caerwent, who always took the greatest possible delight in explaining to visitors the history of the ancient city and the nature of the work of excavation. there is a great deal of fresh ground to be explored. i am glad to find that there is an increasing interest in great britain in this kind of work, and i hope it will continue to increase. if we expect to find any interest at all in matters of this kind, it would be in rome, and yet we find that in that city it has been decided recently to pull down some of the most valuable remains in the city, the great roman wall, which for so long a period kept out the goths and the vandals who besieged the city. if that is possible in rome, any indifference to this kind of work in great britain is not surprising. there is a fascination about the work of exploring, as we are always expecting to find something which has not been found before, and which may be very useful for historical purposes. all this part of the world is very interesting, not only caerwent, but llanvaches, where we find early christian evidences, and newport, where we have a castle of the middle ages. i cannot help thinking, when i look at the collection of roman coins in the caerwent museum, that it is not absolutely impossible that one of them may be the very coin which our saviour took and asked whose image it bore. for all we know, that very coin may have been in the possession of a roman soldier stationed in jerusalem at the time of the crucifixion, and brought by him to caerwent. _newport town hall, on the occasion of a lecture on "the excavations at caerwent," march th, ._ oliver cromwell and newport. there are few newportonians in this hall who do not remember perfectly well the curious little house, with a low th century portico, situated at the bottom of stow hill. it was regarded with great veneration by antiquarians, but was no doubt looked upon as a great nuisance by the great body of the people. however, that old portico is now treasured at tredegar house. the house was called "oliver cromwell's house." i think you will agree with me when i say that few people slept in so many bedrooms as king charles i. or oliver cromwell is said to have done. there is a room at tredegar house called king charles the first's room, but it was not built until ten years after that monarch was beheaded. with regard to the little house called oliver cromwell's house, there is some reason to believe that oliver cromwell might have occupied it. it was, sometime, occupied by the parliamentary troops, because i have at this moment an old fire back, which was found in the cellar with the royal arms of england and the crown dated -- something knocked off. no doubt this was found in the house by parliamentarians, who immediately proceeded to knock off the crown. we know that oliver cromwell passed that way, because he went to the siege of pembroke and found great difficulty in taking that town. i have a copy of a letter cromwell wrote to colonel saunders, one of his leaders, in which, after congratulating him upon his zeal and close attention, he referred to "the malignants--trevor williams of llangibby castle, and one sir william morgan, of tredegar," and directed him to seize them at once. that shows that oliver cromwell knew all about caerleon, newport and tredegar. _opening of tredegar hall, newport, march th, ._ welsh people even in cardiff. i am glad to find that the welsh church movement has been such a success. i was asked on one occasion if there were many welsh people in cardiff, and i confessed there were. when further asked if there was a welsh church there i had to admit with shame that there was not. from that moment i resolved to back up as much as i could the movement for providing a church for the welsh-speaking inhabitants of cardiff. no one could walk the streets of cardiff without being impressed with the number of welsh people one met and heard talking in their own language. probably a great number of those simply came into the town for the day, but a considerable number must be residents of the town. i see a great many ladies present, and i would urge them to do what they can, for, in the words of a church magnate, who was, if not an archbishop or a bishop, certainly an archdeacon--"mendicity is good, but women-dicity is better." _laying of the foundation stone of a welsh church at cardiff, july nd, ._ the siege of caerphilly castle. [illustration: "_two hundred tuns of wine! that is better than a temperance hotel._"] i am impressed by the energy displayed by the agriculturists of the district in sending such satisfactory exhibits. at the same time, you must not fancy yourselves quite too grand at the present day, because, if you read history you will find that during the siege of caerphilly castle, some or years ago--when the castle was taken--there were , oxen, , cows, , sheep, horses, , pigs and tuns of wine inside the castle walls. two hundred tuns of wine! that is better than a temperance hotel.... if you walk round this show you will not see one single sign of depression. it grows larger every year. cattle grow better, the horses better, the women grow prettier, and the men grow fatter. _east glamorgan agricultural show, caerphilly, september th, ._ gwern-y-cleppa. the foundations of gwern-y-cleppa, the palace of ivor hael, have been traced around a tree in cleppa park. although it has been termed a palace, i think it more likely to have been something of a manor house, for ivor was the younger son of a younger son, and therefore not likely to have had very large possessions. ivor's generous nature has been well depicted by his celebrated bard, dafydd ap gwilym. i have read in a book an account of an incident which tradition alleges took place near the spot on which we are standing. this was a contest between dafydd and his rival bard, rhys meigan. dafydd's shafts of satire overwhelmed his opponent, who fell dead--the victim of ridicule. _cardiff naturalists' visit to gwern-y-cleppa, may th, ._ in praise of eisteddfodau. as long ago as the th century an ancestor whom i have been reading about lately--ivor hael--appears to have been celebrated particularly for his support of the eisteddfodau of that period and of music in general. later on, my grandfather and father always did their best to promote the idea of the eisteddfod, and on several occasions presided at those gatherings. i, personally, consider the eisteddfod a great institution. one of the reasons why many of our english friends do not support eisteddfodau, and are inclined to speak slightingly of them, is because of the religious side which commences with the gorsedd; but i think if our friends paid a little more attention to it, and attended oftener, they would not be inclined to ridicule the institution. an eisteddfod, anywhere, is a very interesting event, but one at pontypridd seems to be of all others the most interesting. pontypridd itself is full of reminiscences of old and modern wales. on that very stone--the rocking stone--on the hill where some of us have been to-day, some very earnest bards, no doubt, at different times had their seats, and it does not require a very vivid imagination to picture on that stone one of those unfortunate bards that were left after the massacre of the bards of edward. then we have not far away the remains of the old monastery of pen rhys, where tradition says rested ap tudor, or at all events to whom the monastery was erected. at that very place, that great terror of england and of the normans--owen glendower--who was at that time residing at llantrisant, was stated to have presided at an eisteddfod soon after his incursion into wales. great bardic addresses were delivered there, and one, written to sir john morgan of tredegar, is now in the archives of tredegar. coming to later times, we have cadwgan of the battleaxe, who was supposed to have been sharpening his battleaxe at the time he was going down the rhondda, so that it must have been pretty sharp by the time he arrived at his destination. [illustration: "_there is at the present moment a wave of music-hall melodies passing over the country._"] there is at the present moment a wave of music-hall melodies passing over the country, and i think it is one of the duties of the eisteddfodau to try to counteract the music-hall fancy, now so prevalent. not many days ago, i was reminded of an incident in which a lady asked a friend whether he was fond of music, and he replied "yes, if it is not too good." unfortunately, that is the opinion of about one-half of the civilized world. the aim of the eisteddfod is to patronise good music which, combined with high art, has a tendency, as the latin poet puts it, to soften manners and assuage the natural ruggedness of human nature. _eisteddfod, pontypridd, july st, ._ miniature eisteddfodau, one of which we are celebrating, are most interesting, as being a sort of prelude to the great national eisteddfod which takes place annually. there is something peculiarly interesting in these essentially welsh gatherings, because however much we who live on this side of the rumney may, from legislative causes, be considered english, we never hear of an eisteddfod taking place on the other side of offa's dyke, which in my opinion is the boundary of wales. offa's dyke was formerly a great mound and ditch erected by king offa somewhere in the year or thereabouts, as a boundary between wales and england, and it ran from the mouth of the wye to chepstow. we seldom hear of an eisteddfod taking place on the other side of the dyke. it is true there are the great choral festivals, but those are festivals held in the grand cathedrals, at which very grand company assemble, and where some of the most celebrated singers sing; they are not competitive in any sense. here we have competitions, not so much for the prizes as for the honour of the thing, for the honour of the welsh nation, and for the advancement of music and art in wales. _risca, october th, ._ tredegar house. tredegar house is generally believed to have been designed by inigo jones, but it was not built until after that architect's death. it was built by william morgan, and finished about . a residence formerly stood on the spot, which leland mentioned as "a fair place of stone." owen glendower, when he ravaged wentloog, and destroyed houses, churches and newport castle, probably destroyed tredegar house. on an inquisition being taken after this period of the value of the lordship, the return was _nil_. _cambrian association meeting, august th, ._ a little family history. [illustration: "_i have made the discovery that the morgans were never remarkable for very great talent._"] as far as i have been able to read the family history, i have made the discovery that the morgans were never remarkable for very great talent; but for many generations we have lived in much the same spot, and it has been our motto to make life happy to those around us, and to assist those with whom we come in contact. i believe my family have lived for this object. there are many days in the history of the family that are much treasured by us, but there will be no one day more honoured than the memory of this one. when i hand these addresses to lady tredegar, and express to her the kind sentiments everyone has made use of as to the memory of the late lord tredegar, we shall one and all be thankful, and the memory of this day will live long in the heart of every member of the tredegar family. _tredegar memorial corn exchange, newport, september th, ._ the mayor has spoken of the commercial spirit which, he stated, has recently been evinced by the tredegar family. his worship in that respect erred a little, for several hundred years ago there was a gentleman who called himself merchant morgan. he sailed on the spanish main, and brought back with him a great deal of money which he had made in trade--or otherwise. from that day to this, the morgans have been very well off. later, there were ironworks in tredegar park, carried on by sir william morgan. those works paid also, and when he had money enough sir william morgan removed them away, restored the green fields, and left other people to attend to the works. _mayoral banquet, newport, december th, ._ sir henry morgan played an important part in the stirring drama of empire-building. his name has become a household word, and his daring exploits on the spanish main in the th century rival in song and story the heroic adventures of drake, frobisher, and hawkins. it is mainly to him that we own the island of jamaica, the most wealthy of our west indian possessions. he was not a plaster saint, it is true; but it is incorrect to call him a pirate, for there is no gainsaying the fact that all his actions were justified by instructions he received from time to time from his monarch, charles ii, who countenanced every movement of his, and even empowered him to commission whatever persons he thought fit, to be partakers with him and his majesty in his various expeditions and enterprises. he was cruel in the ordinary sense of cruelty exercised in warfare, no doubt, but only when in arms against the blood-thirsty spaniards. as a leader of men he was never surpassed by any captain of the seas, and in his glorious conquest of panama--which the great sir francis drake in had failed to take with , men when the city was but poorly fortified--sir henry ransacked it in when it had become doubly fortified, having with him only , men, and without the aid of any pikemen or horsemen. the charges of cruelty and rapacity levelled against him are beneath contempt and criticism. the spaniards tortured and murdered wholesale, and who can wonder that the heroic welshman made just reprisals, and carried out the biblical adjuration "an eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth," when punishing the apostles of the inquisition and assassination. it is due to one john esquemeling, the author of the first account of buccaneers, "the history of the buccaneers of america," first published in , that sir henry was designated a "pirate." esquemeling had served under morgan, and, being dissatisfied with the share of prize money allotted to him after the expedition at panama, nursed his revenge until his return to holland some years after. sir henry took action against him, and claimed to obtain substantial damages from esquemeling for his malicious and misleading statement. the late colonel morgan. the death of my brother, colonel morgan, has plunged us into grief, and all the neighbourhood felt the death of one whom they all loved, almost as much as i did myself. i feel that life can never be the same to me again. _servants' ball, january th, ._ [illustration: "_the death of my brother, colonel morgan, has plunged us into grief._"] the monmouthshire tribute. [illustration: "_what have i ever done to deserve this tribute._"] some years ago two statesmen were discussing the merits of mr. pitt and mr. fox. the first statesman said the oratory of mr. pitt was remarkable because he was never at a loss for a word. the other statesman replied, "yes, but mr. fox was never at a loss for the right word." i, this afternoon, cannot find the right word. i can hardly find any word at all to express adequately to you what i feel on this occasion. i have put this question to myself many times in the last month or so--"what does it all mean? what have i ever done to deserve this great tribute?" i thought that my duty was to go back over my past life, and i began very early, a very long time ago. i went back to the chartist riots. i don't suppose there are any of you here who know much about them except by hearsay. i was a very little boy at the time, spending my holidays at ruperra castle, and i was just going with my little terrier to hunt a rabbit that had got into the cabbage garden, when the post-boy, who had been sent to newport to bring out the letters, rode in, pale and quivering, and flung himself from his pony and said that the chartists were in newport--"they are lying dead all over the street, and the streets were running with blood. he passed through a lot of people with swords and pikes, but whether they were coming on to ruperra he did not know." what he effectively did was to pose as a great hero among the maid-servants, and i remember afterwards going up to the post-boy, saying, "bother your chartists; come out and help me to catch this rabbit." that was my first beginning in sport--my first excitement. then i thought a little bit more. i have a distant recollection that very soon after, i was gazetted as a viscount. i saw in a newspaper which does not hold the same opinions as i do, the question, "what on earth is lord tredegar made a viscount for?" and the answer was, "i suppose because he has been master of the tredegar hounds for years." i thought, therefore, that i had better leave sport alone for this occasion. for some time i have had running in my mind a stanza written by one who may be called the australian bush poet, mr. l. gordon, a gallant man, who spent most of his time roughing it in the bush. the lines are as follows:-- i've had my share of pastime, i've had my share of toil, it is useless now to trouble. this i know; i'd live the same life over if i had the chance again and the chances are i'd go where most men go. mr. gordon thought he knew where most men go; i don't. i don't pretend to know, but i had thought, until lately, that i would not wish to live the same life over again. but now, when i am here this afternoon, and have received from the hands of so many of my greatest friends these magnificent testimonials of their opinion of me, i can hardly go wrong if i say i would live the same life over if i had to live again. well, when i went on with my early history, i found that very, very soon i got among tombstones and family vaults, and i thought that the less i called to mind those among whom i spent my early life the happier it would be for me, certainly on this occasion. but still i wonder what it is that i have done, that has caused so many of my friends and neighbours to gather together to present me with this great tribute of their affection and respect. it is true that i have had more than my share of this world's goods. there is one thing that has always comforted me when this has been thrown in my teeth, and that is that it was a young man who went away sorrowfully because he had great possessions. i believe i have tried, more or less successfully, to help those in difficulties, and to give to many comfort and happiness who otherwise would have been in much distress and suffering; but i am quite sure that there is no person in this hall who would not have done exactly the same under the same circumstances. i have no doubt that i shall be able to find a place in tredegar house for this picture. it will, i hope, be a monument in tredegar house to help those who come after me to try and do some good in their generation with the wealth which may be at their disposal. i thank you from the very bottom of my heart for this great tribute you have paid me. _this speech was made in december, , in acknowledgment of monmouthshire's tribute to lord tredegar, which took the form of an oil painting of himself, a gold cup, an album, and £ , , which his lordship handed over to various hospitals._ the jubilee of queen victoria. we are about to celebrate the queen's jubilee, not so much because her majesty has merely reigned fifty years, but because she has reigned years in the hearts of her people. _county meeting with reference to queen victoria's jubilee, newport, february th, ._ the late queen victoria. the expression of the country's appreciation of the character of her late majesty has been done grandly and well. statesmen on both political sides have told of their experience of her, not merely their opinion, but the result of the interviews they have had with her. all classes have borne testimony to her goodness and greatness. we, as humble subjects of her majesty, knew her sympathetic qualities. everybody present has benefitted in some way directly or indirectly through her. i think of the line which says--"one touch of nature makes the whole world kin." it was the touch of nature in her character, and her sympathizing feelings, which have made the whole of the civilized world, and much of the uncivilized world, mourn on this occasion. _monmouthshire county council, february th, ._ the late king edward. it has been well said by a poet that "fierce is the light that beats upon the throne." since those words were written the light beating upon the throne has become ten times more powerful, but in the case of king edward that fact has only tended to emphasise his majesty's charm of life and of personality, and the power of his will, which have benefitted not only this country but the whole civilised world. _usk quarter sessions, june nd, --in moving a vote of condolence on the death of king edward._ the penny whistle of republicanism. there never was a time when the country was more loyal. the penny whistle of republicanism which tried to blow its notes some time ago has, i believe, burst itself, for it found no sympathetic echo in the heart of the nation. i believe there is no harder worked man in the united kingdom than the prince of wales. from morning to night he is at the beck and call of somebody or other, and we always find him ready to respond to the calls made upon him. _tredegar show, december th, ._ on pretoria day. we have done our best to publicly recognise the success that has been achieved in the occupation of pretoria, and to do honour to lord roberts and his gallant army. you can tell the kind of man lord roberts is by his despatches. you can depend on it that whenever you read a despatch from lord roberts you are reading what is true, complete and accurate. i hope we shall soon see lord roberts, who is an old and good friend of mine, in newport again. _pretoria day, june th, ._ admiration for american sailors. i have a great admiration for american sailors and the american people generally. when the crimean war broke out, in the summer of , the first soldiers sent out of england were the cavalry regiments, and i went with them. at that time england had been at peace for years, and when war commenced the authorities knew little about the transport of cavalry. we did not go out as a whole regiment in a large liner, and arrive at our destination without the loss of a horse, as would be the case now. we were sent out in troops of or at a time, in small sailing vessels of tons. in the ship in which i sailed the horses were packed in the hold, and when they got to the bay of biscay a violent gale sprang up. in a few hours half a dozen horses broke loose and struggled about in the hold. there was only one american sailor among the crew, and he went down and "calculated" and uttered dreadful oaths. but he had not been down in the hold half an hour before he had all the horses tied up again. ever since then i have had the greatest respect for american sailors. _cardiff eisteddfod, august th, ._ improvements in the army. i always feel some diffidence in returning thanks for the army, since i am no longer in it; but i may add that i am proud to have belonged to it. no gentleman who has been in her majesty's service can look back with other than happy feelings to that time. when i first joined the army, it was not in its present state. many things connected with that service have improved. among others, the social condition of the soldier has been improved. i feel that no individual in this country, however high his position may be, need be ashamed of his connection with the army. at one time, the people of newport knew more about soldiers than now. some time ago i asked the duke of cambridge to send a regiment, or part of a regiment, to newport, and his grace said, in answer to me, that the people would be obliged to stir up a riot in the county if they wished to secure the presence of soldiers! i hope such a contingency will not arise, living as i do in the county. however, his grace promised to do his best in the matter, and i hope we shall soon again have the advantage of a regiment in newport. _dinner to lord tredegar and alexandra dock directors, july th, ._ the boy scout movement. the boy scout movement instructs the boy just at the time when he is between school and a trade, when it would perhaps be better if he stayed a bit longer at school, for the time hangs heavy on his hands; and that is the time when you catch hold of these boys and give them an interest in their country, and an interest in the necessity of having somebody to protect the country. the scouts that i have had any experience of are all boys who seem to have improved in their manners, their ways, and their education very soon after they have joined the boy scouts. _meeting in newport in connection with the boy scout movement, march th, ._ not known here. when the ironworks were started here they received the name of tredegar, and the town itself was also called tredegar. it is rather disagreeable to me at times. i have letters addressed, "lord tredegar, tredegar, monmouthshire." they are sent to tredegar, where they are marked by the postal officials: "not known here; try tredegar park." life's tragedy and comedy. life is said to be a comedy to those who think and a tragedy to those who feel, and as we all feel and think we must meet with a good deal of comedy and a good deal of tragedy. i hope you all have more comedy than tragedy. _presentation to lord tredegar of miner's lamp and silver medal at risca eisteddfod, october th, ._ newport a second liverpool i hope the day is not far distant when newport will be a second liverpool, and maindee a second birkenhead. _tredegar show, december th, ._ oxford and cambridge. i have read somewhere that an oxford man walks about looking as if oxford and the rest of the world belong to him. a cambridge man, on the other hand, walks as if he does not care a--well, does not care two straws who the place belongs to. _seventy-fifth anniversary of st. david's college, lampeter, october th, ._ doctors-old style and new. [illustration: "_the old-fashioned gentleman, who first of all pulled out a watch as big as a warming-pan._"] the owning of a hospital is not a very lively proceeding, but i cannot help giving a few of my reminiscences in connection with doctors. i can go back to the real old-style of doctor; not the present-day smart young gentleman with the radium light in his pocket, but the old-fashioned gentleman who first of all pulled out a watch as big as a warming-pan, and who felt the pulse and asked the patient to put out his tongue, and ended up by saying "haw!" that meant a tremendous lot, for he did not tell any more. i well remember a medical friend of mine saying once that he lived in a land flowing with rhubarb, magnesia, and black draughts. that was the way we were treated as children, and which possibly enabled us to live a long life. _opening of a hospital at abertysswg, october rd, ._ all sorts and conditions. i am one of those who like mixing with all sorts and conditions of men. i can dine with lords and ladies whenever i like, but i cannot always dine with an assembly of working men. _may horse show dinner, may th, ._ [illustration: "_i can dine with lords and ladies whenever i like, but i cannot always dine with an assembly of working men._"] a contrast in correspondence. i have a great deal of correspondence of one sort and another. i keep no secretary, and my correspondence is with all sorts and conditions of men. only this morning, in the hurried moment before i left, i wrote two letters, one to a descendant of warwick the kingmaker, and the other to a little boy living in the back slums of newport about a football match. that is the sort of correspondence i like, for i like to mix with all sorts and conditions of men and do what i can for them. _foundation-stone laying, presbyterian church, newport, august th, ._ dreams and tears. i never remember to have had a dream that was merry. i never remember to have awakened from a dream with a smile or a laugh; but many times have i done so with tears on my cheeks. _bazaar at ystrad mynach, september th, ._ the precipice of matrimony. you have heard things said about matrimony. it is an annual occurrence at this dinner, until i have become like a man who can walk along the verge of a precipice and look down without falling over. i have looked so long without a desire to plunge, that i am able now to look over without any danger of falling. _the tredegar show, december th, ._ how to live for ever. people who regularly study the newspapers come across advertisements of many things calculated to make them doubt whether there is any need for a cottage hospital at all. in fact, as far as i can see, judging by these advertisements, there is no reason why anybody should die. _pontypridd cottage hospital, may th, ._ punctuality "the thief of time." as an old military man, i fully appreciate the value of punctuality. undoubtedly punctuality is the first great duty in this world if we wish to carry on business satisfactorily. there are those who say punctuality is a great mistake, because a deal of time has to be spent in waiting for other people. that is a very pleasant way of looking at an unpunctual individual. _intermediate school prize distribution, october th, ._ no knowledge of kisses. [illustration: "_my brother and i had a fine-looking animal. we used to smoke our cigars as we gazed at it._"] there is no prize worth much that does not take some trouble to gain. i have heard that kisses, when taken without much trouble, are not worth having. of course i do not know anything about that sort of thing. my brother and i had a fine looking animal. we used to smoke our cigars as we gazed at it, and think there was nothing like it in the world. we thought we would send it to birmingham; and then, if any good, to smithfield. it was of no use, however. it reminded me of a celebrated trainer who used to come into this county, who said: "oh, you've nothing at home to try him with. you think your horse goes very fast past trees." i expect it was very much the same thing with our ox. it looked very good alongside the cattle trough. a smart retort. when i had the pleasure of presenting bedwellty park to this town (tredegar) one of my critics asked: "are you quite sure, lord tredegar, that you have not given the tredegar people a white elephant?" that simile did not trouble me, for i told them i was quite sure in a few months the park would be as black as the rest of tredegar. _bazaar at tredegar, may rd, ._ the bushranger's method. [illustration: "_young man, this is a two dollar show._"] just as i came into the hall, i encountered an individual dressed in a rather extraordinary garb. i looked him up and down, and saw that he was well armed. it reminded me of the case of a minister in the backwoods calling on a bushranger to go round with the hat. the latter did so, and the first young man he came to dropped in two or three cents. the bushranger looked at him in a peculiar way, cocked his pistol in a significant manner, and said, "young man, this is a two dollar show." the young man at once dropped in two dollars. i think that perhaps my friend might come round with me presently, we might frighten some of the gentlemen who have come here with full purses. _congregational church bazaar, newport, october nd, ._ making the waist places glad. i have a little advice to give to you in conclusion. a school-boy was being examined in scripture knowledge, and was asked the meaning of the words, "make the waste places glad." he answered, "put your arm around a lady's waist and make her glad." that, i think, is a very good hint for the young men present, and i advise them to make the evening as pleasant as they can for the ladies. to the ladies i would say this--"don't put too much faith in the promise of love that may be whispered in your ears before the close of the ball." _servants' ball, january th, ._ as others see us. a celebrated philosopher has said there are three different personalities about a man. first, there is what god thinks about him; secondly, what his friends think about him; and, thirdly, what he thinks of himself.... there is another personality to be thought of, and that is the opinion of newspapers. it is very difficult to arrange those different personalities, because one's own opinion is entirely different from other people's. i like a gentleman who proposes my health to lay it on thick, as some of it is sure to stick, whether i deserve it or not. _opening of the new hospital, abergavenny, october th, ._ the mighty lord mayor. many people have the impression that the lord mayor of london is the greatest man in this kingdom. there is a line or two in an old song relating to a lover who did not like to pop the question to his girl. he said:-- "if i were a lord mayor, a marquis or an earl, blowed if i wouldn't marry old brown's girl." that represents a great deal of the feeling in this country about the magnificence of the position of the lord mayor of london. _newport conservative meeting, july th, ._ a day of great joy. it is a high honour, because it is the greatest that the lord mayor and corporation have the power of conferring upon anybody. my only drawback is the fear that i cannot be worthy of the others whose names are on the roll of cardiff's freemen. you know that comparisons are odious, and when you read the names on that list and compare mine with them, i hope you will look with leniency upon me. the lord mayor promised me just now that he would not be very long in his address and in his references to me on this occasion. at one moment i felt very much inclined to remind him of his promise, as the great king henry iv did with a lord mayor who went on his knees to deliver the keys of the city. without delivering them he rose from his knees and said, "i have twelve reasons for not yielding up the keys of the city. the first is that there are no keys." the king said, "that is quite enough; we don't want any more reasons." i felt inclined to stop the lord mayor and say, "you have said quite enough about me; i will take the remainder for granted." [illustration: "_i see no reason why i should not be civil to the members of the corporation unless they are uncivil to me. i should probably do then what other people would do._"] i see no reason why i should not be civil to the members of the corporation unless they are uncivil to me. i should probably then do what other people would do. the lord mayor has said that glamorgan could not claim me as a glamorgan man. well, i was born in glamorgan, at ruperra castle, on this side of the rumney. i know that if a man is born in a stable it doesn't make him a horse, but i always understood that the place of your birth had a certain claim upon you. it is not very long ago that i was discussing with somebody what i was going to do in the future, and i quoted the line from shakespeare: "my grief lies onward, but my joy is behind." i think now that i spoke a little too soon, this day being one of great joy to me, as you can easily understand. _presentation of the freedom of cardiff to viscount tredegar, october th, ._ the good old english oath. i never was good at personal abuse. i have got a good old-fashioned oath when i am angry--a good old english oath, good enough for most people--but that is only when i am very angry. and though we have been told that this is the greatest crisis we have ever seen, unfortunately i cannot get angry enough about it to abuse other people. but in the circumstances, if i am put to it, i think i would quote falstaff, who said, "if any part of a lie will do me grace, i will gild it with the heaviest terms i have." _south monmouthshire conservative association, december nd, ._ praise in bucketsful. [illustration: "_if i live a little longer, i should like it in buckets._"] oliver wendell holmes, the celebrated american writer, said that when he was young he liked his praises in teaspoonfuls. when he got a little older he liked them in tablespoonfuls, and later on in ladles. i think i have had a good ladleful this afternoon. if i live a little longer, i should like it in buckets. _cardiff, september th, ._ an easy solution. [illustration: "_i should like the suffragettes to marry the passive resisters and go away for a long honeymoon._"] i have a notion by which we could be relieved of two wearisome questions. i should like the suffragettes to marry the passive resisters and go away for a long honeymoon. _servants' ball, ._ a ready answer. four or five years ago i received a letter from the war office asking how many horses i would put at the service of her majesty in case of emergency. i wrote back and said, "all of them." by return of post i received a letter saying that i had given a very patriotic answer, but that it did not help them in the least; what they wanted to know was how many horses i could put upon the register. i sent back and registered eighteen horses. that was the whole of the tredegar hunt. well, a couple of days ago i received a notice that all of those horses would be wanted. so if the tredegar hunt collapses suddenly, you will know the cause of it. _st. mellons ploughing dinner, october th, ._ welcome. what a beautiful word is the english word "welcome!" what a world of sympathy it expresses! it does not matter whether the welcome comes from a father, mother, brother, or sister, or from the girl of your own heart. it is always the same. i have arrived at the time of life when i can not expect an eye to look brighter when i come, but many eyes are brighter when they fall on these volunteers who left their homes, not when they thought the war was over, but in the time of england's darkest hour. that was the time when our gallant yeomanry and service companies went to assist their country in its distress. they went to redeem again the honour of england, which at one moment looked as if it were rather smirched. they must have seen suffering by disease and bullet wounds, and in other ways, and must have been brought face to face with all kinds of distress, and witnessed the agony of death from disease and bullets. all that tends to make a man more sympathetic to those whom at other times he might be inclined to blame. _presentation to returned volunteers (boer war), rogerstone, july th, ._ the seven ages. i liken myself to shakespeare's "seven ages." i have been the baby, the schoolboy, the lover, and the warrior, and i am now the justice, but unlike the poet's justice, i can not boast of "a fair round belly with good capon lined." having disappointed the poet in one thing, i hope to disappoint him in another, and not to degenerate into a "lean and slippered pantaloon." _servants' ball, january th, ._ a delicate point. [illustration: "_some difficulty might be experienced in getting the ladies to wear the costumes of those districts._"] the bazaar may be described as an "european fair," because the stalls represent most of the nations of europe. the reason for that is that if we went to africa or other dark countries, some difficulty might be experienced in getting the ladies to wear the costumes of those districts. _opening of "world's fair" bazaar, newport, april th, ._ the historic house of lords. it is in itself no great thing to be a lord; in fact, there used to be a saying, "as drunk as a lord." but it is a great thing to sit in the house of lords. that house is an institution which i believe every country wishing for constitutional government has, for the last hundred years, striven to imitate, but without success, and in my opinion they are never likely to succeed, because the house of lords is an institution which, being the growth of centuries, can not be imitated in a day. it is recruited from various classes of society, and it is simply impossible to create a body similar to it all in a moment. in the old days, some three hundred years ago, king james, being in need of money, thought it would be a very good thing to create an extra rank, namely, that of baronet, and he sold baronetcies at £ , a piece, which brought him in a goodly sum of money. anyone applying for a baronetcy was required to show a certain amount of pedigree, proving that he had had a grandfather or something of that sort. now, if his sovereign calls him, there is nothing to prevent any one, having talent and worth, from entering the house of lords, even if he never had a grandfather. great divines, great soldiers, great statesmen, great lawyers, and great engineers, representatives of all the rank and wealth of the country, are to be found in that august body; and i think it is a long time since any expression on the part of the house of lords has been adverse to the general opinion of the country. _licensed victuallers' dinner, january th, ._ finis. western mail, limited, printers, cardiff the talking beasts a book of fable wisdom edited by kate douglas wiggin and nora archibald smith illustrations by harold nelson "accept, young prince, the moral lay and in these tales mankind survey; with early virtues plant your breast the specious arts of vice detest." john gay to his highness william, duke of cumberland contents i. fables of aesop. (greek) ii. fables of bidpai. (indian) iii. fables from the hitopadesa. (sanskrit) iv. fables from p. v. ramaswami raju. (indian) v. malayan fables vi. moorish fables vii. african fables viii. fables from krilof. (russian) ix. fables from the chinese x. fables of la fontaine. (french) xi. fables from the spanish of carlos yriarte xii. fables of gay, cowper, and others. (english) for eastern princes, long ago, these fables, grave and gay, were written as a friendly guide on life's perplexing way. when rumour came to court and news of such a book was heard, the monarch languished till he might secure the golden word. prince of to-day, this little hook a store-house is of treasure. unlock it and where'er you look is wisdom without measure. 'twill teach thee of the meed of greed, of sowing versus reaping, of that mad haste that makes for waste, and looking before leaping. 'twill teach thee what is like to hap to self-conceit and folly; and show that who begins in sin will end in melancholy. so take the book and learn of beast and animate creation the lesson that the least may teach, however mean his station. nora archibald smith introduction "among all the different ways of giving counsel i think the finest and that which pleases the most universally is fable, in whatever shape it appears." joseph addison how shall i bring to your mind the time and distance that separate us from the age of fable? think of what seemed to you the longest week of your life. think of fifty-two of these in a year; then think of two thousand five hundred years and try to realize that aesop--sometimes called the eighth wise man--lived twenty-five centuries ago and made these wonderful tales that delight us to-day. shakespeare is even yet something of a mystery, although he was born in our own era, less than five hundred years ago; but men are still trying to discover any new facts of his life that might better explain his genius. a greater mystery is grand old homer, who has puzzled the world for centuries. scholars are not certain whether the "iliad" or "odyssey" are the work of one or more than one mind. who can say? for the thrilling tales were told--probably after the fashion of all the minstrels of his day--more than eight hundred years before christ. on the background of that dim distant long ago, perhaps two hundred years later than homer, looms the magnificent figure of another mysterious being--aesop the greek slave. wherever and whenever he lived, and whether, in fact, he ever lived at all, he seems very real to us, even though more than two thousand years have passed. among all the stories that scholars and historians have told of him--sifting through the centuries the true from the false--we get a vivid picture of the man. he was born in greece, probably in phrygia, about years before christ. he had more than one master and it was the last, iadmon, who gave him his liberty because of his talents and his wisdom. the historian plutarch recounts his presence at the court of croesus, king of lydia, and his meeting thales and solon there, telling us also that he reproved the wise solon for discourtesy toward the king. aesop visited athens and composed the famous fable of jupiter and the frogs for the instruction of the citizens. whether he left any written fables is very uncertain, but those known by his name were popular in athens when that city was celebrated throughout the world for its wit and its learning. both socrates and plato delighted in them; socrates, we read, having amused himself during the last days of his life with turning into verse some of aesop's "myths" as he called them. think of socrates conning these fables in prison four hundred years before christ, and then think of a more familiar picture in our own day--a gaunt, dark-faced, black-haired boy poring over a book as he lay by the fireside in a little western farmhouse; for you remember that abraham lincoln's literary models were "aesop's fables," "the pilgrim's progress" and the bible. perhaps he read the fable of the fig tree, olive, vine, and bramble from the ninth chapter of judges, or that of the thistle and cedar from the fourteenth chapter of ii kings and noted that teaching by story-telling was still well in vogue six hundred years after aesop. in later times the fables that had been carried from mouth to mouth for centuries began to be written down: by phaedrus in latin and babrius in greek; also, in the fourteenth century, by a greek monk named planudes. but do not suppose they had their birth or flourished in greece alone. at the very time that aesop was telling them at the court of croesus, or in delphi, corinth, or athens,--far, far away in india the buddhist priests were telling fables in the sanskrit language to the common people, the blind, the ignorant and the outcast. sanskrit, you know, is the eldest brother of all the family of languages to which our english belongs. when the buddhist religion declined, the brahmins took up the priceless inheritance of fable and used it for educational purposes. their ancient indian sages and philosophers compiled a treatise for the education of princes which was supposed to contain a system of good counsel for right training in all the chief affairs of life. in it they inserted the choicest treasures of their wisdom and the best rules for governing a people, and the rajahs kept the book with great secrecy and care. then a persian king heard of its existence and sent a learned physician to india, where he spent several years in copying and translating the precious manuscript, finally bringing it hack to the court, where he declined to accept all reward but a dress of honour. in much the same way it was rendered into arabic and gradually, century by century, crept into the literature of all europe. we give you some of these very fables in the "hitopadesa," which means "friendly instruction" or "amicable advice" for the original hooks contained many maxims, like the following: "he who is not possessed of such a book as will dispel many doubts, point out hidden treasures, and is, as it were, a mirror of all things, is even an ignorant man." "these six--the peevish, the niggard, the dissatisfied, the passionate, the suspicious, and those who live upon others' means--are forever unhappy." "that mother is an enemy, and that father a foe, by whom not having been instructed, their son shineth not in the assembly; but appeareth there like a booby among geese." "there are two kinds of knowledge in use: the knowledge of arms, and the knowledge of books. the first is the scoff if the wise, whilst the last is forever honoured." we give you other indian fables from the collection of bidpai. la fontaine in one of the prefaces to his french fables in verse expresses his gratitude to "bilpay the indian sage." these are the very manuscripts translated from the sanskrit into persian by the physician who took them back to his king. sir william jones says that "bidpai" signifies "beloved physician" and that bilpay is simply a mis-spelling of the word. as other scholars contended that bidpai was not a man at all, but probably one of the two wise camels that did most of the talking in the earlier fables, you and i will not be able to settle the truth of the question. all these points are interesting, or, if they are not so to you, you must say, "wake up!" to your mind. it is the eager spirit of inquiry that conquers difficulties and gains knowledge. in another preface i reminded you that in all the faery stories the youngest brother was the one who always said, "i wonder!" and he it was who triumphed over all the others. you are holding between these crimson covers fables from some of the oldest and most valuable books the world has ever known. the "hitopadesa" was a very fountain of riches, as old as the hills themselves, precious and inexhaustible. in its innumerable translations it passed down the stream of time, and the fables known as aesop's made their way among all races of people in the same marvellous way. no one knows whether aesop--through the assyrians with whom the phrygians had commercial relations--borrowed his stories from the orientals or whether they borrowed from him. one thing is certain, nothing persists so strongly and lives so long as a fable or folk tale. they migrate like the birds and make their way into every corner of the world where there are lips to speak and ears to hear. the reasons are, perhaps, because they are generally brief; because they are simple; because they are trenchant and witty; because they are fresh and captivating and have a bite to them like the tang of salt water; because they are strong and vital, and what is thoroughly alive in the beginning always lives longest. and, now we come to la fontaine the french fabulist, who in published the first six books of his fables. "bonhomme la fontaine," as he was called, chose his subjects from aesop and phaedrus and horace, and, in the later volumes, from such oriental sources as may have been within his reach. he rendered the old tales in easy-flowing verse, full of elegance and charm, and he composed many original ones besides. la bruyere says of him: "unique in his way of writing, always original whether he invents or translates, he surpasses his models and is himself a model difficult to imitate. . . . he instructs while he sports, persuades men to virtue by means of beasts, and exalts trifling subjects to the sublime." voltaire asserts: "i believe that of all authors la fontaine is the most universally read. he is for all minds and all ages." later, by a hundred years, than la fontaine, comes krilof, the russian fable-maker, who was born in . after failing in many kinds of literary work the young poet became intimate with a certain prince sergius galitsin; lived in his house at moscow, and accompanied him to his country place in lithuania, where he taught the children of his host and devised entertainments for the elders. he used often to spend hours in the bazaars and streets and among the common people, and it was in this way probably that he became so familiar with the peasant life of the country. when he came back from his wanderings on the banks of the volga he used to mount to the village belfry, where he could write undisturbed by the gnats and flies, and the children found him there one day fast asleep among the bells. a failure at forty, with the publication of his first fables in verse he became famous, and for many years he was the most popular writer in russia. he died in at the age of seventy-six, his funeral attended by such crowds that the great church of st. isaac could not hold those who wished to attend the service. soon after, a public subscription was raised among all the children of russia, who erected a monument in the summer garden at moscow. there the old man sits in bronze, as he used to sit at his window, clad in his beloved dressing gown, an open book in his hand. around the monument (says his biographer) a number of children are always at play, and the poet seems to smile benignly on them from his bronze easy chair. perhaps the grecian children of long ago played about aesop's statue in athens, for lysippus the celebrated sculptor designed and erected a monument in his memory. read krilof's "education of a lion" and "the lion and the mosquitoes" while his life is fresh in your mind. then turn to "what employment our lord gave to insects" and "how sense was distributed," in the quaint african fables. glance at "the long-tailed spectacled monkey" and "the tune that made the tiger drowsy," so full of the very atmosphere of india. then re-read some old favourite of aesop and imagine you are hearing his voice, or that of some greek story-teller of his day, ringing down through more than two thousand years of time. there is a deal of preaching in all these fables,--that cannot be denied,--but it is concealed as well as possible. it is so disagreeable for people to listen while their faults and follies, their foibles and failings, are enumerated, that the fable-maker told his truths in story form and thereby increased his audience. preaching from the mouths of animals is not nearly so trying as when it comes from the pulpit, or from the lips of your own family and friends! whether or not our grecian and indian, african and russian fable-makers have not saddled the animals with a few more faults than they possess--just to bolster up our pride in human nature--i sometimes wonder; but the result has been beneficial. the human rascals and rogues see themselves clearly reflected in the doings of the jackals, foxes, and wolves and may get some little distaste for lying, deceit and trickery. we make few fables now-a-days. we might say that it is a lost art, but perhaps the world is too old to be taught in that precise way, and though the story writers are as busy as ever, the story-tellers (alas!) are growing fewer and fewer. if your ear has been opened by faery tales you will have learned already to listen to and interpret a hundred voices unheard by others. a comprehension of faery language leads one to understand animal conversation with perfect ease, so open the little green doors that lead into the forest, the true land of fable. open them softly and you will hear the beasts talk wisdom. kate douglas wiggin the fables of aesop "'twas the golden age when every brute had voice articulate, in speech was skilled, and the mid-forests with its synods filled. the tongues of rock and pine-leaf then were free; to ship and sailor then would speak the sea; sparrows with farmers would shrewd talk maintain; earth gave all fruits, nor asked for toil again. mortals and gods were wont to mix as friends-- to which conclusion all the teaching tends of sage old aesop." babrius the fables of aesop the power of fables demades, a famous greek orator, was once addressing an assembly at athens on a subject of great importance, and in vain tried to fix the attention of his hearers. they laughed among themselves, watched the sports of the children, and in twenty other ways showed their want of interest in the subject of the discourse. demades, after a short pause, spoke as follows: "ceres one day journeyed in company with a swallow and an eel." at this there was marked attention and every ear strained now to catch the words of the orator. "the party came to a river," continued he; "the eel swam across, and the swallow flew over." he then resumed the subject of his harangue. a great cry, however, arose from the people, "and ceres? and ceres?" cried they. "what did ceres do?" "why, the goddess was, as she is now," replied he, "mightily offended that people should have their ears open to any sort of foolery, and shut to words of truth and wisdom." the wolf and the lamb a hungry wolf one day saw a lamb drinking at a stream, and wished to frame some plausible excuse for making him his prey. "what do you mean by muddling the water i am going to drink?" fiercely said he to the lamb. "pray forgive me," meekly answered the lamb; "i should be sorry in any way to displease you, but as the stream runs from you toward me, you will see that such cannot be the case." "that's all very well," said the wolf; "but you know you spoke ill of me behind my back a year ago." "nay, believe me," replied the lamb, "i was not then born." "it must have been your brother, then," growled the wolf. "it cannot have been, for i never had any," answered the lamb. "i know it was one of your lot," rejoined the wolf, "so make no more such idle excuses." he then seized the poor lamb, carried him off to the woods, and ate him, but before the poor creature died he gasped out, feebly, "any excuse will serve a tyrant." aesop and his fellow servants a merchant, who was at one time aesop's master, on a certain occasion ordered all things to be made ready for an intended journey. when the burdens were divided among the servants, aesop asked that he might have the lightest. he was told to choose for himself, and he took up the basket of bread. the other servants laughed, for that was the largest and heaviest of all the burdens. when dinner-time came, aesop, who had with some difficulty sustained his load, was told to distribute an equal share all around. he did so, and this lightened his burden one half, and when supper-time arrived he got rid of the rest. for the remainder of the journey he had nothing but the empty basket to carry, and the other servants, whose loads seemed to get heavier and heavier at every step, could not but applaud his ingenuity. the kite and the pigeons a kite, that had kept sailing around a dovecote for many days to no purpose, was at last forced by hunger to have recourse to stratagem. approaching the pigeons in his gentlest manner, he described to them in an eloquent speech how much better their state would be if they had a king with some firmness about him, and how well such a ruler would shield them from the attacks of the hawk and other enemies. the pigeons, deluded by this show of reason, admitted him to the dovecote as their king. they found, however, that he thought it part of his kingly prerogative to eat one of their number every day, and they soon repented of their credulity in having let him in. the ant and the fly an ant and a fly one day disputed as to their respective merits. "vile creeping insect!" said the fly to the ant, "can you for a moment compare yourself with me? i soar on the wing like a bird. i enter the palaces of kings, and alight on the heads of princes, nay, of emperors, and only quit them to adorn the yet more attractive brow of beauty. besides, i visit the altars of the gods. not a sacrifice is offered but it is first tasted by me. every feast, too, is open to me. i eat and drink of the best, instead of living for days on two or three grains of corn as you do." "all that is very fine," replied the ant; "but listen to me. you boast of your feasting, but you know that your diet is not always so choice, and you are sometimes forced to eat what nothing would induce me to touch. as for alighting on the heads of kings and emperors, you know very well that whether you pitch on the head of an emperor or of an ass (and it is as often on the one as the other), you are shaken off from both with impatience. and, then, the 'altars of the gods,' indeed! there and everywhere else you are looked upon as nothing but a nuisance. in the winter, too, while i feed at my ease on the fruit of my toil, what more common than to see your friends dying with cold, hunger, and fatigue? i lose my time now in talking to you. chattering will fill neither my bin nor my cupboard." the frog who wished to be as big as an ox an ox, grazing in a meadow, chanced to set his foot on a young frog and crushed him to death. his brothers and sisters, who were playing near, at once ran to tell their mother what had happened. "the monster that did it, mother, was such a size!" said they. the mother, who was a vain old thing, thought that she could easily make herself as large. "was it as big as this?" she asked, blowing and puffing herself out. "oh, much bigger than that," replied the young frogs. "as this, then?" cried she, puffing and blowing again with all her might. "nay, mother," said they; "if you were to try till you burst yourself, you could never be so big." the silly old frog then tried to puff herself out still more, and burst herself indeed. the cat and the mice a certain house was overrun with mice. a cat, discovering this, made her way into it and began to catch and eat them one by one. the mice being continually devoured, kept themselves close in their holes. the cat, no longer able to get at them, perceived that she must tempt them forth by some device. for this purpose she jumped upon a peg, and, suspending herself from it, pretended to be dead. one of the mice, peeping stealthily out, saw her, and said, "ah, my good madam, even though you should turn into a meal-bag, we would not come near you." the cock and the jewel a brisk young cock, scratching for something with which to entertain his favourite hens, happened to turn up a jewel. feeling quite sure that it was something precious, but not knowing well what to do with it, he addressed it with an air of affected wisdom, as follows: "you are a very fine thing, no doubt, but you are not at all to my taste. for my part, i would rather have one grain of dear delicious barley than all the jewels in the world." the man and the lion a man and a lion were discussing the relative strength of men and lions in general, the man contending that he and his fellows were stronger than lions by reason of their greater intelligence. "come now with me," he cried to the beast, "and i will soon prove that i am right." so he took him into the public gardens and showed him a statue of hercules overcoming the lion. and tearing him to pieces. "that is all very well," said the lion, "but it proves nothing, for it was a man who made the statue!" the discontented ass in the depth of winter a poor ass once prayed heartily for the spring, that he might exchange a cold lodging and a heartless truss of straw for a little warm weather and a mouthful of fresh grass. in a short time, according to his wish, the warm weather and the fresh grass came on, but brought with them so much toil and business that he was soon as weary of the spring as before of the winter, and he now became impatient for the approach of summer. the summer arrived; but the heat, the harvest work and other drudgeries and inconveniences of the season set him as far from happiness as before, which he now flattered himself would be found in the plenty of autumn. but here, too, he was disappointed; for what with the carrying of apples, roots, fuel for the winter, and other provisions, he was in autumn more fatigued than ever. having thus trod around the circle of the year, in a course of restless labour, uneasiness and disappointment, and found no season, nor station of life without its business and its trouble, he was forced at last to acquiesce in the comfortless season of winter, where his complaint began, convinced that in this world every situation has its inconvenience. the boasting traveller a man was one day entertaining a lot of fellows in an ale-house with an account of the wonders he had done when abroad on his travels. "i was once at rhodes," said he, "and the people of rhodes, you know, are famous for jumping. well, i took a jump there that no other man could come within a yard of. that's a fact, and if we were there i could bring you ten men who would prove it." "what need is there to go to rhodes for witnesses?" asked one of his hearers; "just imagine that you are there now, and show us your leap!" the lion and the mouse a lion, tired with the chase, lay sleeping at full length under a shady tree. some mice, scrambling over him while he slept, awoke him. laying his paw upon one of them, he was about to crush him, but the mouse implored his mercy in such moving terms that he let him go. now it happened that sometime afterward the lion was caught in a net laid by some hunters, and, unable to free himself, made the forest resound with his roars. the mouse, recognizing the voice of his preserver, ran to the spot, and with his little sharp teeth gnawed the ropes asunder and set the lion free. the swallow and other birds a swallow, observing a husbandman employed in sowing hemp, called the little birds together and informed them of what the farmer was about. he told them that hemp was the material from which the nets, so fatal to the feathered race, were composed; and advised them to join unanimously in picking it up in order to prevent the consequences. the birds, either disbelieving his information or neglecting his advice, gave themselves no trouble about the matter. in a little time the hemp appeared above the ground, when the friendly swallow again addressed himself to them, and told them it was not yet too late, provided they would immediately set about the work, before the seeds had taken too deep root. but as they still rejected his advice, he forsook their society, repaired for safety to towns and cities, there built his habitation and kept his residence. one day as he was skimming along the streets he happened to see a large parcel of those very birds imprisoned in a cage on the shoulders of a bird-catcher. "unhappy wretches," said he. "you now feel punishment for your former neglect; but those who, having no foresight of their own, despise the wholesome admonition of their friends, deserve the mischief which their own obstinacy or negligence brings upon their heads." the fox and the crow a fox once saw a crow fly off with a piece of cheese in its beak and settle on a branch of a tree. "that's for me, as i am a fox," said master reynard, and he walked up to the foot of the tree. "good-day, mistress crow," he cried. "how well you are looking to-day; how glossy your feathers, how bright your eye. i feel sure your voice must surpass that of other birds, just as your figure does; let me hear but one song from you that i may greet you as the queen of birds." the crow lifted up her head and began to caw her best, but the moment she opened her mouth the piece of cheese fell to the ground, only to be snapped up by master fox. "that will do," said he. "that was all i wanted. in exchange for your cheese i will give you a piece of advice for the future--do not trust flatterers!" the dog and his shadow a dog, bearing in his mouth a piece of meat that he had stolen, was once crossing a smooth stream by means of a plank. looking into the still, clear water, he saw what he took to be another dog as big as himself, carrying another piece of meat. snapping greedily to get this as well, he let go the meat that he already had, and it fell to the bottom of the stream. the ass and his master a diligent ass, already loaded beyond his strength by a severe master whom he had long served, and who kept him on very short commons, happened one day in his old age to be oppressed with a more than ordinary burden of earthenware. his strength being much impaired, and the road steep and uneven, he unfortunately made a misstep, and, unable to recover himself, fell down and broke all the vessels to pieces. his master, transported with rage, began to beat him most unmercifully, against whom the poor ass, lifting up his head as he lay on the ground, thus strongly remonstrated: "unfeeling wretch! to thine own avaricious cruelty in first pinching me on food, and then loading me beyond my strength, thou owest the misfortune which thou so unjustly imputest to me." the wolf and the crane a wolf once devoured his prey so ravenously that a bone stuck in his throat, giving him great pain. he ran howling up and down in his suffering and offered to reward handsomely any one who would pull the bone out. a crane, moved by pity as well as by the prospect of the money, undertook the dangerous task, and having removed the bone, asked for the promised reward. "reward!" cried the wolf; "pray, you greedy fellow, what greater reward can you possibly require? you have had your head in my mouth, and instead of biting it off i have let you pull it out unharmed. get away with you, and don't come again within reach of my paw." the hares and the frogs the hares once took serious counsel among themselves whether death itself would not be preferable to their miserable condition. "what a sad state is ours," they said, "never to eat in comfort, to sleep ever in fear, to be startled by a shadow, and to fly with beating heart at the rustling of the leaves. better death by far," and off they went accordingly to drown themselves in a neighbouring lake. some scores of frogs, who were enjoying the moonlight on the bank, scared at the approach of the hares, jumped into the water. the splash awoke fresh fears in the breasts of the timid hares, and they came to a full stop in their flight. seeing this, one wise old fellow among them cried: "hold, brothers! it seems that, weak and fearful as we are, beings exist that are more weak and fearful still. why, then, should we seek to die? let us rather make the best of our ills and learn to bear them as we should." the invalid lion a lion, who had grown too old and feeble to go out and hunt for prey, could hardly find enough food to keep him from starving. but at last he thought of a plan for bringing the game within his reach. he kept quite still in his den and made believe that he was very ill. when the other animals heard of his distress, they came, one by one, to look at him and ask him how he felt. no sooner were they within his reach, however, than he seized upon them and ate them up. after a good many beasts had lost their lives in this way a fox came along. "how do you feel to-day, friend lion?" he asked, taking care to stand at a safe distance from the den. "i am very ill," answered the lion. "won't you come inside a little while? it does me a great deal of good to see my kind friends." "thank you," said the fox; "but i notice that all the tracks point toward your den and none point away from it," and so saying, he trotted merrily away. the travellers and the bear two men, about to journey through a forest, agreed to stand by each other in any dangers that might befall. they had not gone far before a savage bear rushed out from a thicket and stood in their path. one of the travellers, a light, nimble fellow, climbed up into a tree. the other fell flat on his face and held his breath. the bear came up and smelled at him, and, taking him for dead, went off again into the wood. the man in the tree then came down, and, rejoining his companion, asked him, with a mischievous smile, what was the wonderful secret that the bear had whispered into his ear, "why," replied the other sulkily, "he told me to take care for the future and not to put any confidence in such cowardly rascals as you are!" the fox without a tail a fox was once caught in a trap by his tail, and in order to get away was forced to leave it behind him. knowing that without a tail he would be a laughing-stock for all his fellows, he resolved to try to induce them to part with theirs. at the next assembly of foxes, therefore, he made a speech on the unprofitableness of tails in general, and the inconvenience of a fox's tail in particular, adding that he had never felt so easy as since he had given up his own. when he had sat down, a sly old fellow rose, and waving his long brush with a graceful air, said, with a sneer, that if, like the last speaker, he had been so unfortunate as to lose his tail, nothing further would have been needed to convince him; but till such an accident should happen, he should certainly vote in favour of tails. the crab and its mother one fine day two crabs came out from their home to take a stroll on the sand. "child," said the mother, "you are walking very ungracefully. you should accustom yourself to walking straight forward without twisting from side to side." "pray, mother," said the young one, "do but set the example yourself, and i will follow you!" the jackdaw with borrowed plumes a jackdaw, having dressed himself in feathers which had fallen from some peacocks, strutted about in the company of those birds and tried to pass himself off as one of them. they soon found him out, however, and pulled their plumes from him so roughly, and in other ways so battered him, that he would have been glad to rejoin his humble fellows, but they, in their turn, would have nothing to do with him, and driving him from their society, told him to remember that it is not only fine feathers that make fine birds. the farmer and his dog a farmer who had just stepped into the field to close a gap in one of his fences found on his return the cradle, where he had left his only child asleep, turned upside down, the clothes all torn and bloody, and his dog lying near it besmeared also with blood. convinced at once that the creature had destroyed his child, he instantly dashed out its brains with the hatchet in his hand; when, turning up the cradle, he found the child unhurt and an enormous serpent lying dead on the floor, killed by the faithful dog, whose courage and fidelity in preserving the life of his son deserved another kind of reward. these affecting circumstances afforded him a striking lesson upon how dangerous it is hastily to give way to the blind impulse of a sudden passion. the fox and the countryman a fox, having been hunted hard and chased a long way, saw a countryman at work in a wood and begged his assistance to some hiding-place. the man said he might go into his cottage, which was close by. he was no sooner in than the huntsmen came up. "have you seen a fox pass this way?" said they. the countryman said "no," but pointed at the same time toward the place where the fox lay. the huntsmen did not take the hint, however, and made off again at full speed. the fox, who had seen all that took place through a chink in the wall, thereupon came out and was walking away without a word. "why, how now!" said the countryman, "haven't you the manners to thank your host before you go?" "nay, nay," said the fox; "if you had been as honest with your finger as you were with your tongue, i shouldn't have gone without saying good-bye." belling the cat a certain cat that lived in a large country house was so vigilant and active in the performance of her duties that the mice, finding their numbers grievously thinned, held a council with closed doors to consider what they had best do. many plans had been started and dismissed, when a young mouse, rising and catching the eye of the president, said that he had a proposal to make that he was sure must meet with the approval of all. "if," said he, "the cat should wear around her neck a little bell, every step she took would make it tinkle; then, ever forewarned of her approach, we should have time to reach our holes. by this simple means we should live in safety and defy her power." the speaker resumed his seat with a complacent air, and a murmur of applause arose from the audience. an old gray mouse, with a merry twinkle in his eye, now got up and said that the plan of the last speaker was an admirable one, but he feared it had one drawback. he had not told them who should put the bell around the cat's neck! the old woman and her maids a certain old woman had several maids, whom she used to call to their work every morning at the crowing of the cock. the maids, finding it grievous to have their sweet sleep disturbed so early, killed the cock, thinking that when he was quiet they might enjoy their warm beds a little longer. the old woman, however, vexed at the loss of the cock, and suspecting them to be concerned in his death, from that time made them rise soon after midnight! the dog in the manger there was once a dog who lay all day long in a manger where there was plenty of hay. it happened one day that a horse, a cow, a sheep, and a goat came one by one and wanted to eat the hay. the dog growled at them and would not let them have so much as a mouthful. then an ox came and looked in, but the dog growled at him also. "you selfish fellow," said the ox; "you cannot eat the hay. why do you want to keep it all to yourself?" the old man and his sons an old man had many sons, who were always falling out with one another. he had often exhorted them to live together in harmony, but without result. one day he called them around him and, producing a bundle of sticks, bade them each in turn to break it across. each put forth all his strength, but the bundle still resisted their efforts. then, cutting the cord which bound the sticks together, he told his sons to break them separately. this was done with the greatest ease. "see, my sons," exclaimed he, "the power of unity! bound together by brotherly love, you may defy almost every mortal ill; divided, you will fall a prey to your enemies." hercules and the wagoner as a wagoner was driving his wain through a miry lane, the wheels stuck fast in the clay and the horses could get on no farther. the man immediately dropped on his knees and began crying and praying with all his might to hercules to come and help him. "lazy fellow!" cried hercules, "get up and stir yourself. whip your horses stoutly, and put your shoulder to the wheel. if you want my help then, you shall have it." the goose with the golden eggs one day a poor countryman going to the nest of his goose found there a golden egg all yellow and glittering. when he took it up it felt as heavy as lead and he was minded to throw it away, because he thought a trick had been played on him. on second thoughts, he took it home, however, and soon found to his delight that it was an egg of pure gold. every morning the same thing occurred, and he soon became prosperous by selling his eggs. as he grew rich he grew greedy; and thinking to get at once all the gold the goose could give, he killed it and opened it only to find--nothing! the frogs desiring a king the frogs, living an easy, free sort of life among the lakes and ponds, once prayed jupiter to send them a king. jove, being at that time in a merry mood, threw them a log, saying, as he did so, "there, then, is a king for you." awed by the splash, the frogs watched their king in fear and trembling, till at last, encouraged by his stillness, one more daring than the rest jumped upon the shoulder of the monarch. soon, many others followed his example, and made merry on the back of their unresisting king. speedily tiring of such a torpid ruler, they again petitioned jupiter, and asked him to send them something more like a king. this time he sent them a stork, who tossed them about and gobbled them up without mercy. they lost no time, therefore, in beseeching the god to give them again their former state. "no, no," replied he, "a king that did you no harm did not please you. make the best of the one you have, or you may chance to get a worse in his place." the porcupine and the snakes a porcupine, seeking for shelter, desired some snakes to give him admittance into their cave. they accordingly let him in, but were afterward so annoyed by his sharp, prickly quills that they repented of their easy compliance, and entreated him to withdraw and leave them their hole to themselves. "no, no," said he, "let them quit the place that don't like it; for my part, i am very well satisfied as i am." the lark and her young ones a lark, who had young ones in a field of grain which was almost ripe, was afraid that the reapers would come before her young brood was fledged. every day, therefore, when she flew off to look for food, she charged them to take note of what they heard in her absence, and to tell her of it when she came home. one day, when she was gone, they heard the owner of the field say to his son that the grain seemed ripe enough to be cut, and tell him to go early the next day and ask their friends and neighbours to come and help reap it. when the old lark came home, the little ones quivered and chirped around her, and told her what had happened, begging her to take them away as fast as she could. the mother bade them to be easy; "for," said she, "if he depends on his friends and his neighbours, i am sure the grain will not be reaped tomorrow." next day, she went out again, and left the same orders as before. the owner came, and waited. the sun grew hot, but nothing was done, for not a soul came. "you see," said the owner to his son, "these friends of ours are not to be depended upon; so run off at once to your uncles and cousins, and say i wish them to come early to-morrow morning and help us reap." this the young ones, in a great fright, told also to their mother. "do not fear, children," said she; "kindred and relations are not always very forward in helping one another; but keep your ears open, and let me know what you hear to-morrow." the owner came the next day, and, finding his relations as backward as his neighbours, said to his son: "now listen to me. get two good sickles ready for to-morrow morning, for it seems we must reap the grain by ourselves." the young ones told this to their mother. "then, my dears," said she, "it is time for us to go; for when a man undertakes to do his work himself, it is not so likely that he will be disappointed." she took them away at once, and the grain was reaped the next day by the old man and his son. the fox and the stork a fox one day invited a stork to dine with him, and, wishing to be amused at his guest's expense, put the soup which he had for dinner in a large flat dish, so that, while he himself could lap it up quite well, the stork could only dip in the tip of his long bill. some time after, the stork, bearing his treatment in mind, invited the fox to take dinner with him. he, in his turn, put some minced meat in a long and narrow-necked vessel, into which he could easily put his bill, while master fox was forced to be content with licking what ran down the sides of the vessel. the fox then remembered his old trick, and could not but admit that the stork had well paid him off. "i will not apologize for the dinner," said the stork, "nor for the manner of serving it, for one ill turn deserves another." the gnat and the bull a sturdy bull was once driven by the heat of the weather to wade up to his knees in a cool and swift-running stream. he had not been there long when a gnat that had been disporting itself in the air pitched upon one of his horns. "my dear fellow," said the gnat, with as great a buzz as he could manage, "pray excuse the liberty i take. if i am too heavy only say so and i will go at once and rest upon the poplar which grows hard by the edge of the stream. "stay or go, it makes no matter to me," replied the bull. "had it not been for your buzz i should not even have known you were there." the deer and the lion one warm day a deer went down to a brook to get a drink. the stream was smooth and clear, and he could see himself in the water. he looked at his horns and was very proud of them, for they were large and long and had many branches, but when he saw his feet he was ashamed to own them, they were so slim and small. while he stood knee-deep in the water, and was thinking only of his fine horns, a lion saw him and came leaping out from the tall grass to get him. the deer would have been caught at once if he had not jumped quickly out of the brook. he ran as fast as he could, and his feet were so light and swift that he soon left the lion far behind. but by and by he had to pass through some woods, and, as he was running, his horns were caught in some vines that grew among the trees. before he could get loose the lion was upon him. "ah me!" cried the deer, "the things which pleased me most will now cause my death; while the things which i thought so mean and poor would have carried me safe out of danger." the fox and the grapes there was a time when a fox would have ventured as far for a bunch of grapes as for a shoulder of mutton, and it was a fox of those days and that palate that stood gaping under a vine and licking his lips at a most delicious cluster of grapes that he had spied out there. he fetched a hundred and a hundred leaps at it, till, at last, when he was as weary as a dog, and found that there was no good to be done: "hang 'em," says he, "they are as sour as crabs"; and so away he went, turning off the disappointment with a jest. the farmer and the stork a farmer placed nets on his newly sown plough lands, and caught a quantity of cranes, which came to pick up his seed. with them he trapped a stork also. the stork, having his leg fractured by the net, earnestly besought the farmer to spare his life. "pray, save me, master," he said, "and let me go free this once. my broken limb should excite your pity. besides, i am no crane. i am a stork, a bird of excellent character; and see how i love and slave for my father and mother. look, too, at my feathers, they are not the least like to those of a crane." the farmer laughed aloud, and said: "it may all be as you say, i only know this, i have taken you with those robbers, the cranes, and you must die in their company." the hare and the tortoise the hare, one day, laughing at the tortoise for his slowness and general unwieldiness, was challenged by the latter to run a race. the hare, looking on the whole affair as a great joke, consented, and the fox was selected to act as umpire and hold the stakes. the rivals started, and the hare, of course, soon left the tortoise far behind. having come midway to the goal, she began to play about, nibble the young herbage, and amuse herself in many ways. the day being warm, she even thought she would take a little nap in a shady spot, as, if the tortoise should pass her while she slept, she could easily overtake him again before he reached the end. the tortoise meanwhile plodded on, unwavering and unresting, straight toward the goal. the hare, having overslept herself, started up from her nap, and was surprised to find that the tortoise was nowhere in sight. off she went at full speed, but on reaching the winning-post found that the tortoise was already there, waiting for her arrival! the old woman and the doctor an old woman who had bad eyes called in a clever doctor, who agreed for a certain sum to cure them. he was a very clever physician, but he was also a very great rogue; and when he called each day and bound up the old woman's eyes he took advantage of her blindness to carry away with him some article of her furniture. this went on until he pronounced his patient cured and her room was nearly bare. he claimed his reward, but the old woman protested that, so far from being cured, her sight was worse than ever. "we will soon see about that, my good dame," said he; and she was shortly after summoned to appear in court. "may it please your honour," said she to the judge, "before i called in this doctor i could see a score of things in my room that now, when he says i am cured, i cannot see at all." this opened the eyes of the court to the knavery of the doctor, who was forced to give the old woman her property back again, and was not allowed to claim a penny of his fee. the boy and the wolf a mischievous lad, who was set to mind some sheep, often used, in jest, to cry "wolf! wolf!" and when the people at work in the neighbouring fields came running to the spot he would laugh at them for their pains. one day the beast came in reality, and the boy, this time, called "wolf! wolf!" in earnest; but the men, having been so often deceived, disregarded his cries, and he and his sheep were left at the mercy of the wolf. the blackamoor a certain man who had bought a blackamoor said he was convinced that it was all nonsense about black being the natural colour of his skin. "he has been dirty in his habits," said he, "and neglected by his former masters. bring me some hot water, soap, and scrubbing-brushes, and a little sand, and we shall soon see what his colour is." so he scrubbed, and his servants scrubbed till they were all tired. they made no difference in the colour of the blackamoor; but the end of it all was that the poor fellow caught cold and died. the wolf in sheep's clothing a wolf, wrapping himself in the skin of a sheep, by that means got admission into a sheepfold, where he devoured several of the young lambs. the shepherd, however, soon found him out and hung him up to a tree, still in his assumed disguise. some other shepherds, passing that way, thought it was a sheep hanging and cried to their friend: "what, brother! is that the way you serve sheep in this part of the country?" "no, friends," cried he, giving at the same time the carcass a swing around, so that they might see what it was; "but it is the way to serve wolves, even though they be dressed in sheep's clothing." the two travellers as two men were travelling through a wood, one of them took up an axe which he saw lying upon the ground. "look here," said he to his companion, "i have found an axe." "don't say, 'i have found it,'" said the other, "but 'we have found it.' as we are companions, we ought to share it between us." the first would not agree to this idea, however. they had not gone far when they heard the owner of the axe calling after them in a great passion. "we are in for it!" cried he who had the axe. "nay," answered the other, "say 'i'm in for it!'--not we. you would not let me share the prize, and i am not going to share the danger." the fox in the well an unlucky fox, having fallen into a well, was able, by dint of great efforts, just to keep his head above water. while he was struggling there and sticking his claws into the side of the well, a wolf came and looked in. "what! my dear brother," cried he, with affected concern, "can it really be you that i see down there? how cold you must feel! how long have you been in the water? how came you to fall in? i am so pained to see you. do tell me all about it!" "the end of a rope would be of more use to me than all your pity," answered the fox. "just help me to get my foot on solid ground once more, and you shall have the whole story." the hen and the fox a fox, having crept into an outhouse, looked up and down for something to eat, and at last espied a hen sitting upon a perch so high that he could be no means come at her. he therefore had recourse to an old stratagem. "dear cousin," said he to her, "how do you do? i heard that you were ill and kept at home; i could not rest, therefore, till i had come to see you. pray let me feel your pulse. indeed, you do not look well at all." he was running on in this impudent manner, when the hen answered him from the roost: "truly, dear reynard, you are in the right. i was seldom in more danger than i am now. pray excuse my coming down; i am sure i should catch my death." the fox, finding himself foiled by the hen's cleverness, made off and tried his luck elsewhere. the ass and his shadow a man, one hot day, hired an ass, with his driver, to carry some merchandise across a sandy plain. the sun's rays were overpowering, and unable to advance farther without a temporary rest he called upon the driver to stop, and proceeded to sit down in the shadow of the ass. the driver, however, a lusty fellow, rudely pushed him away, and sat down on the spot himself. "nay, friend," said the driver, "when you hired this ass of me you said nothing about the shadow. if now you want that, too, you must pay for it." the ass in the lion's skin an ass, finding a lion's skin, put it on, and ranged about the forest. the beasts fled in terror, and he was delighted at the success of his disguise. meeting a fox, he rushed upon him, and this time he tried to imitate as well the roaring of the lion. "ah," said the fox, "if you had held your tongue i should have been deceived like the rest; but now you bray i know who you are!" the wolf and the sheep a wolf, sorely wounded and bitten by dogs, lay sick and maimed in his lair. parched with thirst, he called to a sheep who was passing and asked her to fetch some water from a stream flowing close by. "for," he said, "if you will bring me drink, sister, i will find means to provide myself with meat." "yes," said the sheep, "but if i should bring you the draught, you would doubtless make me provide the meat also." jupiter's two wallets when jupiter made man, he gave him two wallets; one for his neighbour's faults, the other for his own. he threw them over the man's shoulder, so that one hung in front and the other behind. the man kept the one in front for his neighbour's faults, and the one behind for his own; so that, while the first was always under his nose, it took some pains to see the latter. this custom, which began thus early, is not quite unknown at the present day. the satyr and the traveller a satyr, ranging in the forest in winter, came across a traveller, half starved with the cold. he took pity on him and invited him to go to his cave. on their way the man kept blowing upon his fingers. "why do you do that?" said the satyr, who had seen little of the world. "to warm my hands, they are nearly frozen," replied the man. arrived at the cave, the satyr poured out a mess of smoking pottage and laid it before the traveller, who at once commenced blowing at it with all his might. "what, blowing again!" cried the satyr. "is it not hot enough?" "yes, faith," answered the man, "it is hot enough in all conscience, and that is just the reason why i blow it." "be off with you!" cried the satyr, in alarm; "i will have no part with a man who can blow hot and cold from the same mouth." the two travellers and the oyster as two men were walking by the seaside at low water they saw an oyster, and they both stooped at the same time to pick it up. immediately, one pushed the other away, and a dispute ensued. a third traveller coming along at the time, they determined to refer the matter to him, as to which of the two had the better right to the oyster. while they were each telling his story the arbitrator gravely took out his knife, opened the shell and loosened the oyster. when they had finished, and were listening for his decision, he just as gravely swallowed the oyster, and offered them the two halves of the shell. "the court," said he, "awards you each a shell. the oyster will cover the costs." the young mouse, the cock, and the cat a young mouse, on his return to his hole after leaving it for the first time, thus recounted his adventures to his mother: "mother," said he, "quitting this narrow place where you have brought me up, i was rambling about to-day like a young mouse of spirit, who wished to see and to be seen, when two such notable creatures came in my way! one was so gracious, so gentle and benign; the other, who was just as noisy and forbidding, had on his head and under his chin pieces of raw meat, which shook at every step he took; and then, all at once, beating his sides with the utmost fury, he uttered such a harsh and piercing cry that i fled in terror; and this, too, just as i was about to introduce myself to the other stranger, who was covered with fur like our own, only richer looking and much more beautiful, and who seemed so modest and benevolent that it did my heart good to look at her." "ah, my son," replied the old mouse, "learn while you live to distrust appearances. the first strange creature was nothing but a fowl, that will ere long be killed, and, when put on a dish in the pantry, we may make a delicious supper of his bones, while the other was a nasty, sly, and bloodthirsty hypocrite of a cat, to whom no food is so welcome as a young and juicy mouse like yourself." the wolf and the mastiff a wolf, who was almost skin and bone, so well did the dogs of the neighbourhood keep guard over their masters' property, met, one moonshiny night, a sleek mastiff, who was, moreover, as strong as he was fat. the wolf would gladly have supped off him, but saw that there would first be a great fight, for which, in his condition, he was not prepared; so, bidding the dog good-evening very humbly, he praised his prosperous looks. "it would be easy for you," replied the mastiff, "to get as fat as i am if you liked. quit this forest, where you and your fellows live so wretchedly, and often die with hunger. follow me, and you will fare much better.' "what shall i have to do?" asked the wolf. "almost nothing," answered the dog; "only chase away the beggars and fawn upon the folks of the house. you will, in return, be paid with all sorts of nice things--bones of fowls and pigeons--to say nothing of many a friendly pat on the head." the wolf, at the picture of so much comfort, nearly shed tears of joy. they trotted off together, but, as they went along, the wolf noticed a bare spot on the dog's neck. "what is that mark?" said he. "oh, nothing," said the dog. "how nothing?" urged the wolf. "oh, the merest trifle," answered the dog; "the collar which i wear when i am tied up is the cause of it." "tied up!" exclaimed the wolf, with a sudden stop; "tied up? can you not always run where you please, then?" "well, not quite always," said the mastiff; "but what can that matter?" "it matters so much to me," rejoined the wolf, "that your lot shall not be mine at any price"; and, leaping away, he ran once more to his native forest. the tail of the serpent the tail of a serpent once rebelled against the head, and said that it was a great shame that one end of any animal should always have its way, and drag the other after it, whether it was willing or no. it was in vain that the head urged that the tail had neither brains nor eyes, and that it was in no way made to lead. wearied by the tail's importunity, the head one day let him have his will. the serpent now went backward for a long time quite gayly, until he came to the edge of a high cliff, over which both head and tail went flying, and came with a heavy thump on the shore beneath. the head, it may be supposed, was never again troubled by the tail with a word about leading. the falcon and the capon a capon, who had strong reasons for thinking that the time of his sacrifice was near at hand, carefully avoided coming into close quarters with any of the farm servants or domestics of the estate on which he lived. a glimpse that he had once caught of the kitchen, with its blazing fire, and the head cook, like an executioner, with a formidable knife chopping off the heads of some of his companions, had been sufficient to keep him ever after in dread. hence, one day when he was wanted for roasting, all calling, clucking, and coaxing of the cook's assistants were in vain. "how deaf and dull you must be," said a falcon to the capon, "not to hear when you are called, or to see when you are wanted! you should take pattern by me. i never let my master call me twice." "ah," answered the capon, "if falcons were called like capons, to be run upon a spit and set before the kitchen fire, they would be just as slow to come and just as hard of hearing as i am now." the crow and the pitcher a crow, ready to die with thirst, flew with joy to a pitcher, hoping to find some water in it. he found some there, to be sure, but only a little drop at the bottom which he was quite unable to reach. he then tried to overturn the pitcher, but it was too heavy. so he gathered up some pebbles, with which the ground near was covered and, taking them one by one in his beak, dropped them into the pitcher. by this means the water gradually reached the top, and he was enabled to drink at his ease. the eagle and the owl the eagle and the owl, after many quarrels, swore that they would be fast friends forever, and that they would never harm each other's children. "but do you know my little ones?" said the owl. "if you do not, i fear it will go hard with them when you find them." "nay, then, i do not," replied the eagle. "the greater your loss," said the owl; "they are the sweetest prettiest things in the world. such bright eyes! such charming plumage! such winning little ways! you'll know them now from my description." a short time after the eagle found the owlets in a hollow tree. "these hideous little staring frights, at any rate, cannot be neighbour owl's delicious pets," said the eagle; "so i may make away with them without the least misgiving." the owl, finding her young ones gone, loaded the eagle with reproaches. "nay," answered the eagle, "blame yourself rather than me. if you paint with such flattering colours, it is not my fault if i do not recognize your portraits." the buffoon and the countryman on the occasion of some festivities that were given by a roman nobleman, a merry-andrew of a fellow caused much laughter by his tricks upon the stage, and, more than all, by his imitation of the squeaking of a pig, which seemed to the hearers so real that they called for it again and again. a countryman, however, in the audience, thought the imitation was not perfect; and he made his way to the stage and said that, if he were permitted, he to-morrow would enter the lists and squeak against the merry-andrew for a wager. the mob, anticipating great fun, shouted their consent, and accordingly, when the next day came, the two rival jokers were in their places. the hero of the previous day went first, and the hearers, more pleased than ever, fairly roared with delight. then came the turn of the countryman, who having a pig carefully concealed under his cloak, so that no one would have suspected its existence, vigorously pinched its ear with his thumbnail, and made it squeak with a vengeance. "not half as good--not half as good!" cried the audience, and many among them even began to hiss. "fine judges you!" replied the countryman, rushing to the front of the stage, drawing the pig from under his cloak, and holding the animal up on high. "behold the performer that you condemn!" the old man, his son, and the ass an old man and his little boy were once driving an ass before them to the next market-town, where it was to be sold. "have you no more wit," said a passerby, "than for you and your son to trudge on foot and let your ass go light?" so the man put his boy on the ass, and they went on again. "you lazy young rascal!" cried the next person they met; "are you not ashamed to ride and let your poor old father go on foot?" the man then lifted off the boy and got up himself. two women passed soon after, and one said to the other, "look at that selfish old fellow, riding along while his little son follows after on foot!" the old man thereupon took up the boy behind him. the next traveller they met asked the old man whether or not the ass was his own. being answered that it was: "no one would think so," said he, "from the way in which you use it. why, you are better able to carry the poor animal than he is to carry both of you." so the old man tied the ass's legs to a long pole, and he and his son shouldered the pole and staggered along under the weight. in that fashion they entered the town, and their appearance caused so much laughter that the old man, mad with vexation at the result of his endeavours to give satisfaction to everybody, threw the ass into the river and seizing his son by the arm went his way home again. the lion, the bear, the monkey, and the fox the tyrant of the forest issued a proclamation commanding all his subjects to repair immediately to his royal den. among the rest, the bear made his appearance, but pretending to be offended with the odour which issued from the monarch's apartments, be was imprudent enough to hold his nose in his majesty's presence. this insolence was so highly resented that the lion in a rage laid him dead at his feet. the monkey, observing what had passed, trembled for his skin, and attempted to conciliate favour by the most abject flattery. he began with protesting that, for his part, he thought the apartments were perfumed with arabian spices; and, exclaiming against the rudeness of the bear, admired the beauty of his majesty's paws, so happily formed, he said, to correct the insolence of clowns. this adulation, instead of being received as he expected, proved no less offensive than the rudeness of the bear, and the courtly monkey was in like manner extended by the side of sir bruin. and now his majesty cast his eye upon the fox. "well, reynard," said he, "and what scent do you discover here?" "great prince," replied the cautious fox, "my nose was never esteemed my most distinguishing sense; and at present i would by no means venture to give my opinion, as i have unfortunately caught a terrible cold." the wolf and the lamb a flock of sheep was feeding in the meadow while the dogs were asleep, and the shepherd at a distance playing on his pipe beneath the shade of a spreading elm. a young, inexperienced lamb, observing a half-starved wolf peering through the pales of the fence, began to talk with him. "pray, what are you seeking for here?" said the lamb. "i am looking," replied the wolf, "for some tender grass; for nothing, you know, is more pleasant than to feed in a fresh pasture, and to slake one's thirst at a crystal stream, both which i perceive you enjoy within these pales in their utmost perfection. happy creature," continued he, "how much i envy you who have everything which i desire, for philosophy has long taught me to be satisfied with a little!" "it seems, then," returned the lamb, "those who say you feed on flesh accuse you falsely, since a little grass will easily content you. if this be true, let us for the future live like brethren, and feed together." so saying, the simple lamb crept through the fence, and at once became a prey to the pretended philosopher, and a sacrifice to his own inexperience and credulity. the chameleon two travellers happened on their journey to be engaged in a warm dispute about the colour of the chameleon. one of them affirmed that it was blue and that he had seen it with his own eyes upon the naked branch of a tree, feeding in the air on a very clear day. the other strongly asserted it was green, and that he had viewed it very closely and minutely upon the broad leaf of a fig-tree. both of them were positive, and the dispute was rising to a quarrel; but a third person luckily coming by, they agreed to refer the question to his decision. "gentlemen," said the arbitrator, with a smile of great self-satisfaction, "you could not have been more lucky in your reference, as i happen to have caught one of them last night; but, indeed, you are both mistaken, for the creature is totally black." "black, impossible!" cried both the disputants!" "nay," quoth the umpire, with great assurance, "the matter may be soon decided, for i immediately inclosed my chameleon in a little paper box, and here it is." so saying, he drew it out of his pocket, opened his box, and, lo! it was as white as snow. the travellers looked equally surprised and equally confounded; while the sagacious reptile, assuming the air of a philosopher, thus admonished them: "ye children of men, learn diffidence and moderation in your opinions. 'tis true, you happen in this present instance to be all in the right, and have only considered the subject under different circumstances, but, pray, for the future allow others to have eyesight as well as yourselves; nor wonder if every one prefers to accept the testimony of his own senses." the eagle, the jackdaw, and the magpie the kingly eagle kept his court with all the formalities of sovereign state, and was duly attended by all his plumed subjects in their highest feathers. these solemn assemblies, however, were frequently disturbed by the impertinent conduct of two, who assumed the importance of high-fliers; these were no other than the jackdaw and the magpie, who were forever contending for precedence which neither of them would give up to the other. the contest ran so high that at length they mutually agreed to appeal to the sovereign eagle for his decision in this momentous affair. the eagle gravely answered that he did not wish to make an invidious distinction by deciding to the advantage of either party, but would give them a rule by which they might determine between themselves; "for," added he, "the greater fool of the two shall in future always take precedence, but which of you it may be, yourselves must settle." the boy and the filberts a boy once thrust his hand into a pitcher which was full of figs and filberts. he grasped as many as his fist could possibly hold, but when he tried to draw it out the narrowness of the neck prevented him. not liking to lose any of them, but unwilling to draw out his hand, he burst into tears and bitterly bemoaned his hard fortune. an honest fellow who stood by gave him this wise and reasonable advice: "take only half as many, my boy, and you will easily get them." the passenger and the pilot in a violent storm at sea, the whole crew of a vessel was in imminent danger of shipwreck. after the rolling of the waves was somewhat abated, a certain passenger, who had never been at sea before, observing the pilot to have appeared wholly unconcerned, even in their greatest danger, had the curiosity to ask him what death his father died. "what death?" said the pilot, "why, he perished at sea, as my grandfather did before him." "and are you not afraid of trusting yourself to an element that has proved thus fatal to your family?" "afraid? by no means; why, we must all die; is not your father dead?" "yes, but he died in his bed." "and why, then, are you not afraid of trusting yourself to your bed?" "because i am perfectly secure there." "it may be so," replied the pilot; "but if the hand of providence is equally extended over all places, there is no more reason for me to be afraid of going to sea than for you to be afraid of going to bed." the dog and the crocodile a dog, running along the banks of the nile, grew thirsty, but fearing to be seized by the monsters of that river, he would not stop to satiate his drought, but lapped as he ran. a crocodile, raising his head above the surface of the water, asked him why he was in such a hurry. he had often, he said, wished for his acquaintance, and should be glad to embrace the present opportunity. "you do me great honour," said the dog, "but it is to avoid such companions as you that i am in so much haste!" a matter of arbitration two cats, having stolen some cheese, could not agree about dividing the prize. in order, therefore, to settle the dispute, they consented to refer the matter to a monkey. the proposed arbitrator very readily accepted the office, and, producing a balance, put a part into each scale. "let me see," said he, "aye--this lump outweighs the other"; and immediately bit off a considerable piece in order to reduce it, he observed, to an equilibrium. the opposite scale was now heavier, which afforded our conscientious judge a reason for a second mouthful. "hold, hold," said the two cats, who began to be alarmed for the event, "give us our shares and we are satisfied." "if you are satisfied," returned the monkey, "justice is not; a cause of this intricate nature is by no means so soon determined." upon which he continued to nibble first one piece then the other, till the poor cats, seeing their cheese rapidly diminishing, entreated to give himself no further trouble, but to deliver to them what remained. "not so fast, i beseech ye, friends," replied the monkey; "we owe justice to ourselves as well as to you. what remains is due to me in right of my office." thus saying, he crammed the whole into his mouth, and with great gravity dismissed the court. the crow and the mussel a crow having found a mussel on the seashore; took it in his beak and tried for a long time to break the shell by hammering it upon a stone. another crow--a sly old fellow--came and watched him for some time in silence. "friend," said he at last, "you'll never break it in that way. listen to me. this is the way to do it: fly up as high as you can, and let the tiresome thing fall upon a rock. it will be smashed then sure enough, and you can eat it at your leisure." the simple-minded and unsuspecting crow did as he was told, flew up and let the mussel fall. before he could descend to eat it, however, the other bird had pounced upon it and carried it away. the ass and his purchaser a man wished to purchase an ass, and agreed with his owner that he should try him before he bought him. he took the ass home, and put him in the straw-yard with his other asses, upon which the beast left all the others and joined himself at once to the most idle and the greatest eater of them all. the man put a halter on him, and led him back to his owner: and when he was asked how, in so short a time, he could have made a trial of him, "i do not need," he answered, "a trial; i know that he will be just such another as the one whom of all the rest he chose for his companion." a country fellow and the river a stupid boy, who was sent to market by the good old woman, his mother, to sell butter and cheese, made a stop by the way at a swift river, and laid himself down on the bank there, until it should run out. about midnight, home he went to his mother, with all his market trade back again. "why, how now, my son?" said she. "what ill fortune have you had, that you have sold nothing all day?" "why, mother, yonder is a river that has been running all this day, and i stayed till just now, waiting for it to run out; and there it is, running still." "my son," said the good woman, "thy head and mine will be laid in the grave many a day before this river has all run by. you will never sell your butter and cheese if you wait for that." the playful ass an ass climbed up to the roof of a building and, frisking about there, broke in the tiling. his master went up after him, and quickly drove him down, beating him severely with a thick wooden cudgel. the ass then cried out in astonishment, "why, i saw the monkey do this very thing yesterday, and you all laughed heartily, as if it afforded you great amusement!" the boys and the frogs some idle boys, playing near a pond, saw a number of frogs in the water, and began to pelt them with stones. they had killed several of them, when one of the frogs, lifting his head out of the water, cried out: "pray stop, my boys: you forget that what is sport to you is death to us!" the camel and his master one night a camel looked into the tent where his master was lying and said: "kind master, will you not let me put my head inside of the door? the wind blows very cold to-night." "oh, yes," said the man. "there is plenty of room." so the camel moved forward and stretched his head into the tent. "ah!" he said, "this is what i call comfort." in a little while he called to his master again. "now if i could only warm my neck also," he said. "then put your neck inside," said his master, kindly. "you will not be in my way." the camel did so, and for a time was very well contented. then, looking around, he said: "if i could only put my forelegs inside i should feel a great deal better." his master moved a little and said: "you may put your forelegs and shoulders inside, for i know that the wind blows cold to-night." the camel had hardly planted his forefeet within the tent when he spoke again: "master," he said, "i keep the tent open by standing here. i think i ought to go wholly within." "yes, come in," said the man. "there is hardly room for us both, but i do not want to keep you out in the cold." so the camel crowded into the tent, but he was no sooner inside than he said: "you were right when you said that there was hardly room for us both. i think it would be better for you to stand outside and so give me a chance to turn around and lie down." then, without more ado, he rudely pushed the man out at the door, and took the whole tent for himself. the flies and the honey-pot a jar of honey having been upset in a housekeeper's room, a number of flies were attracted by its sweetness, and placing their feet in it ate it greedily. their feet, however, became so smeared with the honey that they could not use their wings, nor release themselves, and so were suffocated. just as they were expiring, they exclaimed, "o foolish creatures that we are; for the sake of a little pleasure we have destroyed ourselves!" the spectacles jupiter, one day, enjoying himself over a bowl of nectar, and in a merry humour, determined to make mankind a present. momus was appointed to convey it, who, mounted on a rapid car, was presently on earth. "come hither," said he, "ye happy mortals; great jupiter has opened for your benefit his all-gracious hands. 'tis true he made you somewhat short-sighted, but, to remedy that inconvenience, behold now he has favoured you!" so saying, he opened his portmanteau, when an infinite number of spectacles tumbled out, and were picked up by the crowd with all the eagerness imaginable. there were enough for all, for every man had his pair. but it was soon found that these spectacles did not represent objects to all mankind alike; for one pair was purple, another blue; one was white and another black; some of the glasses were red, some green, and some yellow. in short, there were all manner of colours, and every shade of colour. however, notwithstanding this diversity, every man was charmed with his own, as believing it the best, and enjoyed in opinion all the satisfaction of truth. the bear and the fowls a bear, who was bred in the savage desert, wished to see the world, and he travelled from forest to forest, and from one kingdom to another, making many profound observations on his way. one day he came by accident into a farmer's yard, where he saw a number of fowls standing to drink by the side of a pool. observing that after every sip they turned up their heads toward the sky, he could not forbear inquiring the reason of so peculiar a ceremony. they told him that it was by way of returning thanks to heaven for the benefits they received; and was indeed an ancient and religious custom, which they could not, with a safe conscience, or without impiety, omit. here the bear burst into a fit of laughter, at once mimicking their gestures, and ridiculing their superstition, in a most contemptuous manner. on this the cock, with a spirit suitable to the boldness of his character, addressed him in the following words: "as you are a stranger, sir, you may perhaps be excused for the indecency of your behaviour; yet give me leave to tell you that none but a bear would ridicule any religious ceremonies in the presence of those who believe them of importance." the fables of bidpai "in english now they teach us wit. in english now they say: ye men, come learn of beasts to live, to rule and to obey, to guide you wisely in the world, to know to shun deceit, to fly the crooked paths of guile, to keep your doings straight." sir thomas north the fables of bidpai the snake and the sparrows it is related that two sparrows once made their nest in the roof of a house; and, contenting themselves with a single grain, so lived. once on a time they had young ones, and both the mother and father used to go out in search of food for their support; and what they procured they made up into grains and dropped into their crops. one day, the male sparrow had gone out somewhere. when he came back he beheld the female sparrow fluttering in the greatest distress around the nest, while she uttered piteous cries. he exclaimed, "sweet friend! what movements are these which i behold in thee?" she replied, "how shall i not lament, since, when i returned after a moment's absence, i saw a huge snake come and prepare to devour my offspring, though i poured forth piteous cries. it was all in vain, for the snake said, 'thy sigh will have no effect on my dark-mirrored scales.' i replied, 'dread this, that i and the father of these children will gird up the waist of vengeance, and will exert ourselves to the utmost for thy destruction.' the snake laughed on hearing me, and that cruel oppressor has devoured my young and has also taken his rest in the nest." when the male sparrow heard this story, his frame was wrung with anguish; and the fire of regret for the loss of his offspring fell on his soul. at that moment the master of the house was engaged in lighting his lamp; and holding in his hand a match, dipped in grease and lighted, was about to put it into the lamp-holder. the sparrow flew and snatched the match from his hand and threw it into the nest. the master of the house, through fear that the fire would catch to the roof, and that the consequences would be most pernicious, immediately ran up on the terrace and began clearing away the nest from beneath, in order to put out the fire. the snake beheld in front the danger of the fire, and heard above the sound of the pickaxe. it put out its head from a hole which it had near the roof, and no sooner did it do so than it received a blow of death from the pickaxe. and the moral of this fable is, that the snake despised its enemy, and made no account of him, until in the end that enemy pounded his head with the stone of vengeance. the geese and the tortoise it is related that in a pool whose pure water reflected every image like a clear mirror, once resided two geese and a tortoise, and in consequence of their being neighbours, the thread of their circumstances had been drawn out into sincere friendship, and they passed their lives contentedly. in that water which was the source of their life and the support of their existence, however, a complete failure began to manifest itself, and a glaring alteration became evident. when the geese perceived that state of things they withdrew their hearts from the home to which they were accustomed and determined on emigrating. therefore with hearts full of sorrow and eyes full of tears, they approached the tortoise, and introduced the subject of parting. the tortoise wept at the intelligence and piteously exclaimed, "what words are these, and how can existence be supported without sympathizing friends? and since that i have not power even to take leave, how can i endure the load of separation?" the geese replied: "our hearts, too, are wounded by the sharp points of absence, but the distress of being without water is impossible to endure, and therefore of necessity we are about to forsake our friend and country." the tortoise rejoined: "o friends! ye know that the distress of the want of water affects me more, and that without water i cannot support myself. at this crisis the rights of ancient companionship demand that ye should take me with you, and not leave me alone in the sorrowful abode of separation." the geese answered: "o esteemed comrade! the pang of parting from thee is sharper than that of exile, and wherever we go, though we should pass our time in the utmost comfort, yet, deprived of seeing thee, the eye of our rejoicing would be darkened; but for us to proceed on the earth's surface and so to traverse a great and long distance is impossible, and for thee, too, to fly through the expanse of air and accompany us is impracticable; and such being the case, how can we travel together?" the tortoise answered: "your sagacity will be able to devise a remedy for this matter, and what plan can develop while my spirit is broken by the thought of parting?" the geese replied: "o friend! during this period of our friendship we have observed in thee somewhat of hastiness and rashness; perhaps thou wilt not act upon what we say, nor keep firm to thy promise after thou hast made it." the tortoise rejoined; "how can it be that ye should speak with a view to my advantage, and i fail to perform a compact which is for my own good?" said the geese: "the condition is that when we take thee up and fly through the air thou wilt not utter a single syllable, for any one who may happen to see us will be sure to throw in a word, and say something in reference to us directly or indirectly. now, how many soever allusions thou mayest hear, or whatever manoeuvres thou mayest observe, thou must close the path of reply, and not loose thy tongue." the tortoise answered: "i am obedient to your commands, and i will positively place the seal of silence on my lips, so that i shall not be even disposed to answer any creature." the geese then brought a stick, and the tortoise laid hold of the middle of it firmly with his teeth, and they, lifting the two ends of the stick, bore him up. when they got to a height in the air, they happened to pass over a village, and the inhabitants thereof having discovered them, were astonished at their proceedings, and came out to look at the sight, and raised a shout from left and right, "look! how two geese are carrying a tortoise!" and as in those days the like of it had never been witnessed by that people, their cries and exclamations increased every moment. the tortoise was silent for a time, but at length the cauldron of his self-esteem began to boil, and his patience being exhausted, he exclaimed: "you who are shouting to others to look at what is plain enough to every one, hold your peace!" no sooner had he opened his lips, however, than he fell from on high, and the geese exclaimed, "it is the part of friends to give advice and of the well-disposed to listen to it." and the moral of this story is, that whoever listens not to the admonition of friends, with the hearing of acceptance, will have hastened his own destruction. the sagacious snake it is related that the infirmities of age had taken effect upon a snake and through loss of strength he was unable to pursue his prey, and was bewildered in his proceedings how to obtain food. life was impossible without food, and to hunt for it, had, through his weakness, become impracticable. accordingly he thus reflected: "alas! for the strength of my youth; and now to expect its return and to hope for the recurrence of my animal vigour is a thing of the same complexion as to light a fire from water." he felt that what was passed could not be recalled, and he therefore busied himself with taking thought for the future, and said: "in lieu of the strength of youth i have a little experience which i have acquired, and a trifle of prudence. i must now base my proceedings on abstaining from injuring others and must begin to consider how i may obtain, for the remainder of my life, what may be the means of support." he then went to the brink of a spring of water in which there were a number of frogs who had a potent king and one who was obeyed and renowned. the snake cast himself down there in the dust of the road, like to a sufferer on whom calamity has fallen. a frog speedily made up to him, and asked him: "i see thou art very sorrowful. what is the cause of it?" the snake replied: "who deserves more to grieve than i, whose maintenance was from hunting frogs? today an event has occurred which has rendered the pursuit of them unlawful to me, and if i seriously designed to seize one, i could not." the frog went away and told the king, who was amazed at this strange circumstance, and coming to the snake, asked him: "what is the cause of this accident that has befallen thee and what act has brought down this upon thee?" the snake replied: "o king, greed plunged me into calamity, and this befell as follows: one day i attempted to seize a frog, which fled from me and took refuge in the house of a holy man. my appetite led me to follow him into the house, which happened to be dark. the son of the holy man lay there asleep, and his great toe coming against me i fancied it was the frog. from the ardour of my greediness i closed my teeth upon it, and the child died on the spot. the holy man discovered the fact, and from regret for his son, attacked me, and i, turning toward the open country, fled with speed, and the recluse pursued me and cursed me, and said: 'i desire of my creator that he will make thee base and powerless, and cause thee to be the vehicle of the frog-king. and, verily, thou shalt not have power to eat frogs, save what their king shall bestow on thee as alms.' and now, of necessity, i have come hither that the king may ride upon me, and i have acquiesced in the will of god." the matter pleased the king of the frogs, and he thought that it would redound to his advantage; and he at once seated himself upon the snake, and indulged in vainglorious airs in consequence. some time passed in this way. at last the snake said: "may the life of the king be prolonged! i cannot do without food and sustenance, that i may support life thereon and fulfil this service." the king said: "the case is as thou sayest; i cannot do without my steed, and my steed cannot have strength without food." he then fixed two frogs as his daily allowance, that he might use as his regular supply for breakfast and dinner. the snake maintained himself on that allowance; and inasmuch as the attention he paid to the frog-king involved a benefit to himself he did not find fault with it. and this story is adduced to make it apparent that courtesy and humility are readier means to uproot an enemy than war and contest. the old woman's cat in former times there lived an old woman in a state of extreme debility. she possessed a cot more narrow than the heart of the ignorant and darker than the miser's grave; and a cat was her companion, which had never seen, even in the mirror of imagination, the face of a loaf, nor had heard from friend or stranger the name of meat. it was content if occasionally it smelt the odour of a mouse from its hole, or saw the print of the foot of one on the surface of a board, and if, on some rare occasion, by the aid of good fortune one fell into its claws, it subsisted a whole week, more or less, on that amount of food. and, inasmuch as the house of the old woman was the famine-year of that cat, it was always miserable and thin, and from a distance appeared like an idea. one day, through excessive weakness, it had, with the utmost difficulty, mounted on the top of the roof; thence it beheld a cat which walked proudly on the wall of a neighbouring house, and after the fashion of a destroying lion advanced with measured steps, and from excessive fat lifted its feet slowly. when the cat of the old woman saw this, it was astonished and cried out, saying: "thou, whose state is thus pleasant, whence art thou? and since it appears that thou comest from the banquet-chamber of the khan of khata, whence is this sleekness of thine, and from what cause this thy grandeur and strength?" the neighbour-cat replied: "i am the crumb-eater of the tray of the sultan. every morning i attend on the court of the king, and when they spread the tray of invitation, i display boldness and daring, and in general i snatch off some morsels of fat meats, and of loaves made of the finest flour; and thus i pass my time happy and satisfied till the next day." the cat of the old woman inquired: "what sort of a thing may fat meat be? and what kind of relish has bread, made of fine flour? i, during my whole life, have never seen nor tasted aught save the old woman's broths, and mouse's flesh." the neighbour-cat laughed, and said: "therefore it is that one cannot distinguish thee from a spider, and this form and appearance that thou hast is a reproach to our whole race. if thou shouldst see the court of the sultan and smell the odour of those delicious viands, thou wouldst acquire a fresh form." the cat of the old woman, said, most beseechingly, "o brother! thou art bound to me by neighbourship and kinship; why not this time, when thou goest, take me with thee? perchance, by thy good fortune, i may obtain food." the heart of the neighbour-cat melted at the speaker's lamentable position, and he resolved that he would not attend the feast without him. the cat of the old woman felt new life at these tidings, and descending from the roof stated the case to his mistress. the old dame began to advise the cat, saying: "o kind companion, be not deceived by the words of worldly people and abandon not the corner of content, for the vessel of covetousness is not filled save with the dust of the grave." but the cat had taken into its head such a longing for the delicacies of the sultan's table that the medicine of advice was not profitable to it. in short, the next day, along with its neighbour, the old woman's cat, with tottering steps conveyed itself to court, but before it could arrive there ill-fortune had poured the water of disappointment on the fire of its wish, and the reason was as follows: the day before, the cats had made a general onslaught on the table, and raised an uproar beyond bounds, and annoyed, to the last degree, the guests and their host. wherefore, on this day, the sultan had commanded that a band of archers, standing in ambush, should watch, so that for every cat who, holding before its face the buckler of impudence should enter the plain of audacity, the very first morsel that it ate should be a liver-piercing shaft. the old woman's cat, ignorant of this circumstance, as soon as it smelt the odour of the viands, turned its face like a falcon to the hunting-ground of the table, and the scale of the balance of appetite had not yet been weighted by heavy mouthfuls, when the heart-piercing arrow quivered in its breast. dear friend! the honey pays not for the sting, content with syrup is a better thing. the young tiger in the environs of basrah there was an island of excessively pleasant climate, where limpid waters flowed on every side and life-bestowing zephyrs breathed around. from its excessive exquisiteness they called it the "joy-expanding wilderness," and a tiger bore sway there, such that from dread of him fierce lions could not set foot in that retreat. he had lived much time in that wild, according to his wish, and had never seen the form of disappointment in the mirror of existence. he had a young one whose countenance made the world seem bright to him, and his intention was that when that young one came to years he would commit that solitude to his charge, and pass the rest of his life at ease in the corner of retirement. the blossom of his wish had not yet expanded on the stem of desire when the autumn of death gave the fruit of the garden of his existence to the mind of destruction. and when this tiger was seized by the claw of the lion, death, several wild beasts who for a long time entertained a desire for that wilderness made a unanimous movement and set about appropriating it. the young tiger saw that he possessed not the strength to resist. he went voluntarily into exile, and amongst the wild beasts a huge contest arose. a blood-spilling lion overcame all the others and brought the island into his own possession, and the young tiger, having for some time endured distress in the mountains and wastes, conveyed himself to another haunt, and disclosed his affliction to the wild beasts of that district, asking their aid to find a remedy. they, having received intelligence of the victory of the lion, and his overpowering might, said: "o unfortunate! thy place is now in the possession of a lion such that from terror of him the wild birds will not fly over that wilderness, and from fear of him the elephant will not approach. we have not strength to fight with him and thou too art not able to enter with him the arena of strife. our opinion demands that thou shouldst betake thyself to his court, and with perfect loyalty enter his service." these words seemed reasonable to the young tiger, and he looked upon his best course to be this--that he should voluntarily enter the service of the lion, and, to the extent of his ability, offer the duties of attendance. through the intervention of one of the nobles he obtained the honour of waiting on the lion, and, having become the object of the imperial regard, was appointed to an office suited to his spirit. having tightly fastened the belt of obedience on the waist of affection the royal favour was constantly augmented and he incessantly displayed increased exertion in the affairs of the state. upon a certain time an important matter arose which called the lion away to a distant jungle; and at that time the heat of the oven of the sky was unmitigated, and the expanse of waste and mountain like a furnace of glass fiercely inflamed. from the excessive heat of the air, the brains of animals were boiled in their craniums, and the crabs in the water were fried like fish in the frying-pan. the lion reflected: "at such a time, when the shell at the bottom of the deep, like a fowl on a spit, is roasting, an affair of this importance has occurred. who may there be among my attendants who would not be affected by the labour and who, undeterred by the heat of the atmosphere, would approach this undertaking?" in the midst of this reflection the tiger came in with the line of attendants and observed that the lion was thoughtful. on the ground of his tact and affection, he advanced near the throne of royalty, and was emboldened to ask the cause of that thoughtfulness, and having learned how the case stood, he took upon himself to accomplish the matter, and having been honoured with permission, he set off with a body of attendants, and, arriving at that place at noon, he betook himself to the accomplishment of that affair, and the instant that the business was settled to his satisfaction he changed his reins to return. the officers who had been appointed to attend him unanimously represented as follows: "in such heat as this, all this distance has been traversed by the steps of completion, and now that the affair has been settled and the confidence placed in you by his majesty been demonstrated, it will certainly be advisable if you should repose a short time in the shade of a tree and allay the fiery tongue of thirst by drinking cool water." the tiger smiled and said: "my intimacy and rank with his majesty the king is a banner that i have by toil and effort set up. it would not be well to level it with the ground by indulgence and sloth. without supporting trouble it is impossible to arrive at the carrying off of treasure, and unaccompanied by the thorn we cannot reap the enjoyment of the rose garden." the informers furnished intelligence of this to the lion, and recited the book of the affair, from preface to conclusion. the lion nodded the head of approval, and said: "the people may be at peace in the just reign of that ruler who does not place his head on the pillow of repose." he then sent for the tiger, and having distinguished him with special honours, committed that jungle to him, and, having bestowed on him the place of his sire, conferred on him, in addition, the dignity of being his heir. and the use of this fable is, that thou mayest learn that to no one does the sun of his wish rise from the eastern quarter of hope without the diligent use of great exertion. the fox and the drum it is related that a fox was once prowling over a moor, and was roaming in every direction in hope of scenting food. presently he came to the foot of a tree, at the side of which they had suspended a drum, and whenever a gust of wind came, a branch of the tree was put in motion, and struck the surface of the drum, when a terrible noise arose from it. the fox, seeing a domestic fowl under the tree, who was pecking the ground with her beak, and searching for food, planted himself in ambush, and wished to make her his prey, when all of a sudden the sound of a drum reached his ear. he looked and saw a very fat form, and a prodigious sound from it reached his hearing. the appetite of the fox was excited, and he thought to himself, "assuredly its flesh and skin will be proportioned to its voice." he issued from his lurking-place and turned toward the tree. the fowl being put on its guard by that circumstance, fled, and the fox, by a hundred exertions, ascended the tree. much did he labour till he had torn the drum, and then he found nought save a skin and a piece of wood. the fire of regret descended into his heart, and the water of contrition began to run from his eyes, and he said: "alas! that by reason of this huge bulk which is all wind, that lawful prey has escaped from my hand, and from this empty form no advantage has resulted to me." loudly ever sounds the labour, but in vain--within is nought: art thou wise, for substance labour, semblance will avail thee nought. the sparrows and the falcon two sparrows once fixed their nest on the branch of a tree; and of worldly gear, water and grain sufficed them; while on the summit of a mountain, beneath which that tree lay, a falcon had its abode, which, at the time of stooping on its quarry, issued from its lurking-place like lightning, and, like heaven's bolt, clean consumed the feebler birds. whenever the sparrows produced young, and the time was near at hand for them to fly, that falcon, rushing forth from its ambush, used to carry them off and make them food for its own young. now, to those sparrows--in accordance with the saying, "the law of home is a part of faith"--to migrate from that place was impossible, and yet from the cruelty of the tyrannous hawk it was difficult to reside there. on one occasion their young ones, having gained strength and put forth feathers and wings, were able to move; and the father and mother, pleased with the sight of their offspring, testified their joy at their attempt to fly. suddenly the thought of the falcon passed through their minds, and, all at once, they began to lament from anxiety. one of their children--in whose countenance the signs of ripe discretion were visible--having inquired the reason of their despondency, they recounted the history of the falcon's oppression and of its carrying off their young, with all the particulars. the son said; "the causer of causes has sent a cure for every sorrow. it is probable that if ye exert yourselves in repelling this misfortune both this calamity will be averted from our heads and this burden removed from your hearts." these words pleased the sparrows; and while one of them stopped to attend the young ones, the other flew forth in search of relief. he resolved in his mind on the way that he would tell his story to whatsoever animal his eyes first fell upon, and ask a remedy for his heart's distress from it. it happened that a salamander, having come forth from a mine of fire, was wandering in the spreading plain of the desert. when the glance of the sparrow lighted upon him, and that strange form came into his view, he said to himself: "i have fallen upon good! come on, i will disclose the grief of my heart to this marvellous bird; perhaps he may undo the knot of my affairs and may show me the way to a remedy." then with the utmost respect, he advanced to the salamander, and after the usual salutation, paid the compliment of offering service. the salamander, too, in a kind tone, expressed the courtesy required toward travellers and said: "the traces of weariness are discernible in thy countenance. if this arises from journeying, be pleased to halt some days in this neighbourhood; and if the case be aught else, explain it, that, to the extent of my power, i may exert myself to remedy it." the sparrow loosed his tongue, and represented to the salamander his piteous condition, after a fashion, that, had he told it to a rock, it would have been rent in pieces by his distress. after hearing his tale, the salamander, too, felt the fire of compassion kindled, and he said; "grieve not! for i will this night take such measures as to consume the falcon's abode and nest and all that therein is. do thou point out to me thy dwelling, and go to thy offspring until the time i come to thee." the sparrow indicated his dwelling in such a way as not to leave a doubt in the mind of the salamander; and with a glad heart turned toward his own nest. when the night came on, the salamander, with a number of its own kind, each carrying a quantity of naphtha and brimstone, set off in the direction of the spot, and under the guidance of that sparrow conveyed themselves to the vicinity of the falcon's nest. the latter, unaware of the impending misfortune, had, with its young, eaten plentifully and fallen asleep. the salamanders cast upon their nest all the naphtha and brimstone that they had brought with them and turned back and the blast of justice fell upon those oppressors. they rose up from the sleep of negligence and all of them, with their abode and nest, were at once consumed to ashes. and this instance is given that thou mayest know that every one who labours to repel an enemy, though he be small and weak, and his foe great and strong, may yet hope for victory and triumph. the hermit, the thief, and the demon it is related that a hermit of pure disposition, abstemious and virtuous, had made his cell in one of the environs of baghdad, and passed his morning and evening hours in the worship of the all-wise king, and by these means had shaken his skirt clear from the dust of worldly affairs. he had bowed his head in the corner of contentment under the collar of freedom from care, and rested satisfied with the portion that was supplied to him from the invisible world. one of his sincere disciples got knowledge of the poverty and fastings of the holy man, and by way of offering, brought to the hermitage a she buffalo, young and fat, with whose delicious milk the palate of desire was oiled and sweetened. a thief beheld the circumstance, and his hungry appetite was excited; and he set off for the cell of the recluse. a demon, too, joined him in the likeness of a man. the thief asked him: "who art thou, and whither goest thou?" he replied: "i am a demon, who have assumed this shape, and, putting on this guise, am going to the hermitage of the recluse, for many of the people of this country, through the blessing of his instruction, have begun to repent and to be converted and the market of our temptations has become flat. i wish to get an opportunity and kill him. this is my story which thou hast heard; now, tell me, who art thou and what is thy story?" the thief replied: "i am a man whose trade is roguery, and i am occupied night and day with thinking how to steal some one's goods and impose the scar of affliction on his heart. i am now going, as the recluse has got a fat buffalo, to steal it and use it for my own wants." the demon said; "praise be to god that the bond of kinship is strong between us, and this alone is sufficient to ally us, since the object of both is to assail him." they then proceeded on their way, and at night reached the cell of the recluse. the latter had finished the performance of his daily worship, and had gone to sleep, just as he was, on his prayer-carpet. the thief bethought himself, that if the demon attempted to kill him he would probably awake and make an outcry; and the other people who were his neighbours, would be alarmed, and in that case it would be impossible to steal the buffalo. the demon, too, reflected that if the thief carried off the buffalo from the house, he must of course open the door. then the noise of the door would very likely awaken the recluse, and he should have to postpone killing him. he then said to the thief: "do thou wait and give me time to kill the hermit, and then do thou steal the buffalo." the thief rejoined: "stop thou till i steal the buffalo, and then kill the hermit." this difference was prolonged between them, and at last the words of both came to wrangling. the thief was so annoyed that he called out to the recluse: "there is a demon here who wants to kill thee." the demon, too, shouted: "here is a thief, who wants to steal thy buffalo." the hermit was roused by the uproar, and raised a cry, whereupon the neighbours came, and both the thief and the demon ran way; and the life and property of the holy man remained safe and secure through the quarrel of his enemies. when the two hostile armies fall to strife, then from its sheath what need to draw the knife? the king and the hawk it is related that in ancient times there was a king fond of hunting. he was ever giving reins to the courser of his desire in the pursuit of game, and was always casting the lasso of gladness over the neck of sport. now this king had a hawk, who at a single flight could bring down a pebble from the peak of the caucasus, and in terror of whose claws the constellation aquila kept himself in the green nest of the sky; and the king had a prodigious fondness for this hawk and always cared for it with his own hands. it happened one day that the monarch, holding the hawk on his hand, had gone to the chase. a stag leapt up before him and he galloped after it with the utmost eagerness. but he did not succeed in coming up with it, and became separated from his retinue and servants; and though some of them followed him, the king rode so hotly that the morning breeze could not have reached the dust he raised. meantime the fire of his thirst was kindled, and the intense desire to drink overcame the king. he galloped his steed in every direction in search of water until he reached the skirt of a mountain, and beheld that from its summit limpid water was trickling. the king drew forth a cup which he had in his quiver, and riding under the mountain filled the cup with that water, which fell drop by drop, and was about to take a draught, when the hawk made a blow with his wing, and spilled all the water in the goblet. the king was vexed at this action, but held the cup a second time under the rock, until it was brimful. he then raised it to his lips again, and again the hawk made a movement and overthrew the cup. the king rendered impatient by thirst, dashed the hawk on the ground and killed it. shortly after a stirrup-holder of the king came up and saw the hawk dead, and the monarch athirst. he then undid a water-vessel from his saddle-cord and washed the cup clean, and was about to give the king a drink. the latter bade him ascend the mountain, as he had an inclination for the pure water which trickled from the rock; and could not wait to collect it in the cup, drop by drop. the stirrup-holder ascended the mountain and beheld a spring giving out a drop at a time with a hundred stintings; and a huge serpent lay dead on the margin of the fountain; and as the heat of the sun had taken effect upon it, the poisonous saliva mixed with the water of that mountain, and it trickled drop by drop down the rock. the stirrup-holder was overcome with horror, and came down from the mountain bewildered, and represented the state of the case, and gave the king a cup of cold water from his ewer. the latter raised the cup to his lips, and his eyes overflowed with tears. the attendant asked the reason of his weeping. the king drew a sigh from his anguished heart and relating in full the story of the hawk and the spilling of the water in the cup, said: "i grieve for the death of the hawk, and bemoan my own deed in that without inquiry i have deprived a creature, so dear to me, of life." the attendant replied: "this hawk protected thee from a great peril, and has established a claim to the gratitude of all the people of this country. it would have been better if the king had not been precipitate in slaying it, and had quenched the fire of wrath with the water of mildness." the king replied; "i repent of this unseemly action; but my repentance is now unavailing, and the wound of this sorrow cannot be healed by any salve"; and this story is related in order that it may be known that many such incidents have occurred where, through the disastrous results of precipitation, men have fallen into the whirlpool of repentance. the mouse and the frog it is related that a mouse had taken up its abode on the brink of a fountain and had fixed its residence at the foot of a tree. a frog, too, passed his time in the water there, and sometimes came to the margin of the pool to take the air. one day, coming to the edge of the water, he continued uttering his voice in a heart-rending cadence and assumed himself to be a nightingale of a thousand melodies. at that time the mouse was engaged in chanting in a corner of his cell. directly he heard the uproarious yelling of the frog he was astounded, and came out with the intention of taking a look at the reciter; and while occupied with listening to him, kept smiting his hands together and shaking his head. these gestures, which seemed to display approbation, pleased the frog and he made advances toward acquaintance with him. in short, being mutually pleased with each other, they became inseparable companions, and used to narrate to each other entertaining stories and tales. one day the mouse said to the frog: "i am oftentimes desirous of disclosing to thee a secret and recounting to thee a grief which i have at heart, and at that moment thou art abiding under the water. however much i shout thou nearest me not, owing to the noise of the water, and in spite of my crying to thee, the sound cannot reach thee, because of the clamour of the other frogs. we must devise some means by which thou mayest know when i come to the brink of the water, and thus mayest be informed of my arrival without my shouting to thee." the frog said: "thou speakest the truth. i, too, have often pondered uneasily, thinking, should my friend come to the brink of the water, how shall i, at the bottom of this fountain, learn his arrival? and it sometimes happens that i, too, come to the mouth of thy hole, and thou hast gone out from another side, and i have to wait long. i had intended to have touched somewhat on this subject before, but now the arrangement of it rests with thee." the mouse replied: "i have got hold of the thread of a plan, and it appears to me the best thing to get a long string, and to fasten one end to thy foot, and tie the other tight around my own, in order that when i come to the water's edge and shake the string, thou mayest know what i want; and if thou, too, art so kind as to come to the door of my cell, i may also get information by thy jerking the string." both parties agreed to this, and the knot of friendship was in this manner firmly secured, and they were also kept informed of one another's condition. one day, the mouse came to the water's edge to seek the frog, in order to renew their friendly converse. all of a sudden a crow, like an unforeseen calamity, flew down from the air, and snatching up the mouse, soared aloft, with him. the string which was tied to the leg of the mouse drew forth the frog from the bottom of the water, and, as the other leg was fastened to the frog's leg, he was suspended head downward in the air. the crow flew on, holding the mouse in its beak, and lower still the frog hanging head downward. people witnessing that extraordinary sight were uttering in the road various jokes and sarcasms: "a strange thing this, that contrary to his wont, a crow has made a prey of a frog!" and "never before was a frog the prey of a crow!" the frog was howling out in reply: "now, too, a frog is not the prey of a crow, but from the bad luck of associating with a mouse, i have been caught in this calamity, and he who associates with a different species deserves a thousand times as much." and this story carries with it this beneficial advice: that no one ought to associate with one of a different race, in order that, like the frog, he may not be suspended on the string of calamity. the crow and the partridge it is related that one day a crow was flying and saw a partridge, which was walking gracefully on the ground with a quick step and graceful gait that enchanted the heart of the looker-on. the crow was pleased with the gait of the partridge, and amazed at its agility. the desire of walking in the same manner fixed itself in his mind, and the insane longing to step proudly, after this fascinating fashion, made its appearance. he forthwith girt his loins in attendance on the partridge, and abandoning sleep and food, gave himself up to that arduous occupation, and kept continually running in the traces of the partridge and gazing on its progress. one day the partridge said: "o crazy, black-faced one! i observe that thou art ever hovering about me, and art always watching my motions. what is it that thou dost want?" the crow replied: "o thou of graceful manners and sweet smiling face, know that having conceived a desire to learn thy gait, i have followed thy steps for a long time past, and wish to acquire thy manner of walking, in order that i may place the foot of preeminence on the head of my fellows." the partridge uttered a merry laugh, and said: "alack! alack! my walking gracefully is a thing implanted in me by nature, and thy style of going is equally a natural characteristic. my going is in one way, and thy mode of procedure is quite another. leave off this fancy and relinquish this idea." the crow replied: "since i have plunged into this affair, no idle stories shall make me give it up; and until i grasp my wished-for object, i will not turn back from this road." so the unfortunate crow for a long time ran after the partridge, and having failed to learn his method of going, forgot his own too, and could in nowise recover it. fables from the hitopadesa "this work entitled hitopadesa, or friendly instructor, affordeth elegance in the sanskrit idioms, in every part variety of language, and inculcateth the doctrine of prudence and policy." fables from the hitopadesa the traveller and the tiger a traveller, through lust of gold, being plunged into an inextricable mire, is killed and devoured by an old tiger. as i was travelling on the southern road, once upon a time, i saw an old tiger seated upon the bank of a large river, with a bunch of kusa grass in his paw, calling out to every one who passed: "ho! ho! traveller, take this golden bracelet," but every one was afraid to approach him to receive it. at length, however, a certain wayfarer, tempted by avarice, regarded it as an instance of good fortune; but, said he, in this there is personal danger, in which we are not warranted to proceed. yet, said he, there is risk in every undertaking for the acquisition of wealth. the traveller then asked where was the bracelet; and the tiger, having held out his paw, showed it to him and said, "look at it, it is a golden bracelet." "how shall i place confidence in thee?" said the traveller; and the tiger replied: "formerly, in the days of my youth, i was of a very wicked disposition, and as a punishment for the many men and cattle i had murdered, my numerous children died, and i was also deprived of my wife; so, at present, i am destitute of relations. this being the case, i was advised, by a certain holy person, to practise charity and other religious duties, and i am now grown extremely devout. i perform ablutions regularly, and am charitable. why, then, am i not worthy of confidence?" "so far, you see," continued the tiger, "i have an interest in wishing to give away to some one this golden bracelet from off my own wrist; and as thou appearest to be rather a poor man, i prefer giving it to thee; according to this saying: "'make choice of the poor, and bestow not thy gifts on others.' then go, and having purified thyself in this stream, take the golden bracelet." the traveller no sooner began to enter the river to purify himself, than he stuck fast in the mud, and was unable to escape. the tiger told him he would help him out; and creeping softly toward him, the poor man was seized, and instantly exclaimed to himself: "alas! the career of my heart is cut short by fate!" but whilst the unfortunate fellow was thus meditating, he was devoured by the tiger. hence also, it is at no time proper to undertake anything without examination. the jackal and the cat to one whose family and profession are unknown, one should not give residence: the jackal jarad-gava was killed through the fault of a cat. on the banks of the river bhageerathee, and upon the mountain greedhra-koota, there is a large parkattee tree, in the hollow of whose trunk there dwelt a jackal, by name jarad-gava, who, by some accident, was grown blind, and for whose support the different birds who roosted upon the branches of the same tree were wont to contribute a trifle from their own stores, by which he existed. it so fell out, that one day a certain cat, by name deerga-karna,[ ] came there to prey upon the young birds, whom perceiving, the little nestlings were greatly terrified, and began to be very clamorous; and their cries being heard by jarad-gava, he asked who was coming. the cat deerga-karna, too, seeing the jackal, began to be alarmed, and said to himself: "oh! i shall certainly be killed, for now that i am in his sight, it will not be in my power to escape. however, let what will be the consequence, i will approach him." so, having thus resolved, he went up to the jackal, and said: "master, i salute thee!" "who art thou?" demanded the jackal. said he, "i am a cat." "ah! wicked animal," cried the jackal, "get thee at a distance; for if thou dost not, i will put thee to death." "hear me for a moment," replied puss, "and then determine whether i merit either to be punished or to be killed; for what is any one, simply by birth, to be punished or applauded? when his deeds have been scrutinized, he may, indeed, be either praiseworthy or punishable." the jackal after this desired the cat to give some account of himself, and he complied in the following words: "i am," said he, "in the constant habit of performing ablutions on the side of this river; i never eat flesh, and i lead that mode of life which is called brahma-charya[ ]. so, as thou art distinguished amongst those of thy own species, noted for skill in religious matters, and as a repository of confidence, and as the birds here are always speaking before me in praise of thy good qualities, i am come to hear from thy mouth, who art so old in wisdom, the duties of religion. thou, master, art acquainted with the customs of life; but these young birds, who are in ignorance, would fain drive me, who am a stranger, away. the duties of a housekeeper are thus enjoined: "hospitality is commanded to be exercised, even toward an enemy, when he cometh to thine house. the tree doth not withdraw its shade, even from the wood-cutter. "and again: "some straw, a room, water, and in the fourth place, gentle words. these things are never to be refused in good men's houses." to all this the jackal replied: "cats have a taste for animal food, and above is the residence of the young birds: it is on this account i speak to thee." the cat, having touched his two ears, and then the ground, exclaimed: "i, who have read books upon the duties of religion, and am freed from inordinate desires, have forsaken such an evil practice; and, indeed, even amongst those who dispute with one another about the authority of the sastras, there are many by whom this sentence: 'not to kill is a supreme duty,' is altogether approved." the cat by these means having satisfied the jackal, he remained in the hollow of the tree with him and passed the time in amusing conversation; and the jackal told the young birds that they had no occasion to go out of the way. after this, when many days had passed, it was discovered that the cat had, by degrees, drawn all the little birds down into the hollow of the tree, and there devoured them; but when he found inquiry was about to be made by those whose young ones had been eaten, he slipped out of the hole and made his escape. in the meantime, the bones of the young ones having been discovered in the hollow of the tree by the parent birds, who had been searching here and there, they concluded that their little ones had been devoured by the jackal, and so, being joined by other birds, they put him to death. wherefore i say, "to one whose family and profession are unknown, one should not give residence." [ ]long-ear [ ]forsaking all worldly concerns to lead a godly life. the greedy jackal a hoard should always be made; but not too great a hoard. a jackal, through the fault of hoarding too much, was killed by a bow. a certain huntsman, by name bhirava, being fond of flesh, once upon a time went to hunt in the forests of the vindhya mountains and having killed a deer, as he was carrying him away, he chanced to see a wild boar of a formidable appearance. so, laying the deer upon the ground, he wounded the boar with an arrow; but, upon his approaching him, the horrid animal set up a roar dreadful as the thunder of the clouds, and wounding the huntsman in the groin, he fell like a tree cut off by the axe. at the same time, a serpent, of that species which is called ajagara, pressed by hunger and wandering about, rose up and bit the boar, who instantly fell helpless upon him, and remained upon the spot. for: the body having encountered some efficient cause, water, fire, poison, the sword, hunger, sickness, or a fall from an eminence, is forsaken by the vital spirits. in the meantime, a jackal, by name deergharava, prowling about in search of prey, discovered the deer, the huntsman, and the boar; and having observed them, he said to himself: "here is a fine feast prepared for me; with their flesh i shall have food to eat. the man will last me for a whole month, and the deer and the boar for two more; then the serpent will serve me a day; and let me taste the bow-string too. but, in the first place, let me try that which is the least savoury. suppose, then, i eat this catgut line which is fastened to the bow": saying so, he drew near to eat it; but the instant he had bit the line in two, he was torn asunder by the spring of the bow; and he was reduced to the state of the five elements. i say, therefore, "a hoard should always be made; but not too great a hoard." the elephant and the jackal that which cannot be effected by force may be achieved by cunning. an elephant was killed by a jackal, in going over a swampy place. in the forest brahmaranya there was an elephant, whose name was karphooratilaka,[ ] who having been observed by the jackals, they all determined that if he could by any stratagem be killed, he would be four months' provisions for them all. one of them, who was of exceeding vicious inclination and by nature treacherous, declared that he would engage, by the strength of his own judgment, to effect his death. some time after, this deceitful wretch went up to the elephant, and having saluted him, said: "godlike sir! condescend to grant me an audience." "who art thou?" demanded the elephant, "and whence comest thou?" "my name," replied he, "is kshudrabuddhi,[ ] a jackal, sent into thy presence by all the inhabitants of the forest, assembled for that purpose, to represent that, as it is not expedient to reside in so large a forest as this without a chief, your highness, endued with all the cardinal virtues, hath been selected to be anointed rajah of the woods. then, that we may not lose the lucky moment," continued the jackal, "be pleased to follow quickly." saying this, he cocked his tail and went away. the elephant, whose reason was perverted by the lust of power, took the same road as the jackal, and followed him so exactly that, at length, he stuck fast in a great mire. "o my friend!" cried the elephant, "what is to be done in this disaster? i am sinking in a deep mire!" the jackal laughed, and said: "please, your divine highness, take hold of my tail with your trunk, and get out! this is the fruit of those words which thou didst place confidence in." they say: as often as thou shalt be deprived of the society of the good, so often shalt thou fall into the company of knaves. after a few days, the elephant dying for want of food, his flesh was devoured by the jackals. i say, therefore: "that which cannot be effected by force, may be achieved by cunning." [ ]marked with white spots. [ ]low-minded, mean-spirited, bad-hearted. the lion, the mouse, and the cat the master should never be rendered free from apprehension by his servants, for a servant having quieted the fears of his master may experience the fate of dahdikarna.[ ] upon the mountain arbuda-sikhara, there was a lion, whose name was maliavikrama[ ] the tips of whose mane a mouse was wont to gnaw, as he slept in his den. the noble beast, having discovered that his hair was bitten, was very much displeased; and as he was unable to catch the offender, who always slipped into his hole, he meditated what was best to be done; and having resolved, said he: "whoso hath a trifling enemy, who is not to be overcome by dint of valour, should employ against him a force of his own likeness." with a review of this saying, the lion repaired to the village, and by means of a piece of meat thrown into his hole, with some difficulty caught a cat, whose name was dadhikarna. he carried him home, and the mouse for some time being afraid to venture out, the lion remained with his hair unnipped. at length, however, the mouse was so oppressed with hunger, that creeping about he was caught and devoured by the cat. the lion now, no longer hearing the noise of the mouse, thought he had no further occasion for the services of the cat, and so began to be sparing of his allowance; and, in consequence, poor puss pined away and died for want. wherefore, i say: "the master should never be rendered free from apprehension by his servants." [ ]whose ears are the colour of curds. [ ]great courage. the poor woman and the bell it is not proper to be alarmed by a mere sound, when the cause of that sound is unknown. a poor woman obtaineth consequence for discovering the cause of a sound. between the mountains sree-parvata there is a city called brahma-puree, the inhabitants of which used to believe that a certain giant, whom they called ghautta-karna, infested one of the adjacent hills. the fact was thus: a thief, as he was running away with a bell he had stolen, was overcome and devoured by a tiger; and the bell falling from his hand having been picked up by some monkeys, every now and then they used to ring it. now the people of the town finding that a man had been killed there, and at the same time hearing the bell, used to declare that the giant ghautta-karna being enraged, was devouring a man, and ringing his bell; so that the city was abandoned by all the principal inhabitants. at length, however, a certain poor woman having considered the subject, discovered that the bell was rung by the monkeys. she accordingly went to the rajah, and said: "if, divine sir, i may expect a very great reward, i will engage to silence this ghautta-karna." the rajah was exceedingly well pleased, and gave her some money. so having displayed her consequence to the priesthood of the country, to the leaders of the army, and to all the rest of the people, she provided such fruits as she conceived the monkeys were fond of, and went into the wood; where strewing them about, they presently quitted the bell, and attached themselves to the fruit. the poor woman, in the meantime, took away the bell, and repaired to the city, where she became an object of adoration to its inhabitants. wherefore, i say: "it is not proper to be alarmed by a mere sound, when the cause of the sound is unknown." the lion and the rabbit he who bath sense hath strength. where hath he strength who wanteth judgment? see how a lion, when intoxicated with anger, was overcome by a rabbit. upon a certain mountain there lived a lion, whose name was durganta,[ ] who was perpetually sacrificing animals to his gods; so that, at length, all the different species assembled, and, in a body, represented that, as by his present mode of proceeding the forest would be cleared all at once; if it pleased his highness, they would, each of them in his turn, provide him an animal for his daily food; and the lion gave, his consent accordingly. so every beast delivered his stipulated provision, till at length, in coming to the rabbit's turn he began to meditate in this manner: "policy should be practised by him who would save his life; and i myself shall lose mine, if i do not take care. suppose i lead him after another lion? who knows how that may turn out for me? then i will approach him slowly, as if fatigued." the lion by this time began to be very hungry; so, seeing the rabbit coming toward him, he called out in a great passion: "what is the reason thou comest so late?" "please your highness," said the rabbit "as i was coming along, i was forcibly detained by another of your species; but having given him my word that i would return immediately i came here to represent it to your highness." "go quickly," said the lion in a rage, "and show me where this vile wretch may be found?" accordingly the rabbit conducted the lion to the brink of a deep well, where being arrived, "there," said the rabbit, "look down and behold him"; at the same time he pointed to the reflected image of the lion in the water; who swelling with pride and resentment, leaped into the well, as he thought, upon his adversary, and thus put an end to his own life. i repeat, therefore: "he who hath sense, hath strength." [ ]hard to go near. the birds and the monkeys a wise man is worthy to be advised; but an ignorant one never. certain birds, having given advice to a troop of monkeys, have their nests torn to pieces, and are obliged to fly away. on the banks of the river navmoda, upon a neighbouring mountain, there was a large salmalee tree wherein certain birds were wont to build their nests and reside, even during the season of the rains. one day the sky being overcast with a troop of thick dark clouds, there fell a shower of rain in very large streams. the birds seeing a troop of monkeys at the foot of the tree, all wet, and shivering with cold, called out to them; "ho, monkeys! why don't you invent something to protect you from the rain? we build ourselves nests with straws collected with nothing else but our bills. how is this, that you, who are blessed with hands and feet, yield to such sufferings?" the monkeys hearing this, and understanding it as a kind of reproach, were exceedingly irritated and said amongst themselves: "those birds there, sitting comfortably out of the wind within their warm nests, are laughing at us! so let them, as long as the shower may last." in short, as soon as the rain subsided, the whole troop of them mounted into the tree, where tearing all the nests to pieces, the eggs fell upon the ground and were broken. i say, therefore: "a wise man is worthy to be advised, but an ignorant one never." the rabbits and the elephants great things may be effected by wise counsel, when a sovereign enemy may be too powerful. certain rabbits were enabled to live in comfort, through the policy of one of their brethren. once upon a time, for want of rain in due season, a troop of elephants being greatly distressed for water, addressed their chief in these words: "what resource have we, except in that hollow sinking ground inhabited by those little animals! but deprived of that too, whither, sir, shall we go? what shall we do?" upon hearing their complaints, their chief, after travelling with them a great way, discovered a fountain of clear water. but, as many rabbits who happened, to be in their burrows were crushed to death under the feet of so many elephants trampling over their warren, at length, one of them, reflected in this manner: "this troop of elephants, oppressed with thirst, will be coming here every day to drink, and, at length, our whole race will be destroyed!" but an old buck said to him, "brother, don't be uneasy; for i am going to prevent what thou dreadest." saying which, he set off to try how he could oppose them; but as he went along, he began to consider how he should approach so formidable a troop; "for," observed he, "they say: "'an elephant killeth even by touching, a serpent even by smelling, a king even by ruling, and a wicked man by laughing at one.' "wherefore, i will mount the summit of a rock to address the head of the troop." this being put in execution accordingly, the chief elephant asked him who he was, and whence he came. "i am," he replied, "an ambassador sent here by the god chandra." "declare the purport of thy commission," said the elephant. "sir," replied the rabbit, "as ambassadors, even when the weapons of war are lifted up, speak not otherwise than for the benefit of their state; and although they speak boldly according as it is their advantage, they are not to be put to death; then i will declare what are the commands of the god chandra. he bade me say, that in driving away and destroying the rabbits who are appointed to guard the fountain which is consecrated to that duty, you have done ill; 'for,' said he, 'they are my guards and it is notorious that the figure of a rabbit is my emblem.'" the head elephant, upon hearing this became greatly alarmed, declared that they had offended through ignorance, and would never go to the fountain again. "if this be your resolution," said the ambassador, "go this once, and make your submission before the diety himself, whom you will see in the fountain, quite agitated with anger; and when you have pacified him, you may depart." accordingly, as soon as it was night, the ambassador vijaya having conducted the chief of the elephants to the fountain, there showed him the image of the moon, trembling, as it were, upon the smooth surface of the water and when he had made him bow down to it, in token of submission, he said: "please your divinity! what hath been done having been done through ignorance, i pray thee pardon them!" and upon saying this, he caused the elephant to depart. i repeat, therefore, "great things may be effected by wise counsel, when a sovereign enemy may be too powerful." the blue jackal the fool who forsaketh his own party, and delighteth to dwell with the opposite side may be killed by them; as was the case with the blue jackal. a certain jackal, as he was roaming about the borders of a town, just as his inclinations led him, fell into a dyer's vat;[ ] but being unable to get out in the morning he feigned himself dead. at length, the master of the vat, which was filled with indigo, came, and seeing a jackal lying with his legs uppermost, his eyes closed, and his teeth bare, concluded that he was dead, and so, taking him out, he carried him a good way from the town, and there left him. the sly animal instantly got up, and ran into the woods; when, observing that his coat was turned blue, he meditated in this manner: "i am now of the finest colour! what great exaltation may i not bring about for myself?" saying this, he called a number of jackals together, and addressed them in the following words: "know that i have lately been sprinkled king of the forests, by the hands of the goddess herself who presides over these woods, with a water drawn from a variety of choice herbs. observe my colour, and henceforward let every business be transacted according to my orders." the rest of the jackals, seeing him of such a fine complexion, prostrated themselves before him, and said: "according as your highness commands!" by this step he made himself honoured by his own relations, and so gained the supreme power over those of his own species, as well as all the other inhabitants of the forests. but after a while, finding himself surrounded by a levee of the first quality, such as the tiger and the like, he began to look down upon his relations; and, at length, he kept them at a distance. a certain old jackal perceiving that his brethren were very much cast down at this behaviour, cried: "do not despair! if it continues thus, this imprudent friend of ours will force us to be revenged. let me alone to contrive his downfall. the lion, and the rest who pay him court, are taken by his outward appearance; and they obey him as their king, because they are not aware that he is nothing but a jackal: do something then by which he may be found out. let this plan be pursued: assemble all of you in a body about the close of the evening, and set up one general howl in his hearing; and i'll warrant you, the natural disposition of his species will incline him to join in the cry for: "'whatever may be the natural propensity of any one is very hard to be overcome. if a dog were made king, would he not gnaw his shoe straps?' "and thus, the tiger discovering that he is nothing but a jackal, will presently put him to death." in short, the plan was executed, and the event was just as it had been foretold. i repeat, therefore: "the fool who forsaketh his own party and delighteth to dwell with the opposite side, may be killed by them." [ ]a dyer's vat, in hindostan, is a large pan sunk in the ground, often in the little court before the dyer's house. the mouse who became a tiger one of low degree, having obtained a worthy station, seeketh to destroy his master; like the mouse, who having been raised to the state of a tiger, went to kill the hermit. in a certain forest, there once dwelt a hermit whose name was maha-tapa. one day seeing a young mouse fall from the mouth of a crow near his hermitage, out of compassion be took it up and reared it with broken particles of rice. he now observed that the cat was seeking to destroy it; so, by the sacred powers of a saint, he metamorphosed his mouse into a cat; but his cat being afraid of his dog, he changed her into a dog; and the dog being terrified at the tiger, at length he was transformed into a tiger. the holy man now regarded the tiger as no way superior to his mouse. but the people who came to visit the hermit, used to tell one another that the tiger which they saw there had been made so by the power of the saint, from a mouse; and this being overheard by the tiger, he was very uneasy, and said to himself: "as long as this hermit is alive, the disgraceful story of my former state will be brought to my ears"; saying which he went to kill his protector; but as the holy man penetrated his design with his supernatural eye, he reduced him to his former state of a mouse. i repeat, therefore: "one of low degree, having obtained a worthy station, may seek to destroy his master." the brahmin and the goat he who, judging by what passeth in his own breast, believeth a knave to be a person of veracity, is deceived; as the brahmin was concerning his goat. in a certain forest, a brahmin, having determined to make an offering, went to a neighbouring village and purchased a goat, which having thrown across his shoulder, he turned toward home. as he was travelling along, he was perceived by three thieves. "if," said they, "we could by some artifice get the goat from that man, it would be a great proof of our address." saying this, they agreed upon their stratagem, and executed it in this manner: they stationed themselves before the brahmin, and sat down under the trees in the road which led to his habitation, till he should come up to them. soon after, he was accosted by one of them in this manner: "is not that a dog? brahmin, what is the reason thou carriest it upon thy shoulder?" the brahmin replied: "no, it is not a dog; it is a goat, which i have purchased to make an offering of." about a mile farther on he met another of them, who repeating the same question, he took the goat from his shoulder, and putting it upon the ground, examined it again and again; and at length, replacing it upon his shoulder, he went on, quite staggered as it were, for: the minds even of good men are staggered by the arguments of the wicked; but those who place confidence in them may suffer by it. at length the brahmin, having heard the third thief, like the former two, insist upon it that he had a dog upon his shoulder, was convinced that it was indeed a dog; and so, leaving his goat behind him, which the thieves presently took away and made a feast of, the good man washed himself and went home. whence, i say, "he who, judging by what passeth in his own breast, believeth a knave to be a person of veracity, is deceived." fables from india "these simple children's stories have lived on, and maintained their place of honour and their undisputed sway in every schoolroom of the east and every nursery of the west." f. max muller fables from india the lion, the fox, and the story-teller a lion who was the king of a great forest once said to his subjects: "i want some one among you to tell me stories one after another without ceasing. if you fail to find somebody who can so amuse me, you will all be put to death." in the east there is a proverb which says; "the king kills when he will," so the animals were in great alarm. the fox said: "fear not; i shall save you all. tell the king the story-teller is ready to come to court when ordered." so the animals had orders to send the story-teller at once to the presence. the fox bowed respectfully, and stood before the king, who said: "so you are to tell us stories without ceasing?" "yes, your majesty," said the fox. "then begin," said the lion. "but before i do so," said the fox, "i would like to know what your majesty means by a story." "why," said the lion, "a narrative containing some interesting event or fact." "just so," said the fox, and began: "there was once a fisherman who went to sea with a huge net, and spread it far and wide. a great many fish got into it. just as the fisherman was about to draw the net the coils snapped. a great opening was made. first one fish escaped." then the fox stopped. "what then?" said the lion. "then two escaped," said the fox. "what then?" asked the impatient lion. "then three escaped," said the fox. thus, as often as the lion repeated his query, the fox increased the number by one, and said as many escaped. the lion was vexed, and said: "why you are telling me nothing new!" "i wish that your majesty may not forget your royal word," said the fox. "each event occurred by itself, and each lot that escaped was different from the rest." "but wherein is the wonder?" said the lion. "why, your majesty, what can be more wonderful than for fish to escape in lots, each exceeding the other by one?" "i am bound by my word," said the lion, "else i would see your carcass stretched on the ground." the fox replied in a whisper: "_if tyrants that desire things impossible are not at least bound by their own word, their subjects can find nothing to bind them_." the fox in the well a fox fell into a well, and was holding hard to some roots at the side of it, just above the water. a wolf who was passing by saw him, and said, "hollo, reynard; after all you have fallen into a well!" "but not without a purpose, and not without the means of getting out of it," said the fox. "what do you mean?" said the wolf. "why," said the fox, "there is a drought all over the country now, and the water in this well is the only means of appeasing the thirst of the thousands that live in this neighbourhood. they held a meeting, and requested me to keep the water from going down lower; so i am holding it up for the public good." "what will be your reward?" asked the wolf. "they will give me a pension, and save me the trouble of going about every day in quest of food, not to speak of innumerable other privileges that will be granted me. further, i am not to stay here all day. i have asked a kinsman of mine, to whom i have communicated the secret of holding up the water, to relieve me from time to time. of course he will also get a pension, and have other privileges. i expect him here shortly." "ah, reynard, may i relieve you, then? may i hope to get a pension, and other privileges? you know what a sad lot is mine, especially in winter." "certainly," said the fox, "but you must get a long rope, that i may come up and let you down." so the wolf got a rope. up came the fox, and down went the wolf; when the former observed, with a laugh, "my dear sir, you may remain there till doomsday, or till the owner of the well throws up your carcass," and left the place. "alas!" said the wolf, when it was too late, "_greed hath its meed!_" the fawn and the little tiger a fawn met a little tiger, and said: "what fine stripes you have!" the little tiger said: "what fine spots you have!" then the fawn said: "it would be such a nice thing if you and i were to live together as friends. we might then roam through the woods as we like, and be so happy!" "i think so too," said the tiger. the two joined hands, and went out for a long walk. it was breakfast time. the fawn saw some fine grass in the lawn, and said to himself: "one should first see his friend fed and then feed." so he turned to the tiger and said, "will you have some of this fine grass for your breakfast?" the tiger put his nose to the grass but could not bring himself to feed upon it, because it was against his nature; so he replied, "i am so sorry, i cannot eat it!" then the fawn said: "allow me to go home for one moment and ask mamma for something that would suit you for breakfast." so the fawn went home and told the hind of the happy friendship he had formed, and of all that had happened since. the hind replied, "child, how lucky it is that you have come away! you must know the tiger is the most deadly enemy we have in the woods." at these words the fawn drew near to his dam and trembled. the hind said: "_it is indeed lucky to get away from the wicked at the first hint!_" the fox and the villagers a fox that had long been the dread of the village poultry yard was one day found lying breathless in a field. the report went abroad that, after all, he had been caught and killed by some one. in a moment, everybody in the village came out to see the dead fox. the village cock, with all his hens and chicks, was also there, to enjoy the sight. the fox then got up, and, shaking off his drowsiness, said: "i ate a number of hens and chicks last night; hence i must have slumbered longer than usual." the cock counted his hens and chicks, and found a number wanting. "alas!" said he, "how is it i did not know of it?" "my dear sir," said the fox, as he retreated to the wood, "it was last night i had a good meal on your hens and chicks, yet you did not know of it. a moment ago they found me lying in the field, and you knew of it at once. _ill news travels fast!_" tinsel and lightning a piece of tinsel on a rock once said to a pebble: "you see how bright i am! i am by birth related to the lightning." "indeed!" said the pebble; "then accept my humble respects." some time after, a flash of lightning struck the rock, and the tinsel lost all its brilliancy by the scorching effects of the flash. "where is your brilliancy now?" said the pebble. "oh, it is gone to the skies," said the tinsel, "for i have lent it to the lightning that came down a moment ago to borrow it of me." "dear me!" said the pebble; "_how many fibs doth good bragging need!_" the glow-worm and the daw a jackdaw once ran up to a glow-worm and was about to seize him. "wait a moment, good friend," said the worm; "and you shall hear of something to your advantage." "ah! what is it?" said the daw. "i am but one of the many glow-worms that live in this forest. if you wish to have them all, follow me," said the glow-worm. "certainly!" said the daw. then the glow-worm led him to a place in the wood where a fire had been kindled by some woodmen, and pointing to the sparks flying about, said: "there you find the glow-worms warming themselves around a fire. when you have done with them, i will show you some more, at a distance from this place." the daw darted at the sparks, and tried to swallow some of them; but his mouth being burnt by the attempt, he ran away exclaiming, "ah, the glow-worm is a dangerous little creature!" said the glow-worm with pride: "_wickedness yields to wisdom!_" the lion and the gadfly once a lion was sleeping in his den at the foot of a great mountain when a gadfly that had been sipping the blood from his mouth bit him severely. the lion started up with a roar, and catching the fly in his huge paws, cried: "villain, you are at my mercy! how shall i punish your impudence?" "sire," said the fly, "if you would pardon me now, and let me live, i shall be able to show ere long how grateful i am to you." "indeed!" said the lion; "who ever heard of a gadfly helping a lion? but still i admire your presence of mind and grant your life." some time after, the lion, having made great havoc on the cattle of a neighbouring village, was snoring away in his den after a heavy meal. the village hunters approached with the object of surrounding him and putting an end to his depredations. the fly saw them, and hurrying into the den, bit the lion. he started up with a roar as before, and cried: "villain, you will get no pardon this time!" "sire," said the fly, "the village hunters are on their way to your den; you can't tarry a moment here without being surrounded and killed." "saviour of my life!" cried the lion as he ran up the mountain. "_there is nothing like forgiving, for it enables the humblest to help the highest_." the sunling in the good old days a clown in the east, on a visit to a city kinsman, while at dinner pointed to a burning candle and asked what it was. the city man said, in jest, it was a sunling, or one of the children of the sun. the clown thought that it was something rare; so he waited for an opportunity, and hid it in a chest of drawers close by. soon the chest caught fire, then the curtains by its side, then the room, then the whole house. after the flames had been put down, the city man and the clown went into the burnt building to see what remained. the clown turned over the embers of the chest of drawers. the city man asked what he was seeking for. the clown said: "it is in this chest that i hid the bright sunling; i wish to know if he has survived the flames." "alas," said the city man, who now found out the cause of all the mischief, "_never jest with fools!_" the despot and the wag a despot in the east wished to have a great name as a very munificent prince, so he gave large presents to every one of note that came to his court, but at the same time his officers had secret orders to waylay the recipients of his gifts and recover them. in this manner many a man had been rewarded and plundered. once a wag came to court, and amused every one by his drolleries. the king gave him a great many presents, including a horse. after taking leave of the king and his courtiers, the wag bundled up the presents and put them over his shoulders, and mounting the horse, facing the tail, was going out. the king asked him why he acted in that manner. "sire," said the wag, "simply to see if your officers were coming behind, that i may at once hand over the bundle to them and go about my business." the despot was abashed, and stopped giving any more presents, saying: "_giving is but giving in vain, when we give to take again_." the crane and the fool in the east there lived a fool, who went one day to his fields and said: "i sowed a month ago; should the crops stand two months more, i shall get three hundred bushels of corn. but i am in a hurry, so if i should reap now, i dare say i shall have one hundred bushels at least." a crane who heard his words said: "if i were you, i should have all the three hundred bushels this very day." "how?" said the fool. "why," said the crane, "you stored up water in the tank to feed the crops for three months. a month has elapsed, so water enough for two months more remains in the tank. should you open the sluices and let all the water flow into the fields, you will have all the corn at once." "are you sure i shall have all the corn at once?" said the fool. "oh, yes," said the crane, "there is not the slightest doubt. my geographical knowledge is extensive, for i have travelled over a great part of the world; so you may depend on my wide knowledge and experience." the fool then let all the water flow into the fields. the crane invited his kindred, and they together ate all the big fish left in the tank first, and then, hovering over the fields, picked up all the small fish that had gone out with the water. a great portion of the crops was swept away; what remained was soon buried in the mud. the fool sat on the bank of the lake and wept, saying: "the crane's geography ruined me." "my friend," said the crane, "my geography was as good as your arithmetic. _it is all the same whether you fall into the ditch from this side or that!_" the lion and the goat a lion was eating up one after another the animals of a certain country. one day an old goat said: "we must put a stop to this. i have a plan by which he may be sent away from this part of the country." "pray act up to it at once," said the other animals. the old goat laid himself down in a cave on the roadside, with his flowing beard and long curved horns. the lion on his way to the village saw him, and stopped at the mouth of the cave. "so you have come, after all," said the goat. "what do you mean?" asked the lion. "why, i have long been lying in this cave. i have eaten up one hundred elephants, a hundred tigers, a thousand wolves, and ninety-nine lions. one more lion has been wanting. i have waited long and patiently. heaven has, after all, been kind to me," said the goat, and shook his horns and his beard, and made a start as if he were about to spring upon the lion. the latter said to himself: "this animal looks like a goat, but it does not talk like one, so it is very likely some wicked spirit in this shape. prudence often serves us better than valour, so for the present i shall return to the wood," and he turned back. the goat rose up and, advancing to the mouth of the cave, said, "will you come back to-morrow?" "never again," said the lion. "do you think i shall be able to see you, at least, in the wood to-morrow?" "neither in the wood, nor in this neighbourhood any more," said the lion, and running to the forest, soon left it with his kindred. the animals in the country, not hearing him roar any more, gathered around the goat, and said: "_the wisdom of one doth save a host_." the man and his piece of cloth a man in the east, where they do not require as much clothing as in colder climates, gave up all worldly concerns and retired to a wood, where he built a hut and lived in it. his only clothing was a piece of cloth which he wore round his waist. but, as ill-luck would have it, rats were plentiful in the wood, so he had to keep a cat. the cat required milk to feed it, so a cow had to be kept. the cow required tending, so a cowboy was employed. the boy required a house to live in, so a house was built for him. to look after the house, a maid had to be engaged. to provide company for the maid, a few more houses had to be built, and people invited to live in them. in this manner a little township sprang up. the man said: "_the farther we seek to go from the world and its cares, the more they multiply!_" the tiger, the fox, and the hunters a fox was once caught in a trap. a hungry tiger saw him and said, "so you are here!" "only on your account," said the fox, in a whisper. "how so?" said the tiger. "why, you were complaining you could not get men to eat, so i got into this net to-day, that you may have the men when they come to take me," said the fox, and gave a hint that if the tiger would wait a while in a thicket close by, he would point out the men to him. "may i depend upon your word?" said the tiger. "certainly," said the fox. the hunters came, and, seeing the fox in the net, said: "so you are here!" "only on your account," said the fox, in a whisper. "how so?" said the men. "why, you were complaining you could not get at the tiger that has been devouring your cattle. i got into this net to-day that you may have him. as i expected, he came to eat me up, and is in yonder thicket," said the fox, and gave a hint that if they would take him out of the trap he would point out the tiger. "may we depend upon your word?" said the men. "certainly," said the fox, while the men went with him in a circle to see that he did not escape. then the fox said to the tiger and the men: "sir tiger, here are the men; gentlemen, here is the tiger." the men left the fox and turned to the tiger. the former beat a hasty retreat to the wood, saying, "i have kept my promise to both; now you may settle it between yourselves." the tiger exclaimed, when it was too late: "_alas! what art for a double part?_" the hare and the pig a hare and a pig once agreed to leap over a ditch. the hare went a great way, and fell into it, just short by an inch. the pig went some way and fell into it; but far behind the hare. yet they were eager to know which of them leapt more, and was therefore the better animal. so they said to a fox, who had been watching the race: "will you tell us which of us is superior, and which inferior, in the race?" the fox said: "_both in the ditch: can't say which!_" the peacock and the fox a fox, who had an eye on a peacock, was one day standing in a field with his face turned up to the sky. "reynard," said the peacock, "what have you been doing?" "oh, i have been counting the stars," said the fox. "how many are they?" said the peacock. "about as many as the fools on earth," said the fox. "but which do you think is the greater, the number of the stars or of the fools?" asked the peacock. "if you put it so, i should say the fools are more by one," said the fox. "who is that one?" said the peacock. "why, my own silly self!" said the fox. "how are you silly, reynard?" questioned the peacock. "why, was it not foolish of me to count the stars in the sky, when i could have counted the stars in your brilliant plumage to better advantage?" said the fox. "no, reynard," said the peacock, "therein is not your folly--although there is neither wit nor wisdom in your prattle--but in the thought that your fine words would make an easy prey of me!" the fox quietly left the place, saying: "_the knave that hath been found out cannot have legs too quick_." the tiger and the giraffe a tiger, named old guile, who had grown weak with age, was lying under a tree by the side of a lake in quest of some animal off which he could make a meal. a giraffe, named tall stripes, who came to the lake to quench his thirst, attracted his attention, and old guile addressed him as follows: "oh, what a happy day! i see there the son of my old friend yellow haunch, who lived in the great forest near that distant mountain." tall stripes was astonished to hear the words of old guile, and asked him how he, a tiger, could be the friend of his father, a giraffe. "i am not surprised at your question," replied old guile; "it is a truth known to very few indeed that the tiger and the giraffe belong to the same family. just look at your skin and my own: yours is of a pale yellow colour, mine is very nearly the same; you have stripes, i have them, too. what more proofs do you want?" tall stripes, who was extremely simple and guileless, believed these words, and said: "i am very happy to know that my father was your friend, and that we are of the same family. can i do anything for you?" old guile replied, "no, thank you; old as i am, i make it a point of relying on myself. further, a great part of my time is spent in prayer and meditation; for i consider it necessary, at this age, to devote all my attention to spiritual things. it will, however, be a great gratification to me to have your company whenever you should chance to pass by this lake." tall stripes acceded to this request, and was about to go on his way, when old guile observed; "my dear tall stripes, you are well aware of the instability of all earthly things. i am old and infirm, and who knows what may happen to me to-morrow. perhaps i may not see you again; so let me do myself the pleasure of embracing you before you leave me for the present." "certainly," said tall stripes. thereupon old guile rose up slowly from his seat, like one devoid of all energy, and embracing him, plunged his deadly teeth into his long neck, and stretching him on the ground made a hearty breakfast on him. _beware of the crafty professions of the wicked_. the man of luck and the man of pluck a king in the east said to his minister; "do you believe in luck?" "i do," said the minister. "can you prove it?" said the king. "yes, i can," said the minister. so one night he tied up to the ceiling of a room a parcel containing peas mixed with diamonds, and let in two men, one of whom believed in luck and the other in human effort alone. the former quietly laid himself down on the ground; the latter after a series of efforts reached the parcel, and feeling in the dark the peas and the stones, ate the former, one by one, and threw down the latter at his companion, saying, "here are the stones for your idleness." the man below received them in his blanket. in the morning the king and the minister came to the room and bade each take to himself what he had got. the man of effort found he had nothing beyond the peas he had eaten. the man of luck quietly walked away with the diamonds. the minister said to the king: "sire, there is such a thing as luck; but it is as rare as peas mixed with diamonds. so i would say: '_let none hope to live by luck_.'" the fox and the crabs one day a fox seated himself on a stone by a stream and wept aloud. the crabs in the holes around came up to him and said: "friend, why are you wailing so loud?" "alas!" said the fox, "i have been turned by my kindred out of the wood, and do not know what to do." "why were you turned out?" asked the crabs in a tone of pity. "because," said the fox, sobbing, "they said they should go out to-night hunting crabs by the stream, and i said it would be a pity to lull such pretty little creatures." "where will you go hereafter?" said the crabs. "where i can get work," said the fox; "for i would not go to my kindred again, come what would." then the crabs held a meeting, and came to the conclusion that, as the fox had been thrown out by his kindred on their account, they could do nothing better than engage his services to defend them. so they told the fox of their intention. he readily consented, and spent the whole day in amusing the crabs with all kinds of tricks. night came. the moon rose in full splendour. the fox said: "have you ever been out for a walk in the moonlight?" "never, friend," said the crabs; "we are such little creatures that we are afraid of going far from our holes." "oh, never mind!" said the fox; "follow me! i can defend you against any foe." so the crabs followed him with pleasure. on the way the fox told them all sorts of delightful things, and cheered them on most heartily. having thus gone some distance, they reached a plain, where the fox came to a stand, and made a low moan in the direction of an adjacent wood. instantly a number of foxes came out of the wood and joined their kinsman, and all of them at once set about hunting the poor crabs, who fled in all directions for their lives, but were soon caught and devoured. when the banquet was over, the foxes said to their friend: "how great thy skill and cunning!" the heartless villain replied, with a wink: "my friends, _there is cunning in cunning_." the camel and the pig a camel said: "nothing like being tall! look how tall i am!" a pig, who heard these words, said: "nothing like being short! look how short i am!" the camel said: "well, if i fail to prove the truth of what i said, i shall give up my hump." the pig said: "if i fail to prove the truth of what i have said, i shall give up my snout." "agreed!" said the camel. "just so!" said the pig. they came to a garden, enclosed by a low wall without any opening. the camel stood on this side the wall, and reaching the plants within by means of his long neck made a breakfast on them. then he turned jeeringly to the pig, who had been standing at the bottom of the wall without even a look at the good things in the garden, and said: "now, would you be tall, or short?" next they came to a garden, enclosed by a high wall, with a wicket gate at one end. the pig entered by the gate and, after having eaten his fill of the vegetables within, came out, laughing at the poor camel, who had had to stay outside, because he was too tall to enter the garden by the gate, and said: "now, would you be tall, or short?" then they thought the matter over, and came to the conclusion that the camel should keep his hump and the pig his snout, observing: "_tall is good, where tall would do; if short, again, 'tis also true!_" malayan fables "he who is not possessed of such a book as will dispel many doubts, point out hidden treasures, and is, as it were, a mirror of all things, is even an ignorant man." malayan fables father "lime-stick" and the flower-pecker old father lime-stick once limed a tree for birds and caught a flower-pecker. he was just about to kill and eat it when the bird cried out, "o grandfather, surely you are not going to eat me? why, flesh, feathers and all, i am no bigger than your thumb!" "what!" said the old man; "do you expect me then to let you go?" "yes," said the bird, "only let me go, and i will fetch you such a talisman as never was--a bezoar-stone as big as a cocoanut and worth at least a thousand." said the old man, "do you really mean it?" "really, i do," replied the bird. "just let me go, and i'll bring it to you." then, on being released, he flew off and perched on a tree, and began to preen his feathers, to get rid of the bird-lime. presently the old man said: "where has that bird got to? bird, where is the bezoar-stone you promised to bring me, the one that was worth at least a thousand?" "out-on-you," was the reply, "this is really _too_ ridiculous. just think of me, with my body as big as your thumb, carrying a bezoar-stone as big as a cocoanut! it really is too absurd. why, have i even got the strength to lift it?" at this the old man held his peace. "well," continued the bird, "you will gain nothing by repenting that you set me free. only remember in future not to undertake an affair quite out of keeping with your own powers. neither try to get your arms round a tree too big for your embrace, nor attempt to climb one higher than your strength permits you." the mouse-deer's shipwreck "come," said the mouse-deer to the stump-tailed heron, "come and sail with me to java." so they set sail, and friend mouse-deer held the tiller and friend heron spread the sail, and the wind blew from the north. soon however friend mouse-deer got drowsy, and let the boat fall out of the wind. at this friend heron said: "why does the boat fall off? how is your helm, friend mouse-deer?" "i was only taking a few winks," said he. "bring her up to the wind again," said the heron. and the mouse-deer replied: "all right, i'm 'on the spot.'" presently, however, he dozed again and the heron exclaimed: "oh, if that's to be it, you may die and be done with. i'll peck a hole in this boat of ours and you'll go to the bottom." but the mouse-deer said: "_please_ don't, i'm _such_ a bad hand at swimming." so they sailed on. and the mouse-deer dozed a third time. at this the heron could contain himself no longer, and said, "confound you, friend mouse-deer, for sleeping at the helm." and losing his temper he pecked a hole in the boat, and the boat let in the water and friend heron flew away. but the mouse-deer swam struggling with his feet in the midst of the sea. presently there came up a young shark who exclaimed, "i'll have a meal off you this time at all events." but the mouse-deer answered, "what, friend shark, you'll make a meal off me? why, in place of the little flesh i've got, if you'll carry me ashore, i'll teach you some excellent magic which will save you from ever having to hunt for your food again." to this the shark replied, "agreed. if you'll teach me 'your excellent magic' i'll carry you ashore." so the mouse-deer got upon friend shark's back, and was carried straight ashore. and on their arrival the mouse-deer said: "wait here a bit, while i go and get the simples." and going a-land he hunted up a rattan creeper and took it back with him and said: "now i'll give you the simples i spoke of," and bound it fast to friend shark's tail. and presently the shark said: "why have you made the line fast to my tail?" but the mouse-deer replied: "'keep quite quiet till i have tied you up properly, and then i'll give you the simples." but presently he dragged the shark up on to the dry beach, and made butcher's meat of him. just then, however, a tiger came up, exclaiming, "here's really a good meal for me, for once in a way!" to this, however, the mouse-deer replied: "what is the use of eating me, when there's already plenty of butcher's meat and to spare?" "very well, i'll share it with you," said the tiger. the mouse-deer replied, "you may share it with me by all means, if you will only go and get some water to do the cooking." so the tiger went off to get water and presently came back with it. "wash the meat before you roast it," said the mouse-deer. the tiger took the meat and washed it in the water. "go and fetch fire and roast it," said the mouse-deer. the tiger fetched fire and came back to do the cooking. and when the meat was done, "now go and fetch some drinking water," said the mouse-deer, "and we'll have our meal together." so the tiger went off again to fetch the drinking water. but the mouse-deer in the meantime made off with the shark's meat and climbed up with it to the top of a she-oak tree. and presently the tiger came back and found both mouse-deer and meat missing. at this he exclaimed: "for once in a way, mr. mouse-deer, you've fairly cheated me; if we don't meet again no matter, but if we do, i'll be the death of you." and here the story ends. the tiger gets his deserts a tiger which had been caught in a trap, seeing a man, begged to be released. the man said to the tiger: "if i let you out of the trap will you promise not to attack me?" "certainly," said the tiger, and the man therefore let the tiger go; but the moment the tiger was loose it sprang upon the man and caught him. at this the man begged the tiger to wait until he had inquired how the law stood with reference to their contract, and the tiger agreed to do so. the man and the tiger therefore set out together; and on coming to a road the man said: "o road, road, is it lawful to requite evil for good, or good for good only?" the road replied: "i do good to mankind, but they requite me with evil, defiling my surface as they go." then they came to a tree, of which the man asked the same question. the tree replied: "i do good to mankind, but they requite me with evil, lopping off my branches and cutting me down." at last they came to the mouse-deer and the man made the same inquiry as before. the mouse-deer replied: "i must really go into the question thoroughly before i answer it; let us go back together to the trap." on reaching the trap, he requested the tiger to "step inside," and the tiger entering the trap, the mouse-deer let down the door of the trap, and exclaimed, "accursed brute, you have returned evil for good and now you shall die for it." he then called in the neighbours and had the tiger killed. the tune that makes the tiger drowsy there is a tune which when played upon the "kerotong" (a two-stringed bamboo harp) makes rimau the tiger drowsy, but only a few old people know it. one evening two men were sitting together and playing in a hut in the jungle when two tigers overheard them. the tigers took counsel together, and one of them said to the other, "you shall be the first to go into the house. whatever you seize shall therefore be your portion, but whatever plunges down the steps to escape shall be mine." at this the second tiger ascended the house-ladder and was just crouching upon the topmost rung when one of the men to amuse himself commenced to play the tune that makes the tiger drowsy. as soon as the tiger heard it he began to grow sleepy, and presently fell plump down the steps to the ground, where he was seized by his companion. when he objected his companion exclaimed, "did we not agree that whatever plunged down the steps was to be my portion?" and, so saying, he proceeded to devour him at his leisure. the tiger and the shadow there was a "salt-lick" in the jungle to which all the beasts of the forest resorted, but they were greatly afraid by reason of an old tiger which killed one of them every day. at length, therefore, p'lando' the mouse-deer said to the tiger, "why not permit me to bring you a beast every day, to save you from hunting for your food?" the tiger consented and p'lando' went off to make arrangement with the beasts. but he could not persuade any of them to go, and after three days he set off, taking nobody with him but kuwis the smallest of the flying squirrels. on their arrival p'lando' said to the tiger: "i could not bring you any of the other beasts because the way was blocked by a fat old tiger with a flying squirrel sitting astride its muzzle." on hearing this the tiger exclaimed, "let us go and find it and drive it away." the three therefore set out, the flying squirrel perched upon the tiger's muzzle and the mouse-deer sitting astride upon its hind quarters. on reaching the river, the mouse-deer pointed to the tiger's likeness in the water and exclaimed, "look there! that is the fat old tiger that i saw." on hearing this, the tiger sprang into the river to attack his own shadow, and was drowned immediately. the king-crow and the water-snail a water-snail was coming up-stream from the lower reaches, when a king-crow heard it. said the king-crow to himself: "who can it be coming up-stream that exclaims so loudly at the rapids? one might say it was a man, but that there is nothing to be seen." so the king-crow settled on a tree to watch, but as he could see nothing from his perch on the tree he flew down to the ground, and walked along by the water-side. and when he thought to see some man exclaiming, he caught sight of the water-snail. "hullo, you there," said he, "where do you come from?" "i come from the eddy below the rapids," said the water-snail, "and i only want to get as far as the head-waters of this river." said the king-crow: "wait a bit. suppose you go down to the river-mouth as quickly as you can and we will have a wager on it." (now rivers are the water-snail's domain, in which he has many comrades.) "what is to be the stake?" asked the water-snail. "if i am beaten i will be your slave, and look after your aroids and wild caladiums on which all water-snails feed." then the king-crow asked: "and what will you stake?" the water-snail replied, "if i am beaten, the river shall be handed over to you and you shall be king of the river." but the water-snail begged for a delay of twice seven days, saying that he felt knocked up after ascending the rapids, and the delay was granted accordingly. meanwhile, however, the water-snail hunted up a great number of his friends and instructed them to conceal themselves in each of the higher reaches of the river, and to reply immediately when the king-crow challenged them. the day arrived, and the king-crow flew off, and in each of the higher reaches the water-snail's friends replied to the challenge, while at the river-mouth the water-snail replied in person. so the king-crow was defeated and has ever since remained the slave of the water-snail. the elephant has a bet with the tiger in the beginning gajah the elephant and rimau the tiger were sworn friends. but one day they came to a clearing and presently encountered lotong, the long-tailed spectacle-monkey. and when he saw the monkey, the elephant said, "mr. lotong yonder is far too noisy; let us try and shake him off; if he falls to me i am to eat you; and if he falls to you, you are to eat me--we will make a wager of it." the tiger said, "agreed"; and the elephant replied, "agreed." "very well!" said the tiger; "you shall try and menace him first." so the elephant tried to menace the monkey. "au! au! au!" he trumpeted, and each time he trumpeted the monkey was scared. but the monkey went jumping head foremost through the branches and never fell to the ground at all. presently, therefore, the tiger asked the elephant, "well, friend elephant, would you like to try your luck again?" but the elephant said, "no, thank you. it shall be your turn now; and if he falls to you, you shall eat me--if you really can make him fall!" then the tiger went and roared his longest and loudest, and shortened his body as for a spring and growled and menaced the monkey thrice. and the monkey leaped and fell at the tiger's feet, for his feet and hands were paralyzed and would not grip the branches any more. then the tiger said: "well, friend elephant, i suppose i may eat you now." but the elephant said: "you have, i admit, won the wager; but i beg you to grant me just seven days' respite, to enable me to visit my wife and children and to make my will." the tiger granted the request, and the elephant went home, bellowing and sobbing every foot of the way. now the elephant's wife heard the sound of her husband's voice, and said to her children, "what can be the matter with your father that he keeps sobbing so?" and the children listened to make sure, and said, "yes, it really is father's voice, the sobbing, and not that of anybody else." presently father elephant arrived, and mother elephant asked: "what were you sobbing for, father? what have you done to yourself?" father elephant replied: "i made a wager with friend tiger about shaking down a monkey, and friend tiger beat me; i menaced the monkey, but he did not fall; if he had fallen to me, i was to have eaten friend tiger, but if he fell to friend tiger, friend tiger was to eat me. i was beaten, and now friend tiger says he is going to eat me. so i begged leave to come home and see you, and he has given me just seven days' respite." now for the seven days father elephant kept sobbing aloud, and neither ate nor slept. and the thing came to the hearing of friend mouse-deer. "what can be the matter with friend elephant that he keeps bellowing and bellowing; neither does he sleep, so that night is turned into day, and day into night? what on earth is the matter with him? suppose i go and see," said the mouse-deer. then the mouse-deer went to see what was wrong, and asked: "what is the matter with you, friend elephant, that we hear you bellowing and bellowing every single day and every single night, just now, too, when the rains are upon us? you are far too noisy." but the elephant said: "it is no mere empty noise, friend mouse-deer; i have got into a dreadful scrape." "what sort of a scrape?" inquired the mouse-deer. "i made a wager with friend tiger about shaking down a monkey, and he beat me." "what was the stake?" asked the mouse-deer. "the stake was that friend tiger might eat me if friend tiger frightened it down; and if i frightened it down, i might eat friend tiger. it fell to friend tiger, and now friend tiger wants to eat me. and my reason for not eating or sleeping any more is that i have got only just seven days' respite to go home and visit my wife and children and to make my will." then the mouse-deer said: "if it came to friend tiger's eating you, i should feel exceedingly sorrowful, exceedingly distressed; but things being only as you say, i feel neither." "if you will assist me," said the elephant, "i will become your slave, and my descendants shall be your slaves forever." "very well, it that is the case, i will assist you," said the mouse-deer. "go and look for a jar full of molasses." friend elephant promised to do so, and went to look for it at the house of a maker of palm-wine. the owner of the house fled for his life, and the jar fell into friend elephant's possession, who bore it back to the mouse-deer. then friend mouse-deer said, "when does your promise expire?" and friend elephant replied, "to-morrow." so when next morning arrived they started, and the mouse-deer said, "now pour the molasses over your back and let it spread and spread and run down your legs." friend elephant did as he was ordered. friend mouse-deer then instructed the elephant as follows: "as soon as i begin to lick up the molasses on your back, bellow as loud as you can and make believe to be hurt, and writhe and wriggle this way and that." and presently friend mouse-deer commenced to lick hard, and friend elephant writhed and wriggled and made believe to be hurt, and made a prodigious noise of trumpeting. in this way they proceeded and friend mouse-deer got up and sat astride upon friend elephant's back. and the elephant trumpeted and trumpeted all the way till they met with friend tiger. at this friend mouse-deer exclaimed, "a single elephant is very short commons; if i could only catch that big and fat old tiger there, it would be just enough to satisfy my hunger." now when friend tiger heard these words of the mouse-deer, he said to himself, "so i suppose if you catch me, you'll eat me into the bargain, will you?" and friend tiger stayed not a moment longer, but fled for his life, fetching very lofty bounds. and soon he met with the black ape, and friend ape asked, "why running so hard, friend tiger? why so much noise, and why, just when the rains are upon us, too, do you go fetching such lofty bounds?" friend tiger replied, "what do you mean by 'so much noise'? what was the thing that was got upon friend elephant's back, that had caught friend elephant and was devouring him so that he went writhing and wriggling for the pain of it, and the blood went streaming down in floods? moreover the thing that was got on friend elephant's back said, to my hearing, that a single elephant was very short commons: but if it could catch a fat old tiger like myself that would be just enough to satisfy its hunger." friend ape said, "what was that thing, friend tiger?" "i don't know," said the tiger. "ah," mused the ape, "i wonder if it _could_ be friend mouse-deer!" "certainly not," said the tiger; "why, how in the world could friend mouse-deer swallow _me_? to say nothing of his not being used to meat food." "come and let us go back again," said the ape. then they went back again to find the elephant, and first the ape went the faster, and then the tiger went the faster, and then the ape got in front again. but friend mouse-deer sitting on friend elephant's back saw them coming and shouted. "hullo, father ape," said he, "this is a dog's trick indeed; you promised to bring me two tigers and you only bring me one. i refuse to accept it, father ape." now when friend tiger heard this, he ran off at first as fast as he could, but presently he slackened his pace and said, "it is too bad of you, friend ape, to try to cozen me in order to pay your own debts. for shame, father ape! it was only through good luck that he refused to accept me; if he had accepted, i should have been dead and done with. so now, if you come down to the ground, you shall die the death yourself, just for your trying to cheat me." thus the tiger and the ape were set at enmity, and to this day the tiger is very wroth with the ape for trying to cheat him. and here the story ends. moorish fables "while watching man in all his phases, and seeing that, in many cases, he acts just like the brute creation-- i've thought the lord of all these races of no less failings showed the traces than do his lieges in relation." moorish fables the wagtail and the jackal at a time when the animals spoke, a wagtail laid her eggs on the ground. the little ones grew up. a jackal and a fox came to them. the jackal said to the fox: "swear to me that the wagtail owes me a pound of butter." the fox swore to it. the bird began to weep. a greyhound came to her and asked her what was the matter. she answered him: "the fox has calumniated me." "well," said the hound, "put me in this sack of skin." she put him in the sack. "tie up the top well," said the hound. when the jackal returned she said to him, "come and measure out the butter." the jackal advanced and unfastened the sack. he saw the hound, who stretched out his paws and said to the fox, "i am ill; come and measure, fox." the fox approached. the hound seized him. the jackal said: "remember your false testimony." the wren a wren had built its nest on the side of a road. when the eggs were hatched, a camel passed that way. the little wrens saw it and said to their father when he returned from the fields: "o papa, a gigantic animal passed by." the wren stretched out his foot. "as big as this, my children?" "o papa, much bigger." he stretched out his foot and his wing. "as big as this?" "o papa, much bigger." finally he stretched out fully his feet and legs. "as big as this then?" "much bigger." "that is a lie; there is no animal bigger than i am." "well, wait," said the little ones, "and you will see." the camel came back while browsing the grass of the roadside. the wren stretched himself out near the nest. the camel seized the bird, which passed through its teeth safe and sound. "truly," he said to them, "the camel is a gigantic animal, but i am not ashamed of myself." on the earth it generally happens that the vain are as if they did not exist; but sooner or later a rock falls and crushes them. mule, jackal, and lion the mule, the jackal, and the lion went in company. "we will eat the one whose race is bad," they said to each other. "lion, who is your father?" "my father is a lion, and my mother is a lioness." "and you, jackal, what is your father?" "my father is a jackal, and my mother too." "and you, mule, what is your father?" "my father is an ass, and my mother is a mare." "your race is bad; we will eat you." he answered them: "i will consult an old man. if he says that my race is bad, you may devour me." he went to a farrier, and said to him, "shoe my hind feet, and make the nails stick out well." he went back home. he called the camel and showed him his feet, saying, "see what is written on this tablet." "the writing is difficult to decipher," answered the camel. "i do not understand it, for i only know three words--_outini_, _ouzatini_, _ouazakin_." he called the lion, and said to him, "i do not understand these letters; i only know three words--_outini_, _ouzatini_, _ouazakin_." "show it to me," said the lion. he approached. the mule struck him between the eyes and stretched him out level. he who goes with a knave is betrayed by him. african fables "the world is old, they say; i don't deny it; but, infant still in taste and will, whoe'er would teach, must gratify it." african fables the hen and the cat a cat arose in her house, went to a hen and said to her: "let us make friendship!" the hen replied to the cat: "dost thou like me for a friend?" the cat said, "yes," and went away, and after having been at home for a while, she sent her child to the hen, saying, "go and tell the hen to rise up early to-morrow morning, and to come and accompany me to a neighbouring town." the child arose, went to the hen's house and saluted her. the hen arose, and asked it: "thou child of the cat, dost thou come to me in peace?" the cat's child replied, "i come in peace; my mother has sent me to thee." the hen said to the cat's child, "say what thy mother has sent thee for; let me know." after the cat's child had told it to the hen, it said: "i will go," and set out and went home. when it was gone the hen arose, called a child of hers, and said: "go and ask the cat at what time we shall go to the neighbouring town?" when the child had already started, she called it back again, saying, "come back, i will tell thee something." the child returned, and when it had come to its mother, she said to it, "when thou goest to the cat, open thy ears and hear well what she says, and come and tell me." the child went to the cat, and saluted her, and when the cat arose and came out to it, the hen's child was standing there. the cat asked the hen's child, "why did thy mother send thee to me?" the hen's child said, "my mother said i must come and ask thee how early shall we go to the neighbouring town?" the cat said to the hen's child, "go and tell thy mother to arise and come at the cockcrowing; for what should eat her?" the hen's child returned to its mother, and said to her, "behold i went to the cat's place where thou sentest me, and am come back." the hen said to her child, "what did the cat say? let me hear what word she spoke?" her child answered and said to her, "my mother, the word which the cat spoke is this: 'go and tell thy mother to come to me when the cock crows, that we may go; for what should eat her?'" its mother, the hen, said to her child, "my child, lie down in your house, for i have heard what the cat said." the child of the hen obeyed her mother, went and lay down, and also her mother lay down. they slept their sleep until the cock crew, which when the cat heard, she arose, got ready and waited for the hen, thinking, "may she come that we may go!" the cock crew the second time, and the cat looked out on the way whence the hen was to come, thinking, "may she come that we may go!" the hen did not get up at home and day came on. when it became day, the cat arose in her house, went to the hen's home, and said to her, "hen, thou sentest thy child to me, and asked at what time thou shouldst rise up, and i said to thy child, 'go and tell thy mother to come when the cock crows, that we may go.' did it not tell thee what it was told by me, that thou art still sitting at home although it has become day?" the hen said to the cat, "sister cat, if thou wishest to have me for a friend, i must never get up in my house and come out at night." the cat said to the hen, "what art thou afraid of that thou sayest, 'i will never come out at night'? what is there in the way?" the hen listened to what the cat said, got herself ready and called her children, saying, "come and let us accompany the cat to a neighbouring town!" all the children arose and when they had set out on their way, the cat went before, and having gone on a little, she seized two of the children of the hen; and the hen saw that the cat was seizing two of her children; so she said to the cat, "sister cat, we have scarcely set out on our way and dost thou seize two of my children?" the cat replied, "thy two children which i took have not strength enough to walk; therefore did i take them to my bosom that we may go on." the hen said to the cat, "if thou actest thus, i and thou must dissolve our friendship." the cat replied, "if thou wilt not have a friend, i shall let thee go home." so, as the hen began to go home, the cat made a bound, and seized the hen's head, whereupon the hen cried for help. all the people of the town heard her, arose, ran, and when they were come, the cat was holding the hen's head tight. when the cat saw the people of the town, she left the hen, ran away, and entered the forest. there the hen was standing and the people of the town said to her: "foolish one, didst thou, a hen, arise and go to befriend a cat? if we had not heard thy screams, and come to thee, she would have killed thee and carried away all thy children into her forest." the hen said to the people of the town: "god bless you: you have taken me out of the cat's mouth." the people of the town said to her: "to-day our lord has delivered thee, but for the future do thou no more make friendship with the cat. the cat is too cunning for thee: beware of the cat in future!" i have heard old people say, that on that day the cats and the fowls dissolved their friendship. this is finished. the stork and the toad a stork went and laid eggs in a tree, brooded and hatched young ones. then she left and went to seek food for her little ones; but she did not get any food, and all her little ones were crying for hunger. the stork did not know what to do. so she arose one day, went to her friend, and said, "my friend, i am come to thee." her friend said: "what dost thou want that thou art come to me?" she replied to her friend: "my children are hungry, and i have no food; therefore, am i come to thee; teach me a device!" her friend said to her: "arise in the morning, go to the brook, and see whether there are toads in it; then come back, and on the following morning go again, and lie down by the side of the brook; stretch out thy legs and thy wings, shut thine eyes, keep quite silent, and lie in one place until the toads come out in the morning, and, after seeing thee, go home and call all their people to come, to take thee by the wing and to drag thee away. but do not thou speak to them--be perfectly quiet." she listened to what her friend said, and at night-quiet she arose, and went to the brook, when all the toads were singing; but as soon as they saw her, they went and hid themselves at the bottom of the water. so the stork went home and slept, and having slept she arose up early and went back again to the brook, without being observed by the toads; she went softly, and lay down by the side of the water, pretending to be dead, stretched out her legs, her wings, and her mouth, and shut her eyes. thus she lay, until at break of day when one toad arose, and, finding that it was day, came forth and saw the stork lying. he went back, and called all the toads: "come, behold, i have seen something dead, lying at the door of our house, and when i had seen it i came back to call you." so all the toads arose and followed him, and having come out, they all saw a stork lying at the door of their house; but they did not know that the stork was more cunning than themselves. they returned home, called a council together and said: "what shall we do? some one who came, we do not know whence, has died before the gate of our town." all their great men answered, and said, "arise all of you, go out, drag this dead body far away, and leave it there." so they all arose, went, and, taking the stork by its wings and legs, dragged it away. the stork was cunning; she saw them without their knowing it. they sang, as they dragged her away: "drag her and leave her! drag her and leave her!" the stork did not speak to them, as they all dragged her away, although she saw them. now when they had carried her far away, the stork opened her eyes, which when they saw they all began to run away. as soon as the stork saw that the toads had begun to run away, she arose, and pursued them; having overtaken one, she took and swallowed it, and went on taking and swallowing them. the toads kept running, but by the time they would have got home the stork had swallowed them all, one by one. she had filled her bag, and then started on her way home. as soon as her children saw her, they all ran to their mother, saying, "our mother has brought us food." when they came their mother threw all the toads in her bag down to her children, and her children ate them, so that their hunger was appeased. the stork arose, went to her friend, and said: "my friend, what thou toldest me yesterday is excellent: i went and lay down by the side of the brook, and when the toads saw me in the morning, they thought i was dead; they came, dragged me along, and when they had carried me far away, not knowing that i was wiser than they and thinking that i was dead, i opened mine eyes to look at them; but on seeing me open mine eyes, they all began to run away. then i arose, pursued them, and when i had overtaken one, i took and swallowed it; and when i had overtaken a second i took and swallowed it; so by the time they would have reached home i had swallowed them all, and filled my bag with them. i brought them to my children, and when my children were around me, i threw the toads before them out of the bag and they ate them, that their hunger was appeased." she also thanked her friend, saying: "god bless thee; thou hast taught me an excellent device." thus the stork and her friend devised a plan, and thus they were able to maintain their children while the toads were sitting in their house. so now, when the toads are croaking in a brook, and they see any one come, they are all quite silent, supposing that a stork is coming. this fable of the stork and toads, which i heard, is now finished. the rat and the toad the toad said to the rat, "i can do more than thou." the rat replied to the toad: "thou dost not know how to run; having flung thyself anywhere thou stoppest there. this is all thy run; and wilt thou say that thou canst do more than i?" when the toad had heard the words of the rat he said to him: "if, according to thy opinion, i cannot do more than thou, thou shalt see what i will begin to do to-morrow; and if thou beginnest and doest the same, without anything happening to thee, thou canst do more than i." the rat agreed to the toad's proposal, and went to see the toad. the toad prepared himself, and when the sun reached about the middle, between the horizon and the zenith, the great men felt its heat, and went to sit down in the shade of a tree. the toad on seeing this, arose, went to where the men were sitting, and passed through the midst of them. when the men observed him they said: "if you touch him, your hand will become bitter." so no one touched him, and the toad passed through and went home. then the toad said to the rat, "didst thou see me? now if thou canst do what i do, arise, and begin to do it. i will see!" the rat, attending to what the toad said, got ready and the following morning, when the sun had gained strength and the great men had stood up and got under the shade of a tree, the rat saw them sitting there, and went to do what the toad had done; but when he came to where the men were sitting, and just went to pass through the midst of them, they saw him, and they all took sticks, and sought to kill him: one man attempting to kill him with a stick, struck at him, but did not hit him well, the stick touching him only a little on the back; so he ran away to the toad. on his arrival the rat said to the toad: "brother toad, as thou wentest to where the people were sitting no one said a word to thee, and thou camest home again with a sound skin; but when i went, and they saw me, just as i went to pass through them they all took sticks, and sought to kill me; and one man taking a stick and striking at me to kill me, our lord helped me, that the stick hit me only a little on the back; so i ran away, and came to thee. i disputed with thee, thinking that i could do what thou doest: now to-day i have experienced something; to-morrow let us begin again and when i have the experience of to-morrow, i shall be able to give thee an answer." the toad said to the rat: "the things of today are passed; to-morrow, when the great men have gone and sat down under the tree, i will get ready and when thou hast seen that, on observing me come to them and pass through the midst of them, they will not say a word to me, thou also shalt do what i did." so the rat then went to see the toad. as soon as the toad saw the great men sitting under the tree, he again began, saying to the rat, "look at me, as i go to the place where the great men are sitting, with a sound skin: but if, on my return from them, if thou seest the wale of a stick on any part of my body, thou hast spoken the truth, and canst do more than i." the toad got ready, and on coming to where the men were sitting no one said anything to him; so he passed through the midst of them, and went again to the rat, saying: "look at me! look at my whole body! canst thou see the wale of a stick? if thou seest one, then tell me of it!" when the rat had looked at the toad's whole body and not seen any wale of a stick he said to the toad: "brother toad, i have looked at thy whole body, and not seen any wale of a stick: thou art right." the toad said to the rat. "as thou disputest with me, and maintainest that thou canst do what i do, get up again, and go to where the great men are sitting; and if on seeing thee, these men do not say anything to thee, so that i see thee come back to me again with a sound skin, then i know that thou canst do more than i." the rat, attending to what the toad said, arose, got himself ready, and when he saw the great men sitting under the tree, he went toward them; but on observing him, they said: "here comes a rat," and they every one took a stick, and pursued him in order to kill him; so he ran away, and as he ran, a man with a stick pursued him; saying, "i will not let this rat escape." the rat ran until his strength failed him. the man pursued him with his stick, to kill him; and having come near to him, he took his stick, and struck at him, with the purpose of killing him; but the stick did not hit him, and god saved him, his time being not yet arrived, by showing him a hole into which he crept. when the man saw that he had gotten into the hole, he went back and returned home. the rat, on seeing that the man had gone home, came again out of the hole, and went to the toad, saying to him: "brother toad, i indeed at first disputed with thee, saying that i could do more than thou; but, as for my disputing with thee, thou in truth canst do more than i: when the people saw thee, they did not say a word to thee, but when they saw me, they wished to kill me; if our lord had not helped me and showed me a hole, they, on seeing me, would not have left, but killed me; thou surpassest me in greatness." at that time the rat entreated our lord and he placed it in a hole, but the toad he placed in the open air. the rat does not come out by day, before any one; as to the time when it comes out at night, it stretches its head out of the hole, and when it does not see anybody it comes out to seek its food. as for the toad, it comes out by day and by night, at any time, whenever it likes; it comes out and goes about, not anything likes to molest it; it is bitter, no one eats it on account of its bitterness; the toad is left alone; therefore it goes about wherever it likes. the rat does not come out of its hole and walk about except at night. what the toad and the rat did, this i heard, and have told to thee. this fable of the toad and the rat is now finished. the lion and the wild dog the lion said to the wild dog that he did not fear any one in the forest except these four, viz., tree-leaves, grass, flies, and earth, and when the wild dog said, "there is certainly one stronger than thou," the lion replied to the wild dog, "i kill the young ones of the elephant, the wild cow, and the leopard, and bring them to my children to be eaten. if i give one roar, all the beasts of the forest tremble, every one of them, on hearing me roar; none is greater than i within this forest." the wild dog said to the lion, "as thou sayest that thou fearest not any one in this forest, so let us go and show me thy house; and i will come and call thee, in order to show thee a place where a black bird comes to eat, as soon as i shall see him again." the lion took the wild dog with him and showed him his house; and then the wild dog went home. the next day, when a hunter was come to the forest the wild dog, on seeing him, went to the lion's house, and said to the lion: "brother lion, come, and follow me, and i will show thee something which i have seen." the lion arose and followed the wild dog, and when they were come to where the hunter was, the hunter prepared himself: he had put on his forest garment, had sewn the bill of a long bird to his cap, and put it on his head, and he walked as a bird. the wild dog, seeing him, said to the lion: "brother lion, yonder is that black bird. go and catch him, and when thou hast caught him, please give me one of his legs, for i want it for a charm." the lion attended to what the wild dog said, and went softly to where the bird was; but the wild dog ran back. the lion went, thinking, "i will kill the bird," but he did not know that on seeing him the hunter had prepared himself, and taken out his arrow; so, as he thought, "i will go and seize the bird," and was come close to the hunter, the hunter shot an arrow at the lion and hit him. then the lion fell back, and having got up and fallen down three times, the arrow took effect and he felt giddy. in the same moment the hunter had disappeared[ ] so that he saw him no more. then the lion recovered his courage and went very gently home. on his arrival at home the wild dog said to him: "brother lion, as thou saidst to me that thou art not afraid of any one in the world except our lord, tree-leaves, grass, flies, and dirt, why didst thou not catch that black bird which i showed thee, and bring it to thy children?" the lion replied, "this man's strength is greater than mine." then the wild dog said again, "thou saidst that thou fearest no one, except grass, flies, earth and tree-leaves; thou fearest, lest when thou enterest the forest, the leaves of trees should touch thee, or lest grass should touch thy body, or lest flies should sit on thy skin; thou also fearest to lie upon the bare earth, and thou fearest our lord, who created thee: all these thou fearest, 'but not any other i fear within this forest,' thou saidst; and yet i showed thee a bird, the which thou couldst not kill, but thou leftest it, and rannest home; now tell me how this bird looks?" the lion answered and said to the wild dog: "wild dog, what thou saidst is true, and i believe it; a black man is something to be feared; if we do not fear a black man neither shall we fear our lord who created us." now all the wild beasts which god has created hunt for their food in the forest, and eat it; but as soon as they see one black man standing, they do not stop and wait, but run away. now the following beasts are dangerous in the forest: viz., the leopard, the lion, the wild cow, the wild dog and the hyena; but when they see a black man, they do not stop and wait. as for the dispute which the lion and the wild dog had, the wild dog was right, and the lion gave him his right; then they shook hands again, and each went and ran to his own home. this fable, which i heard, respecting the wild dog and the lion, is now finished. [ ]this refers to the universal belief that hunters are able to render themselves invisible, in moments of danger, by the operation of charms and witchcraft. how sense was distributed in the beginning not one of all the beasts of the forest was endowed with sense: when they saw a hunter come to them intending to kill them, they stood and looked at the hunter, and so the hunter killed them; day after day he killed them. then our lord sent one who put all the sense into a bag, tied it, carried it, and put it down under a large tree. the weasel saw the man put the bag down, and afterward went, called the hare, and said to him: "brother hare, i saw a man put something down under a tree, but as i went to take it, i could not; so let us go and if thou wilt take it i will show it to thee that thou mayest do so." when the weasel and the hare had gone together to where the bag was, the weasel said to the hare, "behold, here is the thing which i could not take and for which i called thee here." but as the hare went and attempted to take it, he could not, so he left it and went away. when he was gone the weasel went again to take hold of the bag, but as he attempted to take it, it was too heavy; so the weasel did not know what to do. then came a pigeon, who sat upon a tree, and said something to the weasel. the weasel heard it say: "lean it over and take it." and again, "bend it and take it." as soon as he had heard this, he dragged the bag along and thus brought it and leaned it against a tree, and caused it to stand in an inclined position; then having gone to the bottom of it, he bowed down, put his head to the bag, and as he drew the bag toward him it went upon his head; this being done, he pressed himself upon the ground, rose up and stood there. after this he went his way home, and on putting the bag down upon the ground and untying it, the weasel saw that there was no other thing in the bag, but pure sense. so he went and called the hare again, and when the hare was come, he said to him: "brother hare, there was not a single other thing in that bag but pure sense: god has loved us so that to-day we have obtained sense; but do not tell it to anybody, then i will give thee a little, and what remains i will hide in my hole until some one comes and begs of me, and then i will give him also a little." so he took one sense and gave to the hare, saying, "if thou takest home this one sense, which i give thee, it will preserve thee. when thou sleepest by day open thy eyes; then if one comes to thee, thinking, 'i have got meat, i will take it,' and sees that thine eyes are open, he will think that thou art not asleep, will leave thee alone and go; but when thou goest and liest down without sleeping, then shut thine eyes, and if one sees thee, and sees that thine eyes are shut, when he comes close to thee, saying, 'i have got meat, i will take it,' then thou wilt see him, rise up and run away into thy forest. this one sense will be enough for thee; but what remains i will keep in mine own house." the hare took his one sense and went home. now if one sees a hare lying with his eyes open, it sleeps, but if its eyes are closed it is awake, and does not sleep. by this one sense which it has got the hare is preserved. the weasel took all the sense that was left and hid it in his house. the weasel surpasses all the beasts of the field in sense. when you see the weasel, and say, "there the king of sense has come out," and drive it before you, saying, "i will catch it," it runs into its hole; and if you begin to dig up the hole, it comes out behind you, and runs until you see it no more. this is why now if one sees a weasel, one calls it "the king of sense." amongst all the beasts of the field he distributed sense only little by little, and this is what they now have. this word, showing how sense came abroad in the world, and the meaning of which i have heard, is now finished. what employment our lord gave to insects all the insects assembled and went to our lord to seek employment. on their arrival they said to our lord, "thou hast given every one his work; now give us also a work to do, that we may have something to eat." our lord attended to the request of the insects, and said to them, "who will give notice that to-morrow all the insects are to come?" the merchant-insect arose and said to our lord, "the cricket can give notice well." so our lord called the cricket and said to him when he was come, "go and give notice this evening, when the sun has set, that to-morrow morning all the insects are to come to me, for i wish to see them." the cricket, obeying our lord's command, went back to his house, waited until evening, until the sun set, and as soon as he had seen the setting of the sun, he prepared and arose to give notice. so when the cricket had given notice until midnight, our lord sent a man to him saying: "go and tell the cricket, that there has been much notice, and that it is now enough; else he will have the headache." but the cricket would not hear, he said: "if i am out they will see me." so he went into his hole, stretched only his head out, and began to give notice. the cricket went on giving notice until the day dawned; but when it was day he became silent and stopped giving notice. then all the insects arose and went to the prayer-place of our lord, the merchant alone being left behind. to all the insects who came first, our lord gave their employment, which they all took and went home. afterward also the merchant-insect went to our lord, and our lord said to him: "to all thy people who came before, i have given their work, and they are gone; now what kept thee back that thou camest to me last?" the merchant-insect replied to our lord, "my bags are many and on the day when i took my bags and bound them up in my large travelling sacks to load them upon my asses, then my people left me behind and came to thee first." our lord said to him: "all other employments are assigned; the people who came first took them and went away; but stop, i will also give one to thee. go, and having arrived at the entrance of the black ants, where are a great many ant-heads, when thou seest these many heads of the black ants, take them, and fill thy bags with them; then load thy bags upon thy ass, carry them to market, spread mats there, and sell them." so the merchant-insect obtained his employment, drove his ass, and went from our lord, picked up ant-heads at the entrance of the black ants, loaded his ass, and went his way to the market. as he went the ass threw off the large bag. then, he alone not being able to lift the bag, he called people, saying: "come, be so good as to help me; let us take the sacks and load mine ass;" but not any of the people would do so. then the little red ants came after him, and when they were come to where he was, he said to them, "please come and help me to load mine ass". the little red ants said to the merchant-insect, "we will not help thee for nothing." the merchant-insect said to the little red ants, "if you will not help me for nothing, then come and help me, and when i have come back from the market, i will pay you." the little red ants helped him to load his ass, and the merchant-insect drove his ass to the market, put down his sacks in the midst of the market-place, prepared the ground, spread his mat there, and having sold his ant-heads, he bought his things, and the market people began to disperse. then the merchant-insect started on his way home, and as he went the little red ants saw him, and said to him, "father-merchant, give us what thou owest us." the merchant, however, refused them their due, and went on his way. now as he went he got fever so that he sat down under a tree, tied his ass fast, and took off the sacks from his ass's back. as he sat there the fever overpowered him, and he lay down. on seeing him lying the little red ants assembled and came to him. now the fever was consuming the merchant-insect's strength, and when the little red ants saw this they assembled together and killed him. there was one insect who saw them kill him, and he ran to our lord, and said to him, "all the little red ants assembled together and killed a man in the midst of the town--that i saw it." when our lord heard what the insect said he called a man and sent him, saying: "go and call the little red ants which kill people and bring them to me." the messenger arose, went, called all the little red ants and brought them before our lord. on seeing the little red ants, our lord asked them, "why did you kill the man?" the little red ants answered, and said to our lord, "the reason why we killed this man is this: when he went to market and his ass had thrown off the sacks, those sacks were too heavy for him to take alone, so he called us, and when we came to him, he said to us, 'please help me to take my large bag and load it upon mine ass, that i may go to market. when i have sold my things and come back, i will pay you.' accordingly we helped him to load his ass; but when he had gone to market and sold all his things there, we saw him on his return home, and went to him, to ask him for what he owed us; but he refused it, drove his ass, and went homeward. however, he was only gone a little while, when he got fever, sat down under a tree, tied his ass fast, took off his sacks and laid them down; and on the same spot where he sat down, the fever overpowered him that he lay down. then on seeing him lying we went, assembled ourselves and killed him, because he had refused what he owed us." our lord gave them right. our lord said to the merchant, "thou goest to market until thy life stands still." our lord said to the cricket, "do thou give notice whenever it is time! this is thy work." our lord said to the little red ants, "whenever ye see any insect unwell and lying down in a place, then go, assemble yourselves and finish it." now the cricket begins to give notice as soon as it is evening and does not keep silence in his hole until the morning comes; this is its employment. the merchant has no farm and does not do any work, but constantly goes to market; this is its employment, given to it by the lord. now the little red ants, whenever they see an insect unwell and lying down they go and assemble themselves against that insect, and, even if that insect has not yet expired they finish it. this our lord gave to the little red ants for their employment. i have now told thee the fable of the insects, which i have heard of omar pesami. this is finished. man and turtle let me tell of turtle of koka. man of lubi la suku caught a turtle in the bush; he came with it to the village. they said: "let us kill it!" some people said: "how shall we kill it?" they said: "we shall cut it with hatchets." turtle replied, saying: "turtle of koka, and hatchet of koka; hatchet not kill me a bit." the people said: "what shall we kill him with?" some said: "we shall kill him with stones." turtle, fear grasped him, he said: "i am going to die." he says by mouth: "turtle of koka, and stone of koka; stone will not kill me a bit." the people said: "let us cast him into the fire!" turtle said: "turtle of koka, and fire of koka; fire will not kill me a bit. on my back, it is like stone; not there can catch on fire." the people said: "we will kill him with knives." turtle said: "turtle of koka, and knife of koka; knife will not kill me a bit." the people said: "this fellow, how shall we do? how shall we kill him?" these said: "let us cast him into the depth of water." turtle said: "woe! i shall die there! how shall i do?" the people said: "we have it! we have found the way we can kill him!" they carry him; they arrive with him at the river. they cast him into the depth. turtle dives; after a while he emerges. there he is swimming and singing: "in water, in my home! in water, in my home!" the people said: "oh! turtle has fooled us. we were going to kill him with hatchets; he says, 'hatchet will not kill me a bit.' we spoke of casting him into the water; he says, 'i am going to die.' we came; we cast him into the water; but we saved him." this is what caused the turtle to live in the water: the people were going to kill him; but he was shrewd. nianga dia ngenga and leopard nianga dia ngenga takes up his gun, saying: "i will go a-hunting." he has reached the bush; he has hunted; he saw not game; he says: "i will go." when he returns home, he finds mr. leopard, whom they have stuck up in the fork of a tree. when he sees nianga, he says: "father nianga, help me out!" nianga says: "what has done this to thee?" he says: "unfork me first; i shall tell thee." nianga took him out; he set him on the ground. he says: "elephant has stuck me up in the fork of the tree. sir, to whom one has given life, one gives more. i have been two days on the tree; give me a little food." nianga says: "where shall i find food?" he says: "anywhere." nianga takes up his dog; he gives it to mr. leopard. mr. leopard ate it and said, "i am not satisfied." nianga takes up also the other dog; he gives it to mr. leopard. he has eaten, says, "still i have not enough." nianga dia ngenga took up his cartridge-box; he gives him it. mr. leopard, when he had eaten it, said, "still i have not enough." hare comes; he finds them talking; says: "why are you quarrelling?" nianga says: "mr. leopard, i found him in the fork of a tree. says he, 'take me out!' i took him out. says he, 'give me to eat!' i gave him both my dogs and my cartridge-box. he says, 'give me more to eat.' that is what we are quarrelling about." hare says: "mr. leopard, let him be again on the tree, where he was; that i may see." mr. leopard returns to the tree, where he was. hare moves off to a distance; he calls nianga. he says: "thou, nianga, art unwise. mr. leopard is a wild beast, he is wont to catch people. thou, who didst get him out of there, he wanted to devour thee. shoot him." nianga then shoots mr. leopard. the end . . . "is with god." leopard and the other animals mr. leopard lived. one day hunger grasps him. he says: "how shall i do? i will call all the animals in the world, saying, 'come ye, let us have a medical consultation.' when the animals come then i may catch and eat." he sends at once to call deer, antelope, soko, hare, and philantomba. they gather, saying: "why didst thou send for us?" he says: "let us consult medicine, that we get health." the sun is broken down. they begin the drums outside with the songs. mr. leopard himself is beating the drum; he is saying, saying: "o antelope! o deer! your friend is sick; do not shun him! o antelope! o deer! your friend is sick; do not shun him! o antelope! o deer! your friend is sick; do not shun him'" deer says: "chief, the drum, how art thou playing it? bring it here; that i play it." mr. leopard gives him it. deer takes the drum, says: "not sickness; wiliness holds thee not sickness; wiliness holds thee! not sickness; wiliness holds thee!" mr. leopard stood up from ground, said: "thou, deer, knowest not how to play the drum." the animals all then ran away, saying, "mr. leopard has a scheme to catch us." elephant and frog i often tell of mr. elephant and mr. frog, who were courting at one house. one day mr. frog spake to the sweetheart of mr. elephant, saying: "mr. elephant is my horse." mr. elephant, when he came at night, then the girls tell him, saying: "thou art the horse of mr. frog!" mr. elephant then goes to mr. frog's, saying: "didst thou tell my sweetheart that i am thy horse?" mr. frog says, saying: "no; i did not say so." they go together to find the sweetheart of mr. elephant. on the way, mr. frog told mr. elephant, saying: "grandfather, i have not strength to walk. let me get up on thy back!" mr. elephant said: "get up, my grandson." mr. frog then goes up. when a while passed, he told mr. elephant: "grandfather, i am going to fall. let me seek small cords to bind thee in mouth." mr. elephant consents. mr. frog then does what he has asked. when passed a little while, he told again mr. elephant, saying: "let me seek a green twig to fan the mosquitoes off thee." mr. elephant says: "go." he then fetches the twig. then, when they were about to arrive, the girls saw them, and they went to meet them with shouting, saying: "thou, mr. elephant, art the horse indeed of mr. frog!" dog and the kingship mr. dog, they wanted to invest him with the kingship. they sought all the things of royalty: the cap, the sceptre, the rings, the skin of mulkaka. the things are complete; they say: "the day has come to install." the headmen all came in full; they sent for the players of drum and marimba; they have come. they spread coarse mats and fine mats. where the lord is going to sit, they laid a coarse mat; they spread on it a fine mat; they set a chair on. they say: "let the lord sit down." he sat down. the people begin to divide the victuals. he, mr. dog, on seeing the breast of a fowl, greed grasped him. he stood up in haste; took the breast of the fowl; ran into the bush. the people said: "the lord, whom we are installing, has run away with the breast of the fowl into the bush!" the people separated. mr. dog, who was going to be invested with the kingship, because of his thievery, the kingship he lost it. i have told my little tale. finished. the builder of ability and the builder of haste two men called themselves one name. this one said: "i am ndala, the builder of ability." the other one said: "i am ndala, the builder of haste." they say: "we will go to trade." they start; they arrive in middle of road. a storm comes. they stop, saying: "let us build grass-huts!" ndala, the builder of haste, built in haste; he entered into his hut. ndala, the builder of ability is building carefully. the storm comes; it kills him outside. ndala, the builder of haste escaped, because his hut was finished; it sheltered him when the storm came on. fables from krilof "shall not my fable censure vice, because a knave is over-nice? and, lest the guilty hear and dread, shall not the decalogue be read?" john gay fables from krilof the education of the lion to the lion, king of the forests, was given a son. among us, a child a year old, even if it belong to a royal family, is small and weak. but, by the time it has lived a twelve-month, a lion-cub has long ago left off its baby-clothes. so, at the end of a year, the lion began to consider that he must not allow his royal son to remain ignorant, that the dignity of the kingdom be not degraded, and that when the son's turn should come to govern the kingdom the nation should have no cause to reproach the father on his account. but whom should he entreat, or compel, or induce by rewards, to instruct the czarevitch to become a czar? the fox is clever, but it is terribly addicted to lying, and a liar is perpetually getting into trouble. "no," thought the lion, "the science of falsehood is not one which princes ought to study." should he trust him to the mole? all who speak of that animal say that it is an extreme admirer of order and regularity; that it never takes a step till it has examined the ground before it, and that it cleans and shells with its own paws every grain of corn that comes to its table. in fact, the mole has the reputation of being very great in small affairs; but, unfortunately, it cannot see anything at a distance. the mole's love of order is an excellent thing for animals of its own kind, but the lion's kingdom is considerably more extensive than a mole-run. should he choose the panther? the panther is brave and strong, and is, besides, a great master of military tactics; but the panther knows nothing of politics, is ignorant of everything that belongs to civil affairs. a king must be a judge and a minister as well as a warrior. the panther is good for nothing but fighting; so it, too, is unfit to educate royal children. to be brief, not a single beast, not even the elephant himself, who was as much esteemed in the forest as plato used to be in greece, seemed wise enough to satisfy the lion. by good fortune, or the opposite--we shall find out which--another king, the king of birds, the eagle, an old acquaintance and friend of the lion, heard of that monarch's difficulty, and, wishing to do his friend a great kindness, offered to educate the young lion himself. the lion felt a great weight removed from his shoulders. what could be better than a king as the tutor for a prince? so the lion-cub was got ready, and sent off to the eagle's court, there to learn how to govern. and now two or three years go by. ask whom you will, meanwhile, you hear nothing but praise of the young lion; and all the birds scatter throughout the forests the wonderful stories of his merits. at last the appointed time comes, and the lion sends for his son. the prince arrives, and all the people are gathered together, great and small alike. the king embraces his son before them all, and thus addresses him: "my beloved son, you are my only heir. i am looking forward to the grave, but you are just entering upon life. before i make over my sceptre to you, tell me, in the presence of this assembly, what you have been taught, and in what manner you propose to make your people happy." "papa," exclaimed the prince, "i know what no one here knows. i can tell where each bird, from the eagle to the quail, can most readily find water, on what each of them lives, and how many eggs it lays; and i can count up the wants of every bird, without missing one. here is the certificate my tutor gave me. it was not for nothing that the birds used to say that i could pick the stars out of the sky. when you have made up your mind to transfer the kingdom to me, i will immediately begin to teach the beasts how to make nests." on this the king and all his beasts howled aloud; the members of the council hung their heads; and, too late, the lion perceived that the young lion had learned nothing of what was wanted, that he was acquainted with birds only, not knowing anything of the nature of beasts, although he was destined to rule over them, and that he was destitute of that which is most requisite in kings--the knowledge of the wants of their own people and the interests of their own country. the pebble and the diamond a diamond, which some one had lost, lay for some time on the high road. at last it happened that a merchant picked it up. by him it was offered to the king, who bought it, had it set in gold, and made it one of the ornaments of the royal crown. having heard of this, a pebble began to make a fuss. the brilliant fate of the diamond fascinated it; and, one day, seeing a moujik passing, it besought him thus: "do me a kindness, fellow-countryman, and take me with you to the capital. why should i go on suffering here in rain and mud, while our diamond is, men say, in honour there? i don't understand why it has been treated with such respect. side by side with me here it lay so many years; it is just such a stone as i am--my close companion. do take me! how can one tell? if i am seen there, i too, perhaps, may be found worthy of being turned to account." the moujik took the stone into his lumbering cart, and conveyed it to the city. our stone tumbled into the cart, thinking that it would soon be sitting by the side of the diamond. but a quite different fate befell it. it really was turned to account, but only to mend a hole in the road. the pike and the cat a conceited pike took it into its head to exercise the functions of a cat. i do not know whether the evil one had plagued it with envy, or whether, perhaps, it had grown tired of fishy fare; but, at all events, it thought fit to ask the cat to take it out to the chase, with the intention of catching a few mice in the warehouse. "but, my dear friend," vaska says to the pike, "do you understand that kind of work? take care, gossip, that you don't incur disgrace. it isn't without reason that they say: 'the work ought to be in the master's power.'" "why really, gossip, what a tremendous affair it is! mice, indeed! why, i have been in the habit of catching perches!" "oh, very well. come along!" they went; they lay each in ambush. the cat thoroughly enjoyed itself; made a hearty meal; then went to look after its comrade. alas! the pike, almost destitute of life, lay there gasping, its tail nibbled away by the mice. so the cat, seeing that its comrade had undertaken a task quite beyond its strength, dragged it back, half dead, to its pond. trishka's caftan trishka's caftan was out at the elbows. but why should he ponder long over it? he took to his needle, cut a quarter off each sleeve: so mended the elbows. the caftan was all right again, only his arms were bare for a quarter of their length. that is no great matter, but every one is always laughing at trishka. so trishka says: "i'm not a fool. i'll set this affair straight also. i'll make the sleeves longer than they were before. they shall see trishka is no mere commonplace fellow." so he cut off the skirts of his caftan, and used them to lengthen his sleeves. then trishka was happy, though he had a caftan which was as short as a waistcoat. in a similar way i have sometimes seen other embarrassed people set straight their affairs. take a look at them as they dash away. they have all got on trishka's caftan. the elephant as governor an elephant was once appointed ruler of a forest. now it is well known that the race of elephants is endowed with great intelligence; but every family has its unworthy scion. our governor was as stout as the rest of his race are, but as foolish as the rest of his race are not. as to his character, he would not intentionally hurt a fly. well, the worthy governor becomes aware of a petition laid before him by the sheep, stating that their skins are entirely torn off their backs by the wolves. "oh, rogues!" cries the elephant, "what a crime! who gave you leave to plunder?" but the wolves say: "allow us to explain, o father. did not you give us leave to take from the sheep a trifling contribution for our pelisses in winter? it is only because they are stupid sheep that they cry out. they have only a single fleece taken from each of them, but they grumble about giving even that!" "well, well," says the elephant, "take care what you do. i will not permit any one to commit injustice. as it must be so, take a fleece from each of them. but do not take from them a single hair besides." the quartette the tricksy monkey, the goat, the ass, and bandy-legged mishka the bear, determine to play a quartette. they provide themselves with the necessary pieces of music--with two fiddles, and with an alto and a counter-bass. then they sit down on a meadow under a lime-tree, prepared to enchant the world by their skill. they work away at their fiddlesticks with a will; and they make a noise, but there is no music in it. "stop, brothers, stop!" cries the monkey, "wait a little! how can we get our music right? it's plain, you mustn't sit as you are. you, mishka, with your counter-bass, face the alto. i will sit opposite the second fiddle. then a different sort of music will begin: we shall set the very hills and forests dancing." so they change places, and recommence; but the music is just as discordant as before. "stop a little," exclaims the ass; "i have found out the secret. we shall be sure to play in tune if we sit in a row." they follow its advice, and form in an orderly line. but the quartette is as unmusical as ever. louder than before there arose among them squabbling and wrangling as to how they ought to be seated. it happened that a nightingale came flying that way, attracted by their noise. at once they all entreated it to solve their difficulty. "be so kind," they say, "as to bear with us a little, in order that our quartette may come off properly. music we have; instruments we have: tell us only how we ought to place ourselves." but the nightingale replies, "to be a musician, one must have a quicker intelligence and a finer ear than you possess. you, my friends, may place yourselves just as you like, but you will never become musicians." demian's fish soup "neighbour, light of mine eyes! do eat a little more!" "dear neighbour, i am full to the throat." "no matter; just a little plateful. believe me, the soup is cooked gloriously." "but i've had three platefuls already." "well, what does that matter? if you like it, and it does you good, why not eat it all up? what a soup it is! how rich! it looks as if it had been sprinkled with amber. here is a bream; there a lump of sterlet. take a little more, dear, kind friend. just another spoonful. wife, come and entreat him!" thus does demian feast his neighbour phocas, not giving him a moment's breathing time. phocas feels the moisture trickling down his forehead. still he takes the soup, attacks it with all the strength he has left, and somehow manages to swallow the whole of it. "that's the sort of friend i like!" cries demian. "i can't bear people who require pressing. but now, dear friend, take just this one little plateful more." but, on hearing this, our poor phocas, much as he liked fish soup, catching hold of his cap and sash, runs away home, not once looking behind him. nor from that day to this has he crossed demian's threshold. the wolf and its cub a wolf, which had begun to accustom its cub to support itself by its father's profession, sent it one day to prowl about the skirts of the wood. at the same time it ordered it to give all its attention to seeing whether it would not be possible, even at the cost of sinning a little, for them both to make their breakfast or dinner at the expense of some shepherd or other. the pupil returns home, and says: "come along, quick! our dinner awaits us: nothing could possibly be safer. there are sheep feeding at the foot of yon hill, each one fatter than the other. we have only to choose which to carry off and eat; and the flock is so large that it would be difficult to count it over again----" "wait a minute," says the wolf. "first of all i must know what sort of a man the shepherd of this flock is. "it is said that he is a good one--painstaking and intelligent. but i went round the flock on all sides, and examined the dogs: they are not at all fat, and seem to be spiritless and indolent." "this description," says the old wolf, "does not greatly attract me to the flock. for, decidedly, if the shepherd is good, he will not keep bad dogs about him. one might very soon get into trouble there. but come with me: i will take you to a flock where we shall be in less danger of losing our skins. over that flock it is true that a great many dogs watch; but the shepherd is himself a fool. and where the shepherd is a fool there the dogs too are of little worth." the pike an appeal to justice was made against the pike, on the ground that it had rendered the pond uninhabitable. a whole cart-load of proofs was tendered as evidence; and the culprit, as was beseeming, was brought into court in a large tub. the judges were assembled not far off, having been set to graze in a neighbouring field. their names are still preserved in the archives. there were two donkeys, a couple of old horses, and two or three goats. the fox also was added to their number, as assessor, in order that the business might be carried on under competent supervision. now, popular report said that the pike used to supply the table of the fox with fish. however this might be, there was no partiality among the judges; and it must also be stated that it was impossible to conceal the pike's roguery in the affair in question. so there was no help for it. sentence was passed, condemning the pike to an ignominious punishment. in order to frighten others, it was to be hung from a tree. "respected judges," thus did the fox begin to speak, "hanging is a trifle. i should have liked to have sentenced the culprit to such a punishment as has never been seen here among us. in order that rogues may in future live in fear, and run a terrible risk, i would drown it in the river." "excellent!" cry the judges, and unanimously accept the proposition. so the pike was flung--into the river. the cuckoo and the eagle the eagle promoted a cuckoo to the rank of a nightingale. the cuckoo, proud of its new position, seated itself proudly on an aspen, and began to exhibit its musical talents. after a time, it looks round. all the birds are flying away, some laughing at it, others abusing it. our cuckoo grows angry, and hastens to the eagle with a complaint against the birds. "have pity on me!" it says. "according to your command, i have been appointed nightingale to these woods, and yet the birds dare to laugh at my singing." "my friend," answers the eagle, "i am a king, but i am not god. it is impossible for me to remedy the cause of your complaint. i can order a cuckoo to be styled a nightingale; but to make a nightingale out of a cuckoo--that i cannot do." the peasant and the sheep a peasant summoned a sheep into courts charging the poor thing with a criminal offence. the judge was--the fox. the case was immediately in full swing. plaintiff and defendant were equally adjured to state, point by point, and without both speaking at once, how the affair took place, and in what their proof consisted. says the peasant: "on such and such a day, i missed two of my fowls early in the morning. nothing was left of them but bones and leathers; and no one had been in the yard but the sheep." then the sheep depones that it was fast asleep all the night in question, and it calls all its neighbours to testify that they had never known it guilty either of theft or any roguery; and besides this, it states that it never touches flesh-meat. here is the fox's decision, word for word: "the explanation of the sheep cannot, under any circumstances, be accepted, for all rogues are notoriously clever at concealing their real designs; and it appears manifest, on due inquiry, that, on the aforesaid night, the sheep was not separated from the fowls. fowls are exceedingly savoury, and opportunity favoured. therefore i decide, according to my conscience, that it is impossible that the sheep should have forborne to eat the fowls. the sheep shall accordingly be put to death. its carcass shall be given to the court, and its fleece be taken by the plaintiff." the elephant in favour once upon a time the elephant stood high in the good graces of the lion. the forest immediately began to talk of the matter, and, as usual, many guesses were made as to the means by which the elephant had gained such favour. "it is no beauty," say the beasts to each other, "and it is not amusing; and what habits it has! what manners!" says the fox, whisking about his brush, "if it had possessed such a bushy tail as mine, i should not have wondered." "or, sister," says the bear, "if it had gotten into favour on account of its claws, no one would have found the matter at all extraordinary; but it has no claws at all, as we all know well." "isn't it its tusks that have gotten it into favour?" thus the ox broke in upon their conversation. "haven't they, perhaps, been mistaken for horns." "is it possible," said the ass, shaking its ears, "that you don't know how it has succeeded in making itself liked, and in becoming distinguished? why, i have guessed the reason! if it hadn't been remarkable for its long ears, it would never in the world have gotten into favour." the sword-blade the keen blade of a sword, made of damascus steel, which had been thrown aside on a heap of old iron, was sent to market with the other pieces of metal, and sold for a trifle to a moujik. now, a moujik's ideas move in a narrow circle. he immediately set to work to turn the blade to account. our moujik fitted a handle to the blade, and began to strip lime-trees in the forest with it, of the bark he wanted for shoes, while at home he unceremoniously splintered fir chips with it. sometimes, also, he would lop off twigs with it, or small branches for mending his wattled fences, or would shape stakes with it for his garden paling. and the result was that, before the year was out, our blade was notched and rusted from one end to the other, and the children used to ride astride of it. so one day a hedgehog, which was lying under a bench in the cottage, close by the spot where the blade had been flung, said to it: "tell me, what do you think of this life of yours? if there is any truth in all the fine things that are said about damascus steel, you surely must be ashamed of having to splinter fir chips, and square stakes, and of being turned, at last, into a plaything for children." but the sword-blade replied: "in the hands of a warrior, i should have been a terror to the foe; but here my special faculties are of no avail. so in this house i am turned to base uses only. but am i free to choose my employment? no, not i, but he, ought to be ashamed who could not see for what i was fit to be employed." the cuckoo and the turtle-dove a cuckoo sat on a bough, bitterly complaining. "why art thou so sad, dear friend?" sympathizingly cooed the turtle-dove to her, from a neighbouring twig. "is it because spring has passed away from us, and love with it; that the sun has sunk lower, and that we are nearer to the winter?" "how can i help grieving, unhappy one that i am?" replied the cuckoo: "thou shalt thyself be the judge. this spring my love was a happy one, and, after a while, i became a mother. but my offspring utterly refused even to recognize me. was it such a return that i expected from them? and how can i help being envious when i see how ducklings crowd around their mother--how chickens hasten to the hen when she calls to them. just like an orphan i sit here, utterly alone, and know not what filial affection means." "poor thing!" says the dove, "i pity you from my heart. as for me, though i know such things often occur, i should die outright it my dovelets did not love me. but tell me, have you already brought up your little ones? when did you find time to build a nest? i never saw you doing anything of the kind: you were always flying and fluttering about." "no, indeed!" says the cuckoo. "pretty nonsense it would have been if i had spent such fine days in sitting on a nest! that would, indeed, have been the highest pitch of stupidity! i always laid my eggs in the nests of other birds." "then how can you expect your little ones to care for you?" says the turtle-dove. the peasant and the horse a peasant was sowing oats one day. seeing the work go on, a young horse began to reason about it, grumbling to himself: "a pretty piece of work, this, for which he brings such a quantity of oats here! and yet they are all the time saying that men are wiser than we are. can anything possibly be more foolish or ridiculous than to plough up a whole field like this in order to scatter one's oats over it afterward to no purpose. had he given them to me, or to the bay there, or had he even thought fit to fling them to the fowls, it would have been more like business. or even if he had hoarded them up, i should have recognized avarice in that. but to fling them uselessly away--why, that is sheer stupidity!" meanwhile time passed; and in the autumn the oats were garnered, and the peasant fed this very horse upon them all the winter. there can be no doubt, reader, that you do not approve of the opinions of the horse. but from the oldest times to our own days has not man been equally audacious in criticising the designs of a providence of whose means or ends he sees and knows nothing? the wolf and the cat a wolf ran out of the forest into a village--not to pay a visit, but to save its life; for it trembled for its skin. the huntsmen and a pack of hounds were after it. it would fain have rushed in through the first gateway; but there was this unfortunate circumstance against the scheme that all the gateways were closed. the wolf sees a cat on a partition fence, and says pleadingly, "vaska, my friend, tell me quickly, which of the moujiks here is the kindest, so that i may hide myself from my evil foes? listen to the cry of the dogs and the terrible sound of the horns? all that noise is actually made in chase of me!" "go quickly, and ask stefan," says vaska, the cat; "he is a very kind man." "quite true; only i have torn the skin off one of his sheep." "well, then, you can try demian." "i'm afraid he's angry with me, too; i carried off one of his kids." "run over there, then; trofim lives there." "trofim! i should be afraid of even meeting him. ever since the spring he has been threatening me about a lamb." "dear me, that's bad! but perhaps klim will protect you." "oh, vaska, i have killed one of his calves." "what do i hear, friend? you've quarrelled with all the village," cried vaska to the wolf. "what sort of protection can you hope for here? no, no; our moujiks are not so destitute of sense as to be willing to save you to their own hurt. and, really, you have only yourself to blame. what you have sown, that you must now reap." the eagle and the mole an eagle and his mate flew into a deep forest and determined to make it their permanent abode. so they chose an oak, lofty and wide-spreading, and began to build themselves a nest on the top of it, hoping there to rear their young in the summer. a mole, who heard about all this, plucked up courage enough to inform the eagles that the oak was not a proper dwelling-place for them; that it was almost entirely rotten at the root, and was likely soon to fall, and that therefore the eagles ought not to make their nest upon it. but is it becoming that an eagle should accept advice coming from a mole in a hole? where then would be the glory of an eagle having such keen eyes? and how comes it that moles dare to meddle in the affairs of the king of birds? so, saying very little to the mole, whose counsel he despised, the eagle set to work quickly--and the king soon got ready the new dwelling for the queen. all goes well, and now the eagles have little ones. but what happens? one day, when at early dawn the eagle is hastening back from the chase, bringing a rich breakfast to his family, as he drops down from the sky he sees--his oak has fallen, and has crushed beneath it his mate and his little ones! "wretched creature that i am!" he cries, anguish blotting out from him the light; "for my pride has fate so terribly punished me, and because i gave no heed to wise counsel. but could one expect that wise counsel could possibly come from a miserable mole?" then from its hole the mole replies: "had not you despised me, you would have remembered that i burrow within the earth, and that, as i live among the roots, i can tell with certainty whether a tree be sound or not." the spider and the bee a merchant brought some linen to a fair. that's a thing everybody wants to buy, so it would have been a sin in the merchant if he had complained of his sale. there was no keeping the buyers back: the shop was at times crammed full. seeing how rapidly the goods went off, an envious spider was tempted by the merchant's gains. she took it into her head to weave goods for sale herself, and determined to open a little shop for them in a window corner, seeking thereby to undermine the merchant's success. she commenced her web, spun the whole night long, and then set out her wares on view. from her shop she did not stir, but remained sitting there, puffed up with pride, and thinking, "so soon as the day shall dawn will all buyers be enticed to me." well, the day did dawn. but what then? there came a broom, and the ingenious creatures and her little shop were swept clean away. our spider went wild with vexation. "there!" she cried, "what's the good of expecting a just reward? and yet i ask the whole world--whose work is the finer, mine or that merchant's?" "yours, to be sure," answered the bee. "who would venture to deny the fact? every one knew that long ago. but what is the good of it if there's neither warmth nor wear in it?" the cuckoo and the cock "how proudly and sonorously you sing, my dear cock!" "but you, dear cuckoo, my light, how smoothly flows your long drawn-out note! there is no such singer in all the rest of our forest." "to you, dear friend, i could listen forever." "and as for you, my beauty, i protest that when you are silent i scarcely know how to wait till you begin again. where do you get such a voice?--so clear, so soft, so high! but no doubt you were always like that: not very large in stature, but in song--a nightingale." "thanks, friend. as for you, i declare on my conscience you sing better than the birds in the garden of eden. i appeal to public opinion for a proof of this." at this moment a sparrow, who had overheard their conversation, said to them: "you may go on praising each other till you are hoarse, my friends; but your music is utterly worthless." why was it, that, not fearing to sin, the cuckoo praised the cock? simply because the cock praised the cuckoo. the peasant and the robber a peasant who was beginning to stock his little farm had bought a cow and a milk-pail at the fair, and was going quietly home by a lonely path through the forest, when he suddenly fell into the hands of a robber. the robber stripped him as bare as a lime-tree. "have mercy!" cried the peasant. "i am utterly ruined. you have reduced me to beggary. for a whole year i have worked to buy this dear little cow. i could hardly bear to wait for this day to arrive." "very good," replied the robber, touched with compassion; "don't cry out so against me. after all, i shall not want to milk your cow; so i'll give you back your milk-pail." fables from the chinese "why have some more power than others? only one knows. why have some longer life than others? only one knows. why do some try and not succeed; while others do not try and yet they do succeed? only one knows." fables prom the chinese the animals' peace party the ancient books say that the pig is a very unclean animal and of no great use to the world or man, and one of them contains this story: once upon a time the horses and cattle gave a party. although the pigs were very greedy, the horses said: "let us invite them, and it may be we can settle our quarrels in this way and become better friends. we will call this a peace party. "generations and generations of pigs have broken through our fences, taken our food, drunk our water, and rooted up our clean green grass; but it is also true that the cattle children have hurt many young pigs. "all this trouble and fighting is not right, and we know the master wishes we should live at peace with one another. do you not think it a good plan to give a peace party and settle this trouble?" the cattle said: "who will be the leader of our party and do the inviting? we should have a leader, both gentle and kind, to go to the pig's home and invite them." the next day a small and very gentle cow was sent to invite the pigs. as she went across to the pigs' yard, all the young ones jumped up and grunted, "what are you coming here for? do you want to fight?" "no, i do not want to fight," said the cow. "i was sent here to invite you to our party. i should like to know if you will come, so that i may tell our leader." the young pigs and the old ones talked together and the old ones said: "the new year feast will soon be here. maybe they will have some good things for us to eat at the party. i think we should go." then the old pigs found the best talker in all the family, and sent word by him that they would attend the party. the day came, and the pigs all went to the party. there were about three hundred all together. when they arrived they saw that the leader of the cows was the most beautiful of all the herd and very kind and gentle to her guests. after a while the leader spoke to them in a gentle voice and said to the oldest pigs: "we think it would be a good and pleasant thing if there were no more quarrels in this pasture. "will you tell your people not to break down the fences and spoil the place and eat our food? we will then agree that the oxen and horses shall not hurt your children and all the old troubles shall be forgotten from this day." then one young pig stood up to talk. "all this big pasture belongs to the master, and not to you," he said. "we cannot go to other places for food. "the master sends a servant to feed us, and sometimes he sends us to your yard to eat the corn and potatoes. "the servants clean our pen every day. when summer comes, they fill the ponds with fresh water for us to bathe in. "now, friends, can you not see that this place and this food all belong to the master? we eat the food and go wherever we like. we take your food only after you have finished. it would spoil on the ground if we did not do this. "answer this question--do our people ever hurt your people? no; even though every year some of our children are killed by bad oxen and cows. "what is our food? it is nothing; but our lives are worth much to us. "our master never sends our people to work as he does the horses and oxen. he sends us food and allows us to play a year and a year the same, because he likes us best. "you see the horses and oxen are always at work. some pull wagons, others plough land for rice; and they must work--sick or well. "our people never work. every day at happy time we play; and do you see how fat we are? "you never see our bones. look at the old horses and the old oxen. twenty years' work and no rest! "i tell you the master does not honour the horses and oxen as he does the pigs. "friends, that is all i have to say. have you any questions to ask? is what i have said not the truth?" the old cow said, "moo, moo," and shook her head sadly. the tired old horses groaned, "huh, huh," and never spoke a word. the leader said, "my friends, it is best not to worry about things we cannot know. we do not seem to understand our master. "it will soon be time for the new year feast day; so, good night. and may the pig people live in the world as long and happily as the horses and the oxen, although our peace party did not succeed." on their way home the little pigs made a big noise, and every one said, "we, we! we win, we win!" then the old horses and oxen talked among themselves. "we are stronger, wiser, and more useful than the pigs," they said. "why does the master treat us so?" ee-sze (meaning): why have some more power than others? only one knows. why have some longer life than others? only one knows. why do some try and not succeed; while others do not try and yet they do succeed? only one knows. the proud chicken a widow named hong-mo lived in a little house near the market place. every year she raised many hundreds of chickens, which she sold to support herself and her two children. each day the chickens went to the fields near by and hunted bugs, rice, and green things to eat. the largest one was called the king of the chickens, because of all the hundreds in the flock he was the strongest. and for this reason he was the leader of them all. he led the flock to new places for food. he could crow the loudest, and as he was the strongest, none dared oppose him in any way. one day he said to the flock, "let us go to the other side of the mountain near the wilderness to-day, and hunt rice, wheat, corn, and wild silkworms. there is not enough food here." but the other chickens said, "we are afraid to go so far. there are foxes and eagles in the wilderness, and they will catch us." the king of the chickens said, "it is better that all the old hens and cowards stay at home." the king's secretary said, "i do not know fear. i will go with you." then they started away together. when they had gone a little distance, the secretary found a beetle, and just as he was going to swallow it, the king flew at him in great anger, saying, "beetles are for kings, not for common chickens. why did you not give it to me?" so they fought together, and while they were fighting, the beetle ran away and hid under the grass where he could not be found. and the secretary said, "i will not fight for you, neither will i go to the wilderness with you." and he went home again. at sunset the king came home. the other chickens had saved the best roosting place for him; but he was angry because none of them had been willing to go to the wilderness with him, and he fought first with one and then with another. he was a mighty warrior, and therefore none of them could stand up against him. and he pulled the feathers out of many of the flock. at last the chickens said, "we will not serve this king any longer. we will leave this place. if hong-mo will not give us another home, we will stay in the vegetable garden. we will do that two or three nights, and see if she will give us another place to live." so the next day, when hong-mo waited at sunset for the chickens to come home, the king was the only one who came. and she asked the king, "where are all my chickens?" but he was proud and angry, and said, "they are of no use in the world. i would not care if they always stayed away." hong-mo answered, "you are not the only chicken in the world. i want the others to come back. if you drive them all away, you will surely see trouble." but the king laughed and jumped up on the fence and crowed. "nga-un-gan-yu-na" (cock-a-doodle-doo-oo) in a loud voice. "i don't care for you! i don't care for you!" hong-mo went out and called the chickens, and she hunted long through the twilight until the dark night came, but she could not find them. the next morning early she went to the vegetable garden, and there she found her chickens. they were glad to see her, and bowed their heads and flew to her. hong-mo said, "what are you doing? why do you children stay out here, when i have given you a good house to live in?" the secretary told her all about the trouble with the king. hong-mo said, "now you must be friendly to each other. come with me, and i will bring you and your king together. we must have peace here." when the chickens came to where the king was he walked about, and scraped his wings on the ground, and sharpened his spurs. his people had come to make peace, and they bowed their heads and looked happy when they saw their king. but he still walked about alone and would not bow. he said, "i am a king--always a king. do you know that? you bow your heads and think that pleases me. but what do i care? i should not care if there was never another chicken in the world but myself. i am king." and he hopped up on a tree and sang some war songs. but suddenly an eagle who heard him, flew down and caught him in his talons and carried him away. and the chickens never saw their proud, quarrelsome king again. ee-sze (meaning): no position in life is so high that it gives the right to be proud and quarrelsome. the hen and the chinese mountain turtle four hundred and fifty years ago in lze-cheung province, western china, there lived an old farmer named ah-po. the young farmers all said ah-po knew everything. if they wanted to know when it would rain, they asked ah-po, and when he said: "it will not rain to-morrow," or, "you will need your bamboo-hat this time to-morrow," it was as he said. he knew all about the things of nature and how to make the earth yield best her fruits and seeds, and some said he was a prophet. one day ah-po caught a fine mountain turtle. it was so large that it took both of ah-po's sons to carry it home. they tied its legs together and hung it on a strong stick, and each son put an end of the stick on his shoulder. ah-po said, "we will not kill the turtle. he is too old to eat, and i think we will keep him and watch the rings grow around his legs each year." so they gave him a corner in the barnyard and fed him rice and water. ah-po had many chickens, and for three months the turtle and chickens lived in peace with each other. but one day all the young chickens came together and laughed at the turtle. then they said to him, "why do you live here so long? why do you not go back to your own place? this small barnyard corner is not so good as your cave in the wilderness. you have only a little sand and grass to live on here. the servant feeds you, but she never gives you any wilderness fruits. you are very large, and you take up too much room. we need all the room there is here. you foolish old thing, do you think our fathers and mothers want you? no. there is not one of our people who likes you. besides, you are not clean. you make too much dirt. the servant girl gave you this water to drink, and your water bowl is even now upside down. you scatter rice on our floor. too many flies come here to see you, and we do not like flies." the turtle waited until they had all finished scolding. then he said, "do you think i came here myself? who put me here, do you know? do you suppose i like to be in jail? you need not be jealous. i never ate any rice that belonged to you or your family. i am not living in your house. what are you complaining about? if our master should take your whole family and sell it, he would only get one piece of silver. who and what are you to talk so much? wait and see; some day i may have the honoured place." some of the chickens went home and told their mother, "we had an argument with the turtle to-day and he had the last word. to-morrow we want you to go with us and show him that a chicken can argue as well as a turtle." the next day all the chickens of the barnyard went to see the turtle. and the old hen said, "my children came here to play yesterday, and you scolded them and drove them away. you said all my family was not worth one piece of silver. you think you are worth many pieces of gold, i suppose. no one likes you. your own master would not eat you. and the market people would never buy a thing so old and tough as you are. but i suppose you will have to stay here in our yard a thousand years or so, until you die. then they will carry you to the wilderness and throw you into the nobody-knows lake." then the turtle answered and said, "i am a mountain turtle. i come from a wise family, and it is not easy for even man to catch me. educated men, doctors, know that i am useful for sickness, but if all the people knew the many ways they could use me, i think there would soon be no more turtles in the world. many chinese know that my skin is good for skin disease, and my forefeet are good for the devil-sickness in children, as they drive the devil away; and then my shells are good for sore throat, and my stomach is good for stomach-ache, and my bones are good for tooth-ache. do you remember that not long ago our master brought three turtle eggs to feed your children? i heard him say: 'those little chickens caught cold in that damp place, and so i must give them some turtle eggs.' i saw your children eat those three eggs, and in two or three days they were well. "so you see the turtle is a useful creature in the world, even to chickens. why do you not leave me in peace? as i must stay here against my will, it is not right that your children should trouble me. sometimes they take all my rice and i go hungry, for our master will not allow me to go outside of this fence to hunt food for myself. i never come to your house and bother you, but your children will not even let me live in peace in the little corner our master gave me. if i had a few of my own people here with me, as you have, i think you would not trouble me. but i have only myself, while you are many. "yesterday your children scolded me and disturbed my peace. to-day you come again; and to-morrow and many to-morrows will see generations and still more unhatched generations of chickens coming here to scold me, i fear; for the length of life of a cackling hen is as a day to me--a mountain turtle. i know the heaven is large, i know the earth is large and made for all creatures alike. but you think the heavens and the earth were both made for you and your chickens only. if you could drive me away to-day you would try to-morrow to drive the dog away, and in time you would think the master himself ought not to have enough of your earth and air to live in. this barnyard is large enough for birds, chickens, ducks, geese, and pigs. it makes our master happy to have us all here." the chickens went away ashamed. talking to each other about it, they said: "the turtle is right. it is foolish to want everything. we barnyard creatures must live at peace with each other until we die. the barnyard is not ours; we use it only a little while." ee-sze (meaning): the creator made the world for all to use, and, while using it, the strong should not try to drive out the weak. the proud fox and the crab one day a fox said to a crab: "crawling thing, did you ever run in all your life?" "yes," said the crab, "i run very often from the mud to the grass and back to the river." "oh, shame!" said the fox, "that is no distance to run. how many feet and legs have you? i have only four. why, if i had as many feet as you have, i would run at least six times as fast as you do. did you know that you are really a very slow, stupid creature? though i have only four feet i run ten times as far as you do. i never heard of any one with so many feet as you have, running so slowly." the crab said: "would you like to run a race with a stupid creature like me? i will try to run as fast as you. i know i am small, so suppose we go to the scales and see how much heavier you are. as you are ten times larger than i, of course you will have to run ten times faster. "another reason why you can run so fast is because you have such a fine tail and hold it so high. if you would allow me to put it down, i do not think you would run any faster than i." "oh, very well," said the fox, contemptuously, "do as you like, and still the race will be so easy for me that i will not even need to try. your many legs and your stupid head do not go very well together. now, if i had my sense and all of your legs, no creature in the forest could outrun me. as it is, there are none that can outwit me. i am known as the sharp-witted. even man says, 'qui-kwat-wui-lai' (sly as a fox). so do what you will, stupid one." "if you will let me tie your beautiful tail down so it will stay," said the crab, "i am sure i can win the race." "oh, no, you cannot," said the fox. "but i will prove to even your stupid, slow brain that it will make no difference. now, how do you wish that i should hold my tail?" said the crab: "if you will allow me to hang something on your tail to hold it down, i am sure you cannot run faster than i." "do as you like," said the fox. "allow me to come nearer," said the crab, "and when i have it fastened to your tail, i will say 'ready!' then you are to start." so the crab crawled behind and caught the fox's tail with his pincers and said, "ready!" the fox ran and ran until he was tired. and when he stopped, there was the crab beside him. "where are you now?" said the crab. "i thought you were to run ten times faster than i. you are not even ahead of me with all your boasting." the fox, panting for breath, hung his head in shame and went away where he might never see the crab again. ee-sze (meaning): a big, proud, boastful mouth, is a worse thing for a man than it is for a fox. the mule and the lion one night the lion was very hungry, but as the creatures of the wilderness knew and feared him even from afar, he could not find food. so he went to visit the young mule that lived near the farmer's house, and when he saw him he smiled blandly and asked, "what do you eat, fair lii, to make you so sleek and fat? what makes your hair so smooth and beautiful? i think your master gives you tender fresh grass and fat young pig to eat." the mule answered, "no, i am fat because i am gentle. my hair is beautiful because i do not fight with other creatures. but why do you come here, sii? are you hungry? i believe you are seeking for food." the lion said, "oh, no, i am not hungry. i only walk around to get the cool, fresh air. and then the night is very beautiful. the moon hangs up in the clear sky with the stars and makes a soft light, and so i came to visit you. would you not like to take a walk with me? i will take you to visit my friend, the pig. i never go to his house alone; i always take a friend with me." the mule asked, "shall we go to any other place?" "yes," answered the lion, "i think we will go to visit another friend of mine who lives not far away." then the mule asked his mother, "will you allow me to go with sii to see his friend?" "who is his friend?" asked the mother. "the farmer's pig." said the mule. "i think it is no harm if you go only there," said the mother mule. "but you must not go anywhere else with sii. the hunter is looking for him, i hear, and you must be careful. do not trust him fully, for i fear he will tempt you to go to some other place or into some wrong thing. if i allow you to go, you must come home before midnight. the moon will not be gone then and you can see to find your way." so the lion and the mule went to visit the pig, who lived in a house in the farmer's yard. but as soon as the pig saw the lion, he called out in a loud voice to his mother. the lion said, "he is afraid of me. i will hide and you may go in first." when the pig saw that the mule was alone, he thought the lion had gone. he opened his door wide and was very friendly to the mule, saying, "come in." but the lion jumped from his hiding place and caught the pig as he came to the door. the pig called to his mother in great fear, and the mule begged the lion, saying, "let the poor little creature go free." but the lion said, "no, indeed; i have many pigs at my house. it is better for him to go with me." then the lion carried the pig, while the mule followed. soon they came to where a fine looking dog lay on some hay behind a net. the lion did not seem to see the net, for he dropped the pig and tried to catch the dog, who cried loudly for mercy. but the lion said to the foolish mule, "see how rude the dog is to us. we came to visit him and he makes a loud noise and tries to call the hunter so that he will drive us away. i have never been so insulted. come here, lii-tsze, at once and help me!" the mule went to the lion and the net fell and caught them both. at sunrise the hunter came and found the mule and the lion in his net. the mule begged earnestly and said, "hunter, you know me and you know my mother. we are your friends and we do no wrong. set me free, oh, hunter, set me free!" the hunter said, "no, i will not set you free. you may be good, but you are in bad company and must take what it brings. i will take you and the lion both to the market place and sell you for silver. that is my right. i am a hunter. if you get in my net, that is your business. if i catch you, that is my business." ee-sze (meaning): bad company is a dangerous thing for man or beast. the lion and the mosquitoes one day ah-fou's father said to him, "come here, my boy, and i will tell you a story. do you remember the great lion we saw one day, which ah-kay caught? you know a strong rope held him, and he roared and tried to free himself until he died. then when ah-kay took him from the net, he looked at the rope and the bamboo carefully, and found five of the great ropes broken. "how strong is the lion? twenty children like you could not break one strand of that great rope. but the lion broke five complete ropes. he is the strongest of all animals. he catches many creatures for his food, but once he lost a battle with one of the least of the wilderness creatures. do you know what it was?" "a bird could fight and then fly away. was it a bird?" "no, my son." "a man is stronger than a lion." "no; do you not remember the woodcutter who could put down five strong men? one night a wilderness lion caught and killed him." "then what was the smallest of all creatures of the wilderness that battled with a lion?" the father said, "i will tell you the story: once in the summer time the lion was very thirsty. but the sun had taken all the water near the lion's home and he went to many places seeking for it. in time he found an old well, but the water was not fresh. as the lion was very thirsty, he said, 'i must drink, even though the water is stale.' "but when he reached down into the old well, he found that it was the home of all the mosquitoes of the wilderness. "the mosquitoes said to the lion, 'go away, we do not want you. this is our home and we are happy. we do not wish the lion, the fox, or the bear to come here. you are not our friend. why do you come?" "the lion roared and said, 'weak and foolish things! i am the lion. it is you that should go away, for i have come to drink. this is my wilderness, and i am king. do you know, weak things, that when i come out from my place and send forth my voice, all the creatures of the wilderness shake like leaves and bow their heads to me? what are you that you should have a place you call your home and tell me that i may or i may not?' "then the mosquitoes answered, 'you are only one. you speak as if you were many. our people had this old well for a home before your roar was heard in the wilderness. and many generations of us have been born here. this home is ours, and we are they that say who shall come or go. and yet you come and tell us to go out of our own door. if you do not leave us, we will call our people, and you shall know trouble.' "but the lion held his head high with pride and anger and said, 'what are you, oh, small of the small? i will kill every one of your useless people. when i drink, i will open my mouth only a little wider, and you shall be swallowed like the water. and to-morrow i shall forget that i drank to-day.' "'boastful one,' said the mosquitoes, 'we do not believe that you have the power to destroy all our people. if you wish battle, we shall see. we know your name is great and that all animals bow their heads before you; but our people can kill you.' "the lion jumped high in his rage and said, 'no other creature in the wilderness has dared to say these things to me--the king. have i come to the vile well of the silly mosquitoes for wisdom?' and he held his head high, and gave the mighty roar of battle, and made ready to kill all the mosquitoes. "then the mosquitoes, big and little, flew around him. many went into his ears, and the smallest ones went into his nose, and the big old ones went into his mouth to sting. a thousand and a thousand hung in the air just over his head and made a great noise, and the lion soon knew that he could not conquer. "he roared and jumped, and two of his front feet went down into the well. the well was narrow and deep and he could not get out, for his two hind feet were in the air and his head hung downward. and as he died, he said to himself: "'my pride and anger have brought me this fate. had i used gentle words, the mosquitoes might have given me water for my thirst. i was wise and strong in the wilderness, and even the greatest of the animals feared my power. but i fought with the mosquitoes and i die--not because i have not strength to overcome, but because of the foolishness of anger." ee-sze (meaning): the wise can conquer the foolish. power is nothing, strength is nothing. the wise, gentle and careful can always win. fables of la fontaine* "of fables judge not by their face; they give the simplest brute a teacher's place. bare precepts were inert and tedious things; the story gives them life and wings." jean de la fontaine *translated by elizur wright, jr. fables of la fontaine the grasshopper and the ant a grasshopper gay sang the summer away, and found herself poor by the winter's first roar. of meat or of bread, not a morsel she had! so a-begging she went, to her neighbour the ant, for the loan of some wheat, which would serve her to eat, till the season came round. "i will pay you," she saith, "on an animal's faith, double weight in the pound ere the harvest be bound." the ant is a friend-- (and here she might mend) little given to lend. "how spent you the summer?" quoth she, looking shame at the borrowing dame. "night and day to each comer i sang, if you please." "you sang! i'm at ease, for 'tis plain at a glance, now, ma'am, you must dance." the swan and the cook the pleasures of a poultry yard were by a swan and gosling shared. the swan was kept there for his looks, the thrifty gosling for the cooks; the first the garden's pride, the latter a greater favourite on the platter. they swam the ditches, side by side, and oft in sports aquatic vied, plunging, splashing far and wide, with rivalry ne'er satisfied. one day the cook, named thirsty john, sent for the gosling, took the swan, in haste his throat to cut, and put him in the pot. the bird's complaint resounded in glorious melody; whereat the cook, astounded his sad mistake to see, cried, "what! make soup of a musician! please god, i'll never set such dish on. no, no; i'll never cut a throat that sings so passing sweet a note." _'tis thus, whatever peril may alarm us, sweet words will surely never harm us_. the hornets and the bees "the artist by his work is known." a piece of honey-comb, one day, discovered as a waif and stray, the hornets treated as their own. their title did the bees dispute, and brought before a wasp the suit. the judge was puzzled to decide, for nothing could be testified save that around this honey-comb there had been seen, as if at home, some longish, brownish, buzzing creatures, much like the bees in wings and features. but what of that? for marks the same, the hornets, too, could truly claim. between assertion and denial, the wasp, in doubt, proclaimed new trial; and, hearing what an ant-hill swore, could see no clearer than before. "what use, i pray, of this expense?" at last exclaim'd a bee of sense. "we've laboured months in this affair, and now are only where we were. meanwhile the honey runs to waste: 'tis time the judge should show some haste. both sides have had sufficient bleeding, without more fuss of scrawls and pleading. let's set to work, these drones and we, and then all eyes the truth may see, whose art it is that can produce the magic cells, the nectar juice." the hornets, flinching on their part, show that the work transcends their art. the wasp at length their title sees, and gives the honey to the bees. _oh, would that suits at law with us might every one be managed thus!_ the two rats, the fox, and the egg two rats in foraging fell on an egg-- for gentry such as they a genteel dinner every way; they needed not to find an ox's leg. brimful of joy and appetite, they were about to sack the box, so tight without the aid of locks, when suddenly there came in sight a personage--sir slyboots fox. sure, luck was never more untoward since fortune was a vixen froward! how should they save their egg--and bacon? their plunder couldn't then be bagg'd. should it in forward paws be taken, or roll'd along, or dragg'd? each method seem'd impossible, and each was then of danger full. necessity, ingenious mother, brought forth what help'd them from their pother. as still there was a chance to save their prey, the sponger yet some hundred yards away-- one seized the egg, and turned upon his back, and then, in spite of many a thump and thwack, that would have torn, perhaps, a coat of mail, the other dragg'd him by the tail. who dares the inference to blink, that beasts possess wherewith to think? _were i commission'd to bestow this power on creatures here below, the beasts should have as much of mind as infants of the human kind._ the lion's share the heifer, the goat, and their sister the sheep, compacted their earnings in common to keep, 'tis said, in time past, with a lion, who swayed full lordship o'er neighbours, of whatever grade. the goat, as it happened, a stag having snared, sent off to the rest, that the beast might be shared. all gathered; the lion first counts on his claws, and says, "we'll proceed to divide with our paws the stag into pieces, as fix'd by our laws." this done, he announces part first as his own; "'tis mine," he says, "truly, as lion alone." to such a decision there's nought to be said, as he who has made it is doubtless the head. "well, also, the second to me should belong; 'tis mine, be it known, by the right of the strong. again, as the bravest, the third must be mine. to touch but the fourth whoso maketh a sign, i'll choke him to death in the space of a breath!" the shepherd and his dog a shepherd, with a single dog, was ask'd the reason why he kept a dog, whose least supply amounted to a loaf of bread for every day. the people said he'd better give the animal to guard the village seignior's hall; for him, a shepherd, it would be a thriftier economy to keep small curs, say two or three, that would not cost him half the food, and yet for watching be as good. the fools, perhaps, forgot to tell if they would fight the wolf as well. the silly shepherd, giving heed, cast off his dog of mastiff breed, and took three dogs to watch his cattle, which ate far less, but fled in battle. _not vain our tale, if it convinces small states that 'tis a wiser thing to trust a single powerful king, than half a dozen petty princes._ the old man and the ass an old man, riding on his ass, had found a spot of thrifty grass, and there turn'd loose his weary beast. old grizzle, pleased with such a feast, flung up his heels, and caper'd round, then roll'd and rubb'd upon the ground, and frisk'd and browsed and bray'd, and many a clean spot made. arm'd men came on them as he fed: "let's fly!" in haste the old man said. "and wherefore so?" the ass replied; "with heavier burdens will they ride?" "no," said the man, already started, "then," cried the ass, as he departed. "i'll stay, and be--no matter whose; save you yourself, and leave me loose, but let me tell you, ere you go (i speak plain english, as you know), my master is my only foe." the lion going to war the lion had an enterprise in hand; held a war-council, sent his provost-marshal, and gave the animals a call impartial-- each, in his way, to serve his high command. the elephant should carry on his back the tools of war, the mighty public pack, and fight in elephantine way and form; the bear should hold himself prepared to storm; the fox all secret stratagems should fix; the monkey should amuse the foe by tricks. "dismiss," said one, "the blockhead asses, and hares, too cowardly and fleet." "no," said the king; "i use all classes; without their aid my force were incomplete. the ass shall be our trumpeter, to scare our enemy. and then the nimble hare our royal bulletins shall homeward bear." _a monarch provident and wise will hold his subjects all of consequence, and know in each what talent lies. there's nothing useless to a man of sense._ the ass and the lap-dog one's native talent from its course cannot be turned aside by force; but poorly apes the country clown the polish'd manners of the town. their maker chooses but a few with power of pleasing to imbue; where wisely leave it we, the mass, unlike a certain fabled ass, that thought to gain his master's blessing by jumping on him and caressing. "what!" said the donkey in his heart; "ought it to be that puppy's part to lead his useless life in full companionship with master and his wife, while i must bear the whip? what doth the cur a kiss to draw forsooth, he only gives his paw! if that is all there needs to please, i'll do the thing myself, with ease." possess'd with this bright notion-- his master sitting on his chair, at leisure in the open air-- he ambled up, with awkward motion, and put his talents to the proof; upraised his bruised and batter'd hoof, and, with an amiable mien, his master patted on the chin, the action gracing with a word-- the fondest bray that e'er was heard! oh, such caressing was there ever? or melody with such a quaver? "ho! martin! here! a club, a club bring!" out cried the master, sore offended. so martin gave the ass a drubbing-- and so the comedy was ended. the hare and the partridge a field in common share a partridge and a hare, and live in peaceful state, till, woeful to relate! the hunters mingled cry compels the hare to fly. he hurries to his fort, and spoils almost the sport by faulting every hound that yelps upon the ground. at last his reeking heat betrays his snug retreat. old tray, with philosophic nose, snuffs carefully, and grows so certain, that he cries, "the hare is here; bow wow!" and veteran ranger now-- the dog that never lies-- "the hare is gone," replies. alas! poor, wretched hare, back comes he to his lair, to meet destruction there! the partridge, void of fear, begins her friend to jeer:-- "you bragg'd of being fleet; how serve you, now, your feet?" scarce has she ceased to speak-- the laugh yet in her beak-- when comes her turn to die, from which she could not fly. she thought her wings, indeed, enough for every need; but in her laugh and talk, forgot the cruel hawk! the weasel in the granary a weasel through a hole contrived to squeeze, (she was recovering from disease), which led her to a farmer's hoard. there lodged, her wasted form she cherish'd; heaven knows the lard and victuals stored that by her gnawing perish'd! of which the consequence was sudden corpulence. a week or so was past, when having fully broken fast, a noise she heard, and hurried to find the hole by which she came, and seem'd to find it not the same; so round she ran, most sadly flurried; and, coming back, thrust out her head, which, sticking there, she said, "this is the hole, there can't be blunder: what makes it now so small, i wonder, where, but the other day, i pass'd with ease?" a rat her trouble sees, and cries, "but with an emptier belly; you entered lean, and lean must sally." the wolf turned shepherd a wolf, whose gettings from the flocks began to be but few, bethought himself to play the fox in character quite new. a shepherd's hat and coat he took, a cudgel for a crook, nor e'en the pipe forgot: and more to seem what he was not, himself upon his hat he wrote, "i'm willie, shepherd of these sheep." his person thus complete, his crook in upraised feet, the impostor willie stole upon the keep. the proper willie, on the grass asleep, slept there, indeed, profoundly, his dog and pipe slept, also soundly; his drowsy sheep around lay. as for the greatest number, much bless'd the hypocrite their slumber and hoped to drive away the flock, could he the shepherd's voice but mock. he thought undoubtedly he could. he tried: the tone in which he spoke, loud echoing from the wood, the plot and slumber broke; sheep, dog, and man awoke. the wolf, in sorry plight, in hampering coat bedight, could neither run nor fight. _there's always leakage of deceit which makes it never safe to cheat, whoever is a wolf had better keep clear of hypocritic fetter._ the lion and the ass hunting the king of animals, with royal grace, would celebrate his birthday in the chase. twas not with bow and arrows, to slay some wretched sparrows; the lion hunts the wild boar of the wood, the antlered deer and stags, the fat and good. this time, the king, t' insure success, took for his aide-de-camp an ass, a creature of stentorian voice, that felt much honoured by the choice. the lion hid him in a proper station, and ordered him to bray, for his vocation, assured that his tempestuous cry the boldest beasts would terrify, and cause them from their lairs to fly. and, sooth, the horrid noise the creature made did strike the tenants of the wood with dread; and, as they headlong fled, all fell within the lion's ambuscade. "has not my service glorious made both of us victorious?" cried out the much-elated ass. "yes," said the lion; "bravely bray'd! had i not known yourself and race, i should have been myself afraid!" the donkey, had he dared, with anger would have flared at this retort, though justly made; for who could suffer boasts to pass so ill-befitting to an ass? the oak and the reed the oak one day address'd the reed: "to you ungenerous indeed has nature been, my humble friend, with weakness aye obliged to bend. the smallest bird that flits in air is quite too much for you to bear; the slightest wind that wreathes the lake your ever-trembling head doth shake. the while, my towering form dares with the mountain top the solar blaze to stop, and wrestle with the storm. what seems to you the blast of death, to me is but a zephyr's breath. beneath my branches had you grown, less suffering would your life have known, unhappily you oftenest show in open air your slender form, along the marshes wet and low, that fringe the kingdom of the storm. to you, declare i must, dame nature seems unjust." then modestly replied the reed: "your pity, sir, is kind indeed, but wholly needless for my sake. the wildest wind that ever blew is safe to me compared with you. i bend, indeed, but never break. thus far, i own, the hurricane has beat your sturdy back in vain; but wait the end." just at the word, the tempest's hollow voice was heard. the north sent forth her fiercest child, dark, jagged, pitiless, and wild. the oak, erect, endured the blow; the reed bow'd gracefully and low. but, gathering up its strength once more, in greater fury than before, the savage blast o'erthrew, at last, that proud, old, sky-encircled head, whose feet entwined the empire of the dead! the bat and the two weasels a blundering bat once stuck her head into a wakeful weasel's bed; whereat the mistress of the house, a deadly foe of rats and mice, was making ready in a trice to eat the stranger as a mouse. "what! do you dare," she said, "to creep in the very bed i sometimes sleep in, now, after all the provocation i've suffered from your thievish nation? it's plain to see you are a mouse, that gnawing pest of every house, your special aim to do the cheese ill. ay, that you are, or i'm no weasel." "i beg your pardon," said the bat; "my kind is very far from that. what! i a mouse! who told you such a lie? why, ma'am, i am a bird; and, if you doubt my word, just see the wings with which i fly. long live the mice that cleave the sky!" these reasons had so fair a show, the weasel let the creature go. by some strange fancy led, the same wise blunderhead, but two or three days later, had chosen for her rest another weasel's nest, this last, of birds a special hater. new peril brought this step absurd: without a moment's thought or puzzle, dame weasel, oped her peaked muzzle to eat th' intruder as a bird. "hold! do not wrong me," cried the bat; "i'm truly no such thing as that. your eyesight strange conclusions gathers. what makes a bird, i pray? its feathers. i'm cousin of the mice and rats. great jupiter confound the cats!" the bat, by such adroit replying, twice saved herself from dying. _and many a human stranger thus turns his coat in danger; and sings, as suits, where'er he goes, "god save the king!"--or "save his foes!_" the dove and the ant a dove came to a brook to drink, when, leaning o'er its crumbling brink, an ant fell in, and vainly tried, in this, to her, an ocean tide, to reach the land; whereat the dove, with every living thing in love, was prompt a spire of grass to throw her, by which the ant regained the shore. a barefoot scamp, both mean and sly, soon after chanced this dove to spy; and, being arm'd with bow and arrow, the hungry codger doubted not the bird of venus, in his pot, would make a soup before the morrow. just as his deadly bow he drew, our ant just bit his heel. roused by the villain's squeal, the dove took timely hint, and flew far from the rascal's coop-- and with her flew his soup. the cock and the fox upon a tree there mounted guard a veteran cock, adroit and cunning; when to the roots a fox up running, spoke thus, in tones of kind regard: "our quarrel, brother, 's at an end; henceforth i hope to live your friend; for peace now reigns throughout the animal domains. i bear the news--come down, i pray, and give me the embrace fraternal; and please, my brother, don't delay. so much the tidings do concern all, that i must spread them far to-day. now you and yours can take your walks without a fear or thought of hawks. and should you clash with them or others, in us you'll find the best of brothers; for which you may, this joyful night, your merry bonfires light. but, first, let's seal the bliss with one fraternal kiss." the cock replied, "upon my word, a better thing i never heard; and doubly i rejoice to hear it from your voice; there really must be something in it, for yonder come two greyhounds, which i flatter myself are couriers on this very matter. they come so fast, they'll be here in a minute. i'll down, and all of us will seal the blessing with general kissing and caressing." "adieu," said fox; "my errand's pressing; i'll hurry on my way, and we'll rejoice some other day." so off the fellow scampered, quick and light, to gain the fox-holes of a neighbouring height, less happy in his stratagem than flight. the cock laugh'd sweetly in his sleeve-- 'tis doubly sweet deceiver to deceive. the wolf, the goat, and the kid as went a goat of grass to take her fill, and browse the herbage of a distant hill, she latch'd her door, and bid, with matron care, her kid; "my daughter, as you live, this portal don't undo to any creature who this watchword does not give: 'deuce take the wolf and all his race'!" the wolf was passing near the place by chance, and heard the words with pleasure, and laid them up as useful treasure; and hardly need we mention, escaped the goat's attention. no sooner did he see the matron off, than he, with hypocritic tone and face, cried out before the place, "deuce take the wolf and all his race!" not doubting thus to gain admission. the kid, not void of all suspicion, peer'd through a crack, and cried, "show me white paw before you ask me to undo the door." the wolf could not, if he had died, for wolves have no connection with paws of that complexion. so, much surprised, our gourmandiser retired to fast till he was wiser. _how would the kid have been undone had she but trusted to the word the wolf by chance had overheard! two sureties better are than one; and cautions worth its cost, though sometimes seeming lost._ the fox, the monkey, and the animals left kingless by the lion's death, the beasts once met, our story saith, some fit successor to install. forth from a dragon-guarded, moated place, the crown was brought and, taken from its case, and being tried by turns on all, the heads of most were found too small; some horned were, and some too big; not one would fit the regal gear. forever ripe for such a rig, the monkey, looking very queer, approached with antics and grimaces, and, after scores of monkey faces, with what would seem a gracious stoop, pass'd through the crown as through a hoop. the beasts, diverted with the thing, did homage to him as their king. the fox alone the vote regretted, but yet in public never fretted. when he his compliments had paid to royalty, thus newly made, "great sire, i know a place," said he, "where lies conceal'd a treasure, which, by the right of royalty, should bide your royal pleasure." the king lack'd not an appetite for such financial pelf, and, not to lose his royal right, ran straight to see it for himself. it was a trap, and he was caught. said reynard, "would you have it thought, you ape, that you can fill a throne, and guard the rights of all, alone. not knowing how to guard your own?" _the beasts all gathered from the farce, that stuff for kings is very scarce._ the rat and the oyster a country rat of little brains, grown weary of inglorious rest, left home with all its straws and grains, resolved to know beyond his nest. when peeping through the nearest fence, "how big the world is, how immense!" he cried; "there rise the alps, and that is doubtless famous ararat." his mountains were the works of moles, or dirt thrown up in digging holes! some days of travel brought him where the tide had left the oysters bare. since here our traveller saw the sea, he thought these shells the ships must be. "my father was, in truth," said he, "a coward, and an ignoramus; he dared not travel: as for me, i've seen the ships and ocean famous; have cross'd the deserts without drinking, and many dangerous streams, unshrinking." among the shut-up shell-fish, one was gaping widely at the sun; it breathed, and drank the air's perfume, expanding, like a flower in bloom. both white and fat, its meat appear'd a dainty treat. our rat, when he this shell espied, thought for his stomach to provide. "if not mistaken in the matter," said he, "no meat was ever fatter, or in its flavour half so fine, as that on which to-day i dine." thus full of hope, the foolish chap thrust in his head to taste, and felt the pinching of a trap-- the oyster closed in haste. _now those to whom the world is new are wonder-struck at every view; and the marauder finds his match when he is caught who thinks to catch._ the ass and the dog along the road an ass and dog one master following, did jog. their master slept: meanwhile, the ass applied his nippers to the grass, much pleased in such a place to stop, though there no thistle he could crop. he would not be too delicate, nor spoil a dinner for a plate, which, but for that, his favourite dish, were all that any ass could wish. "my dear companion," towser said-- "'tis as a starving dog i ask it-- pray lower down your loaded basket, and let me get a piece of bread." no answer--not a word!--indeed, the truth was, our arcadian steed fear'd lest, for every moment's flight, his nimble teeth should lose a bite. at last, "i counsel you," said he, "to wait till master is himself awake, who then, unless i much mistake, will give his dog the usual bait." meanwhile, there issued from the wood a creature of the wolfish brood, himself by famine sorely pinch'd. at sight of him the donkey flinch'd, and begg'd the dog to give him aid. the dog budged not, but answer made, "i counsel thee, my friend, to run, till master's nap is fairly done; there can, indeed, be no mistake that he will very soon awake; till then, scud off with all your might; and should he snap you in your flight, this ugly wolf--why, let him feel the greeting of your well-shod heel. i do not doubt, at all, but that will be enough to lay him flat." but ere he ceased it was too late; the ass had met his cruel fate. the monkey and the leopard a monkey and a leopard were the rivals at a country fair. each advertised his own attractions. said one, "good sirs, the highest place my merit knows; for, of his grace, the king hath seen me face to face; and, judging by his looks and actions, i gave the best of satisfactions. when i am dead, 'tis plain enough, my skin will make his royal muff. so richly is it streak'd and spotted, so delicately waved and dotted, its various beauty cannot fail to please." and, thus invited, everybody sees; but soon they see, and soon depart. the monkey's show-bill to the mart his merits thus sets forth the while, all in his own peculiar style: "come, gentlemen, i pray you, come; in magic arts i am at home. the whole variety in which my neighbour boasts himself so rich is to his simple skin confined, while mine is living in the mind. for i can speak, you understand; can dance, and practise sleight-of-hand; can jump through hoops, and balance sticks; in short, can do a thousand tricks; one penny is my charge to you, and, if you think the price won't do, when you have seen, then i'll restore, each man his money at the door." _the ape was not to reason blind; for who in wealth of dress can find such charms as dwell in wealth of mind? one meets our ever-new desires, the other in a moment tires. alas! how many lords there are, of mighty sway and lofty mien, who, like this leopard at the fair, show all their talents on the skin!_ the rat and the elephant a rat, of quite the smallest size, fix'd on an elephant his eyes, and jeer'd the beast of high descent because his feet so slowly went. upon his back, three stories high, there sat, beneath a canopy, a certain sultan of renown, his dog, and cat, and wife sublime, his parrot, servant, and his wine, all pilgrims to a distant town. the rat profess'd to be amazed that all the people stood and gazed with wonder, as he pass'd the road, both at the creature and his load. "as if," said he, "to occupy a little more of land or sky made one, in view of common sense, of greater worth and consequence! what see ye, men, in this parade, that food for wonder need be made? the bulk which makes a child afraid? in truth, i take myself to be, in all aspects, as good as he." and further might have gone his vaunt; but, darting down, the cat convinced him that a rat is smaller than an elephant. the acorn and the pumpkin god's works are good. this truth to prove around the world i need not move; i do it by the nearest pumpkin. "this fruit so large, on vine so small," surveying once, exclaim'd a bumpkin-- "what could he mean who made us all? he's left this pumpkin out of place. if i had order'd in the case, upon that oak it should have hung---- a noble fruit as ever swung to grace a tree so firm and strong. indeed, it was a great mistake, as this discovery teaches, that i myself did not partake his counsels whom my curate preaches. all things had then in order come; this acorn, for example, not bigger than my thumb, had not disgraced a tree so ample. the more i think, the more i wonder to see outraged proportion's laws, and that without the slightest cause; god surely made an awkward blunder." with such reflections proudly fraught, our sage grew tired of mighty thought, and threw himself on nature's lap, beneath an oak, to take his nap. plump on his nose, by lucky hap, an acorn fell: he waked, and in the scarf he wore beneath his chin, he found the cause of such a bruise as made him different language use. "oh! oh!" he cried; "i bleed! i bleed! and this is what has done the deed! but, truly, what had been my fate, had this had half a pumpkin's weight! i see that god had reasons good, and all his works were understood." thus home he went in humbler mood. the cat and the fox the cat and fox, when saints were all the rage together went upon pilgrimage. our pilgrims, as a thing of course, disputed till their throats were hoarse. then, dropping to a lower tone, they talk'd of this, and talk'd of that, till reynard whisper'd to the cat, "you think yourself a knowing one: how many cunning tricks have you? for i've a hundred, old and new, all ready in my haversack." the cat replied, "i do not lack, though with but one provided; and, truth to honour, for that matter, i hold it than a thousand better." in fresh dispute they sided; and loudly were they at it, when approach'd a mob of dogs and men. "now," said the cat, "your tricks ransack, and put your cunning brains to rack, one life to save; i'll show you mine-- a trick, you see, for saving nine." with that, she climb'd a lofty pine. the fox his hundred ruses tried, and yet no safety found. a hundred times he falsified. the nose of every hound was here, and there, and everywhere, above, and under ground; but yet to stop he did not dare, pent in a hole, it was no joke, to meet the terriers or the smoke. so, leaping into upper air, he met two dogs, that choked him there. _expedients may be too many, consuming time to choose and try. on one, but that as good as any, 'tis best in danger to rely._ the city rat and the country rat a city rat, one night did with a civil stoop a country rat invite to end a turtle soup. upon a turkey carpet they found the table spread, and sure i need not harp it how well the fellows fed. the entertainment was a truly noble one; but some unlucky cause disturbed it when begun it was a slight rat-tat, that put their joys to rout; out ran the city rat; his guest, too, scampered out. our rats but fairly quit, the fearful knocking ceased, "return we," said the cit, "to finish there our feast." "no," said the rustic rat; "to-morrow dine with me. i'm not offended at your feast so grand and free, "for i've no fare resembling; but then i eat at leisure, and would not swap for pleasure so mixed with fear and trembling." the ploughman and his sons a wealthy ploughman drawing near his end call'd in his sons apart from every friend, and said, "when of your sire bereft, the heritage our fathers left guard well, nor sell a single field. a treasure in it is conceal'd: the place, precisely, i don't know, but industry will serve to show. the harvest past. time's forelock take, and search with plough, and spade, and rake; turn over every inch of sod, nor leave unsearch'd a single clod." the father died. the sons in vain-- turn'd o'er the soil, and o'er again; that year their acres bore more grain than e'er before. though hidden money found they none, yet had their father wisely done, to show by such a measure that toil itself is treasure. _the farmer's patient care and toil are oftener wanting than the soil._ the fox, the wolf, and the horse a fox, though young, by no means raw, had seen a horse, the first he ever saw: "ho! neighbour wolf," said he to one quite green, "a creature in our meadow i have seen-- sleek, grand! i seem to see him yet-- the finest beast i ever met." "is he a stouter one than we?" the wolf demanded, eagerly; "some picture of him let me see." "if i could paint," said fox, "i should delight t' anticipate your pleasure at the sight; but come; who knows? perhaps it is a prey by fortune offer'd in our way." they went. the horse, turn'd loose to graze, not liking much their looks and ways, was just about to gallop off. "sir," said the fox, "your humble servants, we make bold to ask you what your name may be." the horse, an animal with brains enough, replied, "sirs, you yourselves may read my name; my shoer round my heel hath writ the same." the fox excus'd himself for want of knowledge: "me, sir, my parents did not educate, so poor, a hole was their entire estate. my friend, the wolf, however, taught at college, could read it, were it even greek." the wolf, to flattery weak, approached to verify the boast; for which four teeth he lost. the high raised hoof came down with such a blow as laid him bleeding on the ground full low. "my brother," said the fox, "this shows how just what once was taught me by a fox of wit-- which on thy jaws this animal hath writ-- 'all unknown things the wise mistrust.'" the woodman and mercury a man that laboured in the wood had lost his honest livelihood; that is to say, his axe was gone astray. he had no tools to spare; this wholly earn'd his fare. without a hope beside, he sat him down and cried, "alas, my axe! where can it be? o jove! but send it back to me, and it shall strike good blows for thee." his prayer in high olympus heard, swift mercury started at the word. "your axe must not be lost," said he: "now, will you know it when you see? an axe i found upon the road." with that an axe of gold he show'd. "is't this?" the woodman answer'd, "nay." an axe of silver, bright and gay, refused the honest woodman too. at last the finder brought to view an axe of iron, steel, and wood. "that's mine," he said, in joyful mood; "with that i'll quite contented be." the god replied, "i give the three, as due reward of honesty." this luck when neighbouring choppers knew, they lost their axes, not a few, and sent their prayers to jupiter so fast, he knew not which to hear. his winged son, however, sent with gold and silver axes, went. each would have thought himself a fool not to have own'd the richest tool. but mercury promptly gave, instead of it, a blow upon the head. _with simple truth to be contented, is surest not to be repented: but still there are who would with evil trap the good, whose cunning is but stupid, for jove is never duped._ the eagle and the owl the eagle and the owl, resolved to cease their war, embraced in pledge of peace. on faith of king, on faith of owl, they swore that they would eat each other's chicks no more. "but know you mine?" said wisdom's bird. "not i, indeed," the eagle cried. "the worse for that," the owl replied: "i fear your oath's a useless word; i fear that you, as king, will not consider duly who or what: adieu, my young, if you should meet them!" "describe them, then, and i'll not eat them," the eagle said. the owl replied: "my little ones, i say with pride, for grace of form cannot be match'd-- the prettiest birds that e'er were hatch'd; by this you cannot fail to know them; 'tis needless, therefore, that i show them." at length god gives the owl some heirs, and while at early eve abroad he fares, in quest of birds and mice for food, our eagle haply spies the brood, as on some craggy rock they sprawl, or nestle in some ruined wall, (but which it matters not at all,) and thinks them ugly little frights, grim, sad, with voice like shrieking sprites. "these chicks," says he, "with looks almost infernal, can't be the darlings of our friend nocturnal. i'll sup of them." and so he did, not slightly: he never sups, if he can help it, lightly. the owl return'd; and, sad, he found nought left but claws upon the ground. he pray'd the gods above and gods below to smite the brigand who had caused his woe. quoth one, "on you alone the blame must fall; thinking your like the loveliest of all, you told the eagle of your young ones' graces; you gave the picture of their faces: had it of likeness any traces?" the earthen pot and the iron pot an iron pot proposed to an earthen pot a journey. the latter was opposed, expressing the concern he had felt about the danger of going out a ranger. he thought the kitchen hearth the safest place on earth for one so very brittle. "for thee, who art a kettle, and hast a tougher skin, there's nought to keep thee in." "i'll be thy bodyguard," replied the iron pot; "if anything that's hard should threaten thee a jot, between you i will go, and save thee from the blow." this offer him persuaded. the iron pot paraded himself as guard and guide close at his cousin's side. now, in their tripod way, they hobble as they may; and eke together bolt at every little jolt-- which gives the crockery pain; but presently his comrade hits so hard, he dashes him to bits, before he can complain. _take care that you associate with equals only, lest your fate between these pots should find its mate._ the wolf and the lean dog a troutling, some time since, endeavoured vainly to convince a hungry fisherman of his unfitness for the frying-pan. the fisherman had reason good-- the troutling did the best he could-- both argued for their lives. now, if my present purpose thrives, i'll prop my former proposition by building on a small addition. a certain wolf, in point of wit the prudent fisher's opposite, a dog once finding far astray, prepared to take him as his prey. the dog his leanness plead; "your lordship, sure," he said, "cannot be very eager to eat a dog so meagre. to wait a little do not grudge: the wedding of my master's only daughter will cause of fatted calves and fowls a slaughter; and then, as you yourself can judge, i cannot help becoming fatter." the wolf, believing, waived the matter, and so, some days therefrom, return'd with sole design to see if fat enough his dog might be. the rogue was now at home: he saw the hunter through the fence. "my friend," said he, "please wait; i'll be with you a moment hence, and fetch our porter of the gate." this porter was a dog immense, that left to wolves no future tense. suspicion gave our wolf a jog-- it might not be so safely tamper'd. "my service to your porter dog," was his reply, as off he scampered. his legs proved better than his head, and saved him life to learn his trade. the ears of the hare some beast with horns did gore the lion; and that sovereign dread, resolved to suffer so no more, straight banish'd from his realm, 'tis said, all sorts of beasts with horns-- rams, bulls, goats, stags, and unicorns. such brutes all promptly fled. a hare, the shadow of his ears perceiving, could hardly help believing that some vile spy for horns would take them, and food for accusation make them. "adieu," said he, "my neighbour cricket; i take my foreign ticket. my ears, should i stay here, will turn to horns, i fear; and were they shorter than a bird's, i fear the effect of words." "these horns!" the cricket answered; "why, god made them ears who can deny?" "yes," said the coward, "still they'll make them horns, and horns, perhaps, of unicorns! in vain shall i protest, with all the learning of the schools: my reasons they will send to rest in th' hospital of fools." the ass carrying relics an ass, with relics for his load, supposed the worship on the road meant for himself alone, and took on lofty airs, receiving as his own the incense and the prayers. some one, who saw his great mistake, cried, "master donkey, do not make yourself so big a fool. not you they worship, but your pack; they praise the idols on your back, and count yourself a paltry tool." _'tis thus a brainless magistrate is honoured for his robe of state._ the two mules two mules were bearing on their backs, one, oats; the other, silver of the tax. the latter glorying in his load, march'd proudly forward on the road; and, from the jingle of his bell, 'twas plain he liked his burden well. but in a wild-wood glen a band of robber men rush'd forth upon the twain. well with the silver pleased, they by the bridle seized the treasure mule so vain. poor mule! in struggling to repel his ruthless foes, he fell stabb'd through; and with a bitter sighing, he cried: "is this the lot they promised me? my humble friend from danger free, while, weltering in my gore, i'm dying?" "my friend," his fellow-mule replied, "it is not well to have one's work too high. if thou hadst been a miller's drudge, as i, thou wouldst not thus have died." the lion and the gnat "go, paltry insect, nature's meanest brat!" thus said the royal lion to the gnat. the gnat declared immediate war. "think you," said he, "your royal name to me worth caring for? think you i tremble at your power or fame? the ox is bigger far than you; yet him i drive, and all his crew." this said, as one that did no fear owe, himself he blew the battle charge, himself both trumpeter and hero. at first he play'd about at large, then on the lion's neck, at leisure, settled, and there the royal beast full sorely nettled. with foaming mouth, and flashing eye, he roars. all creatures hide or fly-- such mortal terror at the work of one poor gnat! with constant change of his attack, the snout now stinging, now the back, and now the chambers of the nose; the pigmy fly no mercy shows. the lion's rage was at its height; his viewless foe now laugh'd outright, when on his battle-ground he saw, that every savage tooth and claw had got its proper beauty by doing bloody duty; himself, the hapless lion tore his hide, and lash'd with sounding tail from side to side. ah! bootless blow, and bite, and curse! he beat the harmless air, and worse; for, though so fierce and stout, by effort wearied out, he fainted, fell, gave up the quarrel; the gnat retires with verdant laurel. _we often have the most to fear from those we most despise; again, great risks a man may clear who by the smallest dies._ the countryman and the serpent a countryman, as aesop certifies, a charitable man, but not so wise, one day in winter found, stretched on the snowy ground, a chill'd or frozen snake, as torpid as a stake, and, if alive, devoid of sense. he took him up, and bore him home, and, thinking not what recompense for such a charity would come, before the fire stretch'd him, and back to being fetch'd him. the snake scarce felt the genial heat before his heart with native malice beat. he raised his head, thrust out his forked tongue, coil'd up, and at his benefactor sprung. "ungrateful wretch!" said he, "is this the way my care and kindness you repay? now you shall die." with that his axe he takes, and with two blows three serpents makes. trunk, head, and tail were separate snakes; and, leaping up with all their might, they vainly sought to reunite. _'tis good and lovely to be kind; but charity should not be blind; for as to wretchedness ingrate, you cannot raise it from its wretched state._ the dairywoman and the pot of milk a pot of milk upon her cushioned crown, good peggy hastened to the market town; short-clad and light, with step she went, not fearing any accident; indeed to be the nimbler tripper, her dress that day, the truth to say, was simply petticoat and slipper. and, thus bedight, good peggy, light, her gains already counted, laid out the cash at single dash, which to a hundred eggs amounted. three nests she made, which, by the aid of diligence and care, were hatched. "to raise the chicks, we'll easily fix," said she, "beside our cottage thatched. the fox must get more cunning yet, or leave enough to buy a pig. with little care, and any fare, he'll grow quite fat and big; and then the price will be so nice for which the pork will sell! 'twill go quite hard but in our yard i'll bring a cow and calf to dwell-- a calf to frisk among the flock!" the thought made peggy do the same; and down at once the milk pot came, and perished with the shock. calf, cow, and pig, and chicks, adieu! your mistress' face is sad to view-- she gives a tear to fortune spilt; then, with the down-cast look of guilt, home to her husband empty goes, somewhat in danger of his blows. who buildeth not, sometimes, in air, his cots, or seats, or castles fair? from kings to dairywomen--all-- the wise, the foolish, great and small-- each thinks his waking dream the best. some flattering error fills the breast: the world, with all its wealth, is ours, its honours, dames, and loveliest bowers. instinct with valour, where alone, i hurl the monarch from his throne; the people glad to see him dead, elect me monarch in his stead, and diadems rain on my head. some accident then calls me back, and i'm no more than simple jack! the monkey and the cat sly bertrand and ratto in company sat, (the one was a monkey, the other a cat,) co-servants and lodgers: more mischievous codgers ne'er mess'd from a platter, since platters were flat. was anything wrong in the house or about it, the neighbours were blameless--no mortal could doubt it; for bertrand was thievish, and ratto so nice, more attentive to cheese than he was to the mice. one day the two plunderers sat by the fire, where chestnuts were roasting, with looks of desire. to steal them would be a right noble affair. a double inducement our heroes drew there-- 'twould benefit them, could they swallow their fill, and then 'twould occasion to somebody ill. said bertrand to ratto, "my brother, to-day exhibit your powers in a masterly way, and take me these chestnuts, i pray. which were i but otherwise fitted (as i am ingeniously wilted) for pulling things out of the flame, would stand but a pitiful game." "'tis done," replied ratto, all prompt to obey; and thrust out his paw in a delicate way. first giving the ashes a scratch, he open'd the coveted batch; then lightly and quickly impinging, he drew out, in spite of the singeing, one after another, the chestnuts at last-- while bertrand contrived to devour them as fast. a servant girl enters. adieu to the fun. our ratto was hardly contented, says one. _no more are the princes, by flattery paid for furnishing help in a different trade, and burning their fingers to bring more power to some mightier king._ the lioness and the bear the lioness had lost her young; a hunter stole it from the vale; the forests and the mountains rung responsive to her hideous wail. nor night, nor charms of sweet repose, could still the loud lament that rose from that grim forest queen. no animal, as you might think, with such a noise could sleep a wink. a bear presumed to intervene. "one word, sweet friend," quoth she, "and that is all, from me. the young that through your teeth have passed, in file unbroken by a fast, had they nor dam nor sire?" "they had them both." "then i desire, since all their deaths caused no such grievous riot, while mothers died of grief beneath your fiat, to know why you yourself cannot be quiet?" "i quiet!--i!--a wretch bereaved! my only son!--such anguish be relieved! no, never! all for me below is but a life of tears and woe!"-- "but say, why doom yourself to sorrow so?" "alas! 'tis destiny that is my foe." _such language, since the mortal fall, has fallen from the lips of all. ye human wretches, give your heed; for your complaints there's little need. let him who thinks his own the hardest case, some widowed, childless hecuba behold, herself to toil and shame of slavery sold, and he will own the wealth of heavenly grace._ the cat and the two sparrows contemporary with a sparrow tame there lived a cat; from tenderest age, of both, the basket and the cage had household gods the same. the bird's sharp beak full oft provoked the cat, who play'd in turn, but with a gentle pat, his wee friend sparing with a merry laugh, not punishing his faults by half. in short, he scrupled much the harm, should he with points his ferule arm. the sparrow, less discreet than he, with dagger beak made very free. sir cat, a person wise and staid, excused the warmth with which he play'd: for 'tis full half of friendship's art to take no joke in serious part. familiar since they saw the light, mere habit kept their friendship good; fair play had never turn'd to fight, till, of their neighbourhood, another sparrow came to greet old ratto grave and saucy pete. between the birds a quarrel rose, and ratto took his side. "a pretty stranger, with such blows to beat our friend!" he cried. "a neighbour's sparrow eating ours! not so, by all the feline powers." and quick the stranger he devours. "now, truly," saith sir cat, "i know how sparrows taste by that. exquisite, tender, delicate!" this thought soon seal'd the other's fate. but hence what moral can i bring? for, lacking that important thing, a fable lacks its finishing: i seem to see of one some trace, but still its shadow mocks my chase. the sick stag a stag, where stags abounded, fell sick and was surrounded forthwith by comrades kind, all--pressing to assist, or see, their friend, at least, and ease his anxious mind-- an irksome multitude. "ah, sirs!" the sick was fain to cry, "pray leave me here to die, as others do, in solitude. pray, let your kind attentions cease, till death my spirit shall release." but comforters are not so sent: on duty sad full long intent, when heaven pleased, they went: but not without a friendly glass; that is to say, they cropp'd the grass and leaves which in that quarter grew, from which the sick his pittance drew. by kindness thus compell'd to fast, he died for want of food at last. _the men take off no trifling dole who heal the body, or the soul. alas the times! do what we will, they have their payment, cure or kill._ the wolf and the fox "dear wolf," complain'd a hungry fox, "a lean chick's meat, or veteran cock's, is all i get by toil or trick: of such a living i am sick. with far less risk, you've better cheer; a house you need not venture near, but i must do it, spite of fear. pray, make me master of your trade. and let me by that means be made the first of all my race that took fat mutton to his larder's hook: your kindness shall not be repented." the wolf quite readily consented. "i have a brother, lately dead: go fit his skin to yours," he said. 'twas done; and then the wolf proceeded: "now mark you well what must be done the dogs that guard the flock to shun." the fox the lessons strictly heeded. at first he boggled in his dress; but awkwardness grew less and less, till perseverance gave success. his education scarce complete, a flock, his scholarship to greet, came rambling out that way. the new-made wolf his work began, amidst the heedless nibblers ran, and spread a sore dismay. the bleating host now surely thought that fifty wolves were on the spot: dog, shepherd, sheep, all homeward fled, and left a single sheep in pawn, which reynard seized when they were gone. but, ere upon his prize he fed, there crow'd a cock near by, and down the scholar threw his prey and gown, that he might run that way the faster-- forgetting lessons, prize and master. _reality, in every station, will burst out on the first occasion._ the woods and the woodman a certain wood-chopper lost or broke from his axe's eye a bit of oak. the forest must needs be somewhat spared while such a loss was being repair'd. came the man at last, and humbly pray'd that the woods would kindly lend to him-- a moderate loan--a single limb, whereof might another helve be made, and his axe should elsewhere drive its trade. oh, the oaks and firs that then might stand, a pride and a joy throughout the land, for their ancientness and glorious charms! the innocent forest lent him arms; but bitter indeed was her regret; for the wretch, his axe new-helved and whet, did nought but his benefactress spoil of the finest trees that graced her soil; and ceaselessly was she made to groan, doing penance for that fatal loan. _behold the world-stage and its actors, where benefits hurt benefactors! a weary theme, and full of pain; for where's the shade so cool and sweet, protecting strangers from the heat, but might of such a wrong complain? alas! i vex myself in vain; ingratitude, do what i will, is sure to be the fashion still._ the shepherd and the lion the fable aesop tells is nearly this: a shepherd from his flock began to miss, and long'd to catch the stealer of his sheep. before a cavern, dark and deep, where wolves retired by day to sleep, which he suspected as the thieves, he set his trap among the leaves; and, ere he left the place, he thus invoked celestial grace: "o king of all the powers divine, against the rogue but grant me this delight, that this my trap may catch him in my sight, and i, from twenty calves of mine, will make the fattest thine." but while the words were on his tongue, forth came a lion great and strong. down crouch'd the man of sheep, and said. with shivering fright half dead, "alas! that man should never be aware of what may be the meaning of his prayer! to catch the robber of my flocks, o king of gods, i pledged a calf to thee: if from his clutches thou wilt rescue me, i'll raise my offering to an ox." the animals sick of the plague the sorest ill that heaven hath sent on this lower world in wrath-- the plague (to call it by its name) one single day of which would pluto's ferryman enrich-- waged war on beasts, both wild and tame. they died not all, but all were sick: no hunting now, by force or trick, to save what might so soon expire, no food excited their desire; nor wolf nor fox now watch'd to slay the innocent and tender prey. the turtles fled; so love and therefore joy were dead. the lion council held, and said: "my friends, i do believe this awful scourge, for which we grieve, is for our sins a punishment most righteously by heaven sent. let us our guiltiest beast resign, a sacrifice to wrath divine. perhaps this offering, truly small, may gain me life and health of all. by history we find it noted that lives have been just so devoted. then let us all turn eyes within, and ferret out the hidden sin. himself let no one spare nor flatter, but make clean conscience in the matter. for me, my appetite has play'd the glutton too much and often upon mutton. what harm had e'er my victims done? i answer, truly, none. perhaps, sometimes, by hunger pressed, i've eat the shepherd with the rest. i yield myself, if need there be; and yet i think, in equity, each should confess his sins with me; for laws of right and justice cry, the guiltiest alone should die." "sire," said the fox, "your majesty is humbler than a king should be, and over-squeamish in the case. what! eating stupid sheep a crime? no, never, sire, at any time. it rather was an act of grace, a mark of honour to their race. and as to shepherds, one may swear, the fate your majesty describes is recompense less full than fair for such usurpers o'er our tribes." thus reynard glibly spoke, and loud applause from flatterers broke, of neither tiger, boar, nor bear, did any keen inquirer dare to ask for crimes of high degree; the fighters, biters, scratchers, all from every mortal sin were free; the very dogs, both great and small, were saints, as far as dogs could be. the ass, confessing in his turn, thus spoke in tones of deep concern: "i happen'd through a mead to pass; the monks, its owners, were at mass; keen hunger, leisure, tender grass, and add to these the devil too, all tempted me the deed to do. i browsed the bigness of my tongue; since truth must out, i own it wrong." on this, a hue and cry arose, as if the beasts were all his foes: a wolf, haranguing lawyer-wise, denounced the ass for sacrifice-- the bald-pate, scabby, ragged lout, by whom the plague had come, no doubt. his fault was judged a hanging crime. "what? eat another's grass? o shame! the noose of rope and death sublime, for that offence, were all too tame!" and soon poor grizzle felt the same. _thus human courts acquit the strong, and doom the weak, as therefore wrong._ the fowler, the hawk, and the lark from wrongs of wicked men we draw excuses for our own; such is the universal law. would you have mercy shown, let yours be clearly known. a fowler's mirror served to snare the little tenants of the air. a lark there saw her pretty face, and was approaching to the place. a hawk, that sailed on high, like vapour in the sky, came down, as still as infant's breath, on her who sang so near her death. she thus escaped the fowler's steel, the hawk's malignant claws to feel. while in his cruel way, the pirate plucked his prey, upon himself the net was sprung. "o fowler," prayed he in the hawkish tongue, "release me in thy clemency! i never did a wrong to thee." the man replied, "'tis true; and did the lark to you?" phoebus and boreas old boreas and the sun, one day, espied a traveller on his way, whose dress did happily provide against whatever might betide. the time was autumn, when, indeed, all prudent travellers take heed. the rains that then the sunshine dash, and iris with her splendid sash, warn one who does not like to soak to wear abroad a good thick coat. our man was therefore well bedight with double mantle, strong and tight. "this fellow," said the wind, "has meant to guard from every ill event; but little does he wot that i can blow him such a blast that, not a button fast, his cloak shall cleave the sky. come, here's a pleasant game. sir sun! wilt play?" said phoebus, "done! we'll bet between us here which first will take the gear from off this cavalier. begin, and shut away the brightness of my ray." "enough." our blower, on the bet, swelled out his pursy form with all the stuff for storm-- the thunder, hail, and drenching wet, and all the fury he could muster; then, with a very demon's bluster, he whistled, whirled, and splashed, and down the torrents dashed, full many a roof uptearing he never did before, full many a vessel bearing to wreck upon the shore-- and all to doff a single cloak. but vain the furious stroke; the traveller was stout, and kept the tempest out, defied the hurricane, defied the pelting rain; and as the fiercer roared the blast, his cloak the tighter held he fast. the sun broke out, to win the bet; he caused the clouds to disappear, refreshed and warmed the cavalier, and through his mantle made him sweat, till off it came, of course, in less than half an hour; and yet the sun saved half his power-- so much does mildness more than force. the stag and the vine a stag, by favour of a vine, which grew where suns most genial shine, and formed a thick and matted bower which might have turned a summer shower, was saved by ruinous assault. the hunters thought their dogs at fault, and called them off. in danger now no more the stag, a thankless wretch and vile, began to browse his benefactress o'er. the hunters listening the while, the rustling heard, came back, with all their yelping pack, and seized him in that very place. "this is," said he, "but justice, in my case. let every black ingrate henceforward profit by my fate." the dogs fell to--'twere wasting breath to pray those hunters at the death. they left, and we will not revile 'em, a warning for profaners of asylum. the peacock complaining to juno the peacock to the queen of heaven complained in some such words: "great goddess, you have given to me, the laughing stock of birds, a voice which fills, by taste quite just, all nature with disgust; whereas that little paltry thing, the nightingale, pours from her throat so sweet and ravishing a note; she bears alone the honours of the spring." in anger juno heard, and cried, "shame on you, jealous bird! grudge you the nightingale her voice, who in the rainbow neck rejoice, than costliest silks more richly tinted, in charms of grace and form unstinted-- who strut in kingly pride, your glorious tail spread wide with brilliants which in sheen do outshine the jeweller's bow window? is there a bird beneath the blue that has more charms than you? no animal in everything can shine. by just partition of our gifts divine, each has its full and proper share. among the birds that cleave the air the hawk's a swift, the eagle is a brave one, for omens serves the hoarse old raven, the rook's of coming ills the prophet; and if there's any discontent, i've heard not of it. cease, then, your envious complaint; or i, instead of making up your lack, will take your boasted plumage from your back." the eagle and the beetle john rabbit, by dame eagle chased, was making for his hole in haste, when, on his way, he met a beetle's burrow. i leave you all to think if such a little chink could to a rabbit give protection thorough; but, since no better could be got, john rabbit, there was fain to squat. of course, in an asylum so absurd, john felt ere long the talons of the bird. but first the beetle, interceding, cried, "great queen of birds, it cannot be denied that, maugre my protection, you can bear my trembling guest, john rabbit, through the air, but do not give me such affront, i pray; and since he craves your grace, in pity of his case, grant him his life, or take us both away; for he's my gossip, friend and neighbour." in vain the beetle's friendly labour; the eagle clutched her prey without reply, and as she flapped her vasty wings to fly, struck down our orator and stilled him-- the wonder is she hadn't killed him. the beetle soon, of sweet revenge in quest flew to the old, gnarled mountain oak, which proudly bore that haughty eagle's nest. and while the bird was gone, her eggs, her cherished eggs, he broke, not sparing one. returning from her flight, the eagle's cry of rage and bitter anguish filled the sky, but, by excess of passion blind, her enemy she failed to find. her wrath in vain, that year it was her fate to live a mourning mother, desolate. the next, she built a loftier nest; 'twas vain; the beetle found and dashed her eggs again. john rabbit's death was thus avenged anew. the second mourning for her murdered brood was such that through the giant mountain wood, for six long months, the sleepless echo flew. the bird, once ganymede, now made her prayer to jupiter for aid; and, laying them within his godship's lap, she thought her eggs now safe from all mishap; the god his own could not but make them-- no wretch would venture there to break them. and no one did. their enemy, this time, upsoaring to a place sublime, let fall upon his royal robes some dirt, which jove just shaking, with a sudden flirt, threw out the eggs, no one knows whither. when jupiter informed her how th' event occurred by purest accident, the eagle raved; there was no reasoning with her; she gave out threats of leaving court, to make the desert her resort, and other brav'ries of this sort. poor jupiter in silence heard the uproar of his favourite bird. before his throne the beetle now appeared, and by a clear complaint the mystery cleared. the god pronounced the eagle in the wrong. but still, their hatred was so old and strong, these enemies could not be reconciled; and, that the general peace might not be spoiled-- the best that he could do--the god arranged that thence the eagle's pairing should be changed, to come when beetle folks are only found concealed and dormant under ground. fables from the spanish of carlos yriarte* "_as the impressions made upon a new vessel are not easily to be effaced, so here youth are taught prudence through the allurement of fable._" *translated by richard andrew fables from the spanish the bee and the cuckoo a cuckoo, near a hive, one day, was chaunting in his usual way, when to the door the queen-bee ran, and, humming angrily, began: "do cease that tuneless song i hear-- how can we work while thou art near? there is no other bird, i vow, half so fantastical as thou, since all that ugly voice can do, is to sing on--'cuckoo! cuckoo'!" "if my monotony of song displeases you, shall i be wrong," the cuckoo answered, "if i find your comb has little to my mind? look at the cells--through every one does not unvaried sameness run? then if in me there's nothing new, dear knows, all's old enough in you." the bee replied: "hear me, my friend. in works that have a useful end it is not always worth the while to seek variety in style, but if those works whose only views are to give pleasure and amuse, want either fancy or invention, they fail of gaining their intention." the rope dancer and his pupil a tight-rope dancer who, they say, was a great master in his way, was tutoring a youth to spring upon the slight and yielding string, who, though a novice in the science, had in his talents great reliance, and, as on high his steps he tried, thus to his sage instructor cried: "this pole you call the counterpoise my every attitude annoys; i really cannot think it good to use this cumbrous piece of wood in such a business as ours, an art requiring all our powers. why should i with this burden couple? am i not active, strong and supple? so--see me try this step without it, i'll manage better, do not doubt it-- see, 'tis not difficult at all," he said, and let the balance fall, and, taking fearlessly a bound, he tumbled headlong on the ground, with compound fracture of the shin, and six or seven ribs crushed in. "unhappy youth!" the master said, "what was your truest help and aid impediment you thought to be-- for art and method if you flee, believe me, ere your life is past, this tumble will not be your last." the squirrel and the horse a squirrel, on his hind legs raised, upon a noble charger gazed, who docile to the spur and rein, went through his menage on the plain; now seeming like the wind to fly, now gracefully curvetting by. "good sir," the little tumbler said, and with much coolness, scratched his head, "in all your swiftness, skill and spirit, i do not see there's much of merit, for, all you seem so proud to do, i can perform, and better too; i'm light and nimble, brisk and sprightly, i trot, and skip, and canter lightly, backward and forward--here and there, now on the earth--now in the air-- from bough to bough--from hill to hill, and never for a moment still." the courser tossed his head on high; and made the squirrel this reply: "my little nimble jealous friend, those turns and tumbles without end-- that hither, thither, restless springing-- those ups and downs and leaps and swinging-- and other feats more wondrous far, pray tell me, of what use they are? but what i do, this praise may claim-- my master's service is my aim, and laudably i use for him my warmth of blood and strength of limb." the bear, the monkey, and the pig a bear with whom a piedmontese had voyaged from the polar seas, and by whose strange unwieldy gambols he earned a living in his rambles, one day, upon his hind legs set, began to dance a minuet. at length, being tired, as well he might, of standing such a time upright, he to a monkey near advancing, exclaimed: "what think you of my dancing?" "really," he said, "ahem!" (i'm sure this monkey was a connoisseur) "to praise it, i'd indeed be glad, only it is so very bad!" "how!" said the bear, not over pleased, "surely, your judgment is diseased, or else you cannot well have seen my elegance of step and mien; just look again, and say what graces you think are wanting in my paces." "indeed, his taste is quite amazing," replied a pig with rapture gazing; "bravo! encore! well done! sir bear, by heaven, you trip as light as air; i vow that paris never knew a dancer half so fine as you." with some confusion, bruin heard such praises by a pig conferred; he communed with himself a while, and muttered thus, in altered style: "i must confess the monkey's blame made me feel doubtful of my fame; but since the pigs their praise concede, my dancing must be bad, indeed!" the muff, the fan, and the parasol "it sounds presumptuous and ill to boast of universal skill, but 'tis a scarce less fault, i own, to serve one sort of use alone." an idle parasol, one day, within a lady's chamber lay, and having nothing else to do, addressing his companions two, reclining near, a muff and fan, he thus insultingly began, using a form of dialect, in which, if aesop is correct, the brass and earthern jars, of old, conversed as down the stream they rolled. "oh! sirs, ye merit mighty praise! yon muff may do for wintry days, a corner is your lot in spring; while you, fan, are a useless thing when cold succeeds to heat; for neither can change yourself to suit the weather learn, if you're able to possess, like me a double usefulness, from winter's rain i help to shun and guard in summer from the sun." the duck and the serpent a self-conceited duck, one day, was waddling from her pond away: "what other race can boast," she cried, "the many gifts to ours allied? earth--water--air--are all for us. when i am tired of walking thus, i fly, if so i take the whim, or if it pleases me i swim." a cunning serpent overheard the boasting of the clumsy bird, and, with contempt and scorn inflamed, came hissing up, and thus exclaimed: "it strikes me, ma'am, there's small occasion for your just uttered proclamation; these gifts of yours shine rather dim, since neither like the trout you swim, nor like the deer, step swift and light, nor match the eagle in your flight." they err who think that merit clings to knowledge slight of many things; he who his fellows would excel, whate'er he does should do it well. the tea and the sage the tea from china on her way, met in some sea, or gulf, or bay-- (would to her log i might refer!) the sage, who thus accosted her: "sister--ahoy! ho--whither bound?" "i leave," she said, "my native ground for europe's markets, where, i'm told, they purchase me by weight of gold." "and i," the sage replied, "am seeking the route to canton or to peking; your chinese use me largely in their cookery and medicine; they know my virtues, nor deny the praise i ask, however high, while europe scorns me, just indeed, as if i was the vilest weed. go; and good luck t'ye; know full well that you are sure enough to sell, for nations all, (fools that they are!) value whatever comes from afar, and give their money nothing loth, for anything of foreign growth." the swan and the linnet piqued at the linnet's song one day, the swan exclaimed: "leave off! i say-- be still, you little noisy thing! what!--dare _you_ challenge me to sing, when there's no voice, however fine, can match the melody of mine?" (the linnet warbled on)--"d'ye hear? this impudence may cost you dear; i could with one harmonious note forever stop your squeaking throat, and, if i do not choose to try, respect my magnanimity." "i wish," at length the linnet said, "i wish, to heaven, the proof were made; you cannot imagine how i long to hear that rich and flowing song which though so sweet, by fame averred, i know not who has ever heard." the swan essayed to sing, but--whew! she screeched and squalled a note or two, until the linnet, it appears, took to her wings to save her ears. 'tis strange when some of learned fame _will_ prove their title to the name, how often ill-placed praise they mar, and show how ignorant they are. the flint and the steel the flint, with language harsh and high, accused the steel of cruelty in striking her with all his might, whene'er he wanted fire and light. the steel the imputation spurned, and with such warmth the contest burned that both, at last, agreed to slip their contract of companionship. "good-by then, madame," said the one; "and since my company you shun, and to continue with me, doubt, we'll see what use you are without." "about as much as you will be, good sir," she answered, "without me." fables of gay, cowper, and others "brutes are my theme. am i to blame if men in morals are the same? i no man call or ape or ass; 'tis his own conscience holds the glass. thus void of all offence i write; who claims the fable, knows his right." john gay fables of gay and cowper the monkey who had seen the world a monkey, to reform the times, resolved to visit foreign climes; for men in distant regions roam, to bring politer manners home. so forth he fares, all toil defies; misfortune serves to make us wise. at length the treacherous snare was laid; poor pug was caught, to town conveyed; there sold. how envied was his doom, made captive in a lady's room! proud as a lover of his chains, he day by day her favour gains. whene'er the duty of the day the toilette calls, with mimic play he twirls her knot, he cracks her fan, like any other gentleman. in visits, too, his parts and wit, when jests grew dull, were sure to hit. proud with applause, he thought his mind in every courtly art refined; like orpheus, burned with public zeal to civilize the monkey weal: so watched occasion, broke his chain, and sought his native woods again. the hairy sylvans round him press astonished at his strut and dress. some praise his sleeve, and others gloat upon his rich embroidered coat; his dapper periwig commending, with the black tail behind depending; his powdered back above, below, like hoary frost or fleecy snow: but all, with envy and desire, his fluttering shoulder-knot admire. "hear and improve," he pertly cries, "i come to make a nation wise. weigh your own worth, support your place, the next in rank to human race. in cities long i passed my days, conversed with men, and learned their ways, their dress, their courtly manners see; reform your state, and copy me. seek ye to thrive? in flatt'ry deal; your scorn, your hate, with that conceal. seem only to regard your friends, but use them for your private ends. stint not to truth the flow of wit; be prompt to lie whene'er 'tis fit. bend all your force to spatter merit; scandal is conversation's spirit. boldly to everything pretend, and men your talents shall commend. i know the great. observe me right, so shall you grow like man polite." he spoke and bowed. with mutt'ring jaws the wond'ring circle grinned applause. now, warmed with malice, envy, spite, their most obliging friends they bite; and, fond to copy human ways, practise new mischiefs all their days. thus the dull lad, too tall for school. with travel finishes the fool: studious of every coxcomb's airs, he gambles, dresses, drinks, and swears; o'er looks with scorn all virtuous arts, for vice is fitted to his parts. john gay the shepherd's dog and the wolf a wolf, with hunger fierce and bold, ravag'd the plains, and thinn'd the fold: deep in the wood secure he lay, the thefts of night regal'd the day. in vain the shepherd's wakeful care had spread the toils, and watch'd the snare; in vain the dog pursued his pace, the fleeter robber mock'd the chase. as lightfoot rang'd the forest round, by chance his foe's retreat he found. "let us a while the war suspend, and reason as from friend to friend." "a truce?" replies the wolf. "'tis done." the dog the parley thus begun. "how can that strong intrepid mind attack a weak defenceless kind? those jaws should prey on nobler food, and drink the boar's and lion's blood, great souls with generous pity melt, which coward tyrants never felt. how harmless is our fleecy care! be brave, and let thy mercy spare." "friend," says the wolf, "the matter weigh; nature designed us beasts of prey; as such, when hunger finds a treat, 'tis necessary wolves should eat. if mindful of the bleating weal, thy bosom burn with real zeal, hence, and thy tyrant lord beseech; to him repeat the moving speech: a wolf eats sheep but now and then; ten thousands are devoured by men. an open foe may prove a curse, but a pretended friend is worse." john gay the rat-catcher and cats the rats by night such mischief did, betty was ev'ry morning chid. they undermin'd whole sides of bacon, her cheese was sapp'd, her tarts were taken. her pasties, fenc'd with thickest paste, were all demolish'd, and laid waste. she curs'd the cat for want of duty, who left her foes a constant booty. an engineer, of noted skill, engag'd to stop the growing ill. from room to room he now surveys their haunts, their works, their secret ways; finds where they 'scape an ambuscade. and whence the nightly sally's made. an envious cat from place to place, unseen, attends his silent pace. she saw, that if his trade went on, the purring race must be undone; so, secretly removes his baits, and ev'ry stratagem defeats. again he sets the poisoned toils, and puss again the labour foils. "what foe, to frustrate my designs, my schemes thus nightly countermines?" incens'd, he cries: "this very hour this wretch shall bleed beneath my power." so said, a ponderous trap he brought, and in the fact poor puss was caught. "smuggler," says he, "thou shalt be made a victim to our loss of trade." the captive cat, with piteous mews, for pardon, life, and freedom sues. "a sister of the science spare; one int'rest is our common care." "what insolence!" the man replies; "shall cats with us the game divide? were all your interloping band extinguished, or expell'd the land, we rat-catchers might raise our fees. sole guardians of a nation's cheese!" a cat, who saw the lifted knife, thus spoke and sav'd her sister's life. "in ev'ry age and clime we see two of a trade can ne'er agree. each hates his neighbour for encroaching; 'squire stigmatizes 'squire for poaching; beauties with beauties are in arms. and scandal pelts each other's charms; kings too their neighbour kings dethrone, in hope to make the world their own. but let us limit our desires; not war like beauties, kings, and 'squires! for though we both one prey pursue, there's game enough for us and you." john gay the farmer's wife and the raven between her swaggering pannier's load a farmer's wife to market rode, and jogging on, with thoughtful care, summed up the profits of her ware; when, starting from her silver dream, thus far and wide was heard her scream: "that raven on yon left-hand oak (curse on his ill-betiding croak) bodes me no good." no more she said, when poor blind ball, with stumbling head, fell prone; o'erturned the panniers lay, and her mashed eggs bestrewed the way. she, sprawling on the yellow road, railed, cursed, and swore: "thou croaking toad, a murrain take thy noisy throat! i knew misfortune in the note." "dame," quoth the raven, "spare your oaths, unclench your fist and wipe your clothes. but why on me those curses thrown? goody, the fault was all your own; for had you laid this brittle ware on dun, the old sure-footed mare, though all the ravens of the hundred with croaking had your tongue out-thundered, sure-footed dun had kept her legs, and you, good woman, saved your eggs." john gay the council of horses upon a time, a neighing steed, who grazed among a numerous breed, with mutiny had fired the train, and spread dissension through the plain. on matters that concerned the state the council met in grand debate. a colt, whose eyeballs flamed with ire, elate with strength and youthful fire, in haste stepped forth before the rest, and thus the listening throng addressed: "good gods! how abject is our race, condemned to slavery and disgrace! shall we our servitude retain because our sires have borne the chain? consider, friends, your strength and might; 'tis conquest to assert your right. how cumb'rous is the gilded coach! the pride of man is our reproach. were we designed for daily toil; to drag the ploughshare through the soil; to sweat in harness through the road; to groan beneath the carrier's load? how feeble are the two-legged kind! what force is in our nerves combined! shall, then, our nobler jaws submit to foam, and champ the galling bit? shall haughty man my back bestride? shall the sharp spur provoke my side? forbid it, heavens! reject the rein; your shame, your infamy, disdain. let him the lion first control, and still the tiger's famished growl; let us, like them, our freedom claim, and make him tremble at our name." a general nod approved the cause, and all the circle neighed applause, when, lo! with grave and solemn face, a steed advanced before the race, with age and long experience wise; around he cast his thoughtful eyes, and to the murmurs of the train thus spoke the nestor of the plain: "when i had health and strength like you, the toils of servitude i knew; now grateful man rewards my pains, and gives me all these wide domains. at will i crop the year's increase; my latter life is rest and peace. i grant, to man we lend our pains, and aid him to correct the plains; but doth he not divide the care through all the labours of the year? how many thousand structures rise to fence us from inclement skies! for us he bears the sultry day, and stores up all our winter's hay: he sows, he reaps the harvest's gain, we share the toil and share the grain. since every creature was decreed to aid each other's mutual need, appease your discontented mind, and act the part by heaven assigned." the tumult ceased. the colt submitted, and, like his ancestors, was bitted. john gay the hare and many friends friendship, like love, is but a name, unless to one you stint the flame; the child whom many fathers share hath seldom known a father's care. 'tis thus in friendships; who depend on many, rarely find a friend. a hare, who in a civil way complied with everything, like gay, was known by all the bestial train who haunt the wood or graze the plain; her care was never to offend, and every creature was her friend. as forth she went at early dawn, to taste the dew-besprinkled lawn, behind she hears the hunter's cries, and from the deep-mouthed thunder flies. she starts, she stops, she pants for breath; she hears the near advance of death; she doubles to mislead the hound, and measures back her mazy round, till, fainting in the public way, half dead with fear she gasping lay. what transport in her bosom grew when first the horse appeared in view! "let me," says she, "your back ascend. and owe my safety to a friend. you know my feet betray my flight; to friendship every burden's light," the horse replied, "poor honest puss, it grieves my heart to see you thus: be comforted, relief is near, for all your friends are in the rear." she next the stately bull implored; and thus replied the mighty lord: "since every beast alive can tell that i sincerely wish you well, i may without offence pretend to take the freedom of a friend. love calls me hence; a fav'rite cow expects me near the barley-mow, and when a lady's in the case you know all other things give place. to leave you thus might seem unkind; but see, the goat is just behind." the goat remarked her pulse was high, her languid head, her heavy eye. "my back," says she, "may do you harm. the sheep's at hand, and wool is warm." the sheep was feeble, and complained his sides a load of wool sustained: said he was slow, confessed his fears; for hounds eat sheep as well as hares. she now the trotting calf addressed to save from death a friend distressed. "shall i," says he, "of tender age, in this important care engage? older and abler passed you by-- how strong are those; how weak am i! should i presume to bear you hence, those friends of mine may take offence; excuse me, then; you know my heart, but dearest friends, alas! must part. how shall we all lament! adieu! for see, the hounds are just in view." john gay the nightingale and the glowworm a nightingale, that all day long had cheered the village with his song, nor had at eve his note suspended, nor yet when eventide was ended began to feel, as well he might, the keen demands of appetite; when, looking eagerly around, he spied far off, upon the ground, a something shining in the dark, and knew the glowworm by his spark; so stepping down from hawthorn top, he thought to put him in his crop. the worm, aware of his intent, harangued him thus, right eloquent: "did you admire my lamp," quoth he, "as much as i your minstrelsy, you would abhor to do me wrong, as much as i to spoil your song; for, 'twas the self-same power divine taught you to sing and me to shine; that you with music, i with light, might beautify and cheer the night." the songster heard his short oration, and warbling out his approbation. released him, as my story tells, and found a supper somewhere else. hence, jarring sectaries may learn their real interest to discern, that brother should not war with brother, and worry and devour each other; but sing and shine by sweet consent, until life's poor transient night is spent. respecting in each other's case. the gifts of nature and of grace. those christians best deserve the name who studiously make peace their aim; peace both the duty and the prize of him that creeps and him that flies. william cowper the raven a raven, while with glossy breast her new-laid eggs she fondly pressed, and on her wickerwork high mounted, her chickens prematurely counted, (a fault philosophers might blame if quite exempted from the same). enjoyed at ease the genial day; 'twas april, as the bumpkins say; the legislature called it may. but suddenly a wind, as high as ever swept a winter sky, shook the young leaves about her ears and filled her with a thousand fears, lest the rude blast should snap the bough, and spread her golden hopes below. but just at eve the blowing weather changed, and her fears were hushed together: "and now," quoth poor unthinking ralph,[ ] "'tis over, and the brood is safe." (for ravens, though, as birds of omen, they teach both conjurers and old women to tell us what is to befall, can't prophesy themselves at all.) the morning came, when neighbour hodge, who long had marked her airy lodge, and destined all the treasure there a gift to his expecting fair, climbed, like a squirrel to his dray, and bore the worthless prize away. moral 'tis providence alone secures, in every change, both mine and yours: safety consists not in escape from dangers of a frightful shape; an earthquake may be bid to spare the man that's strangled by a hair. fate steals along with silent tread found oftenest in what least we dread, frowns in the storm with angry brow, but in the sunshine strikes the blow. william cowper [ ]pronounced rafe. pairing time anticipated i shall not ask jean jacques rousseau if birds confabulate or no; 'tis clear that they were always able to hold discourse, at least in fable; and e'en the child who knows no better than to interpret by the letter a story of a cock and bull must have a most uncommon skull. it chanced then on a winter day, but warm and bright and calm as may, the birds conceiving a design to forestall sweet saint valentine, in many an orchard, copse and grove, assembled on affairs of love, and with much twitter, and much chatter, began to agitate the matter. at length a bullfinch, who could boast more years and wisdom than the most, entreated, opening wide his beak, a moment's liberty to speak; and silence publicly enjoined, delivered, briefly, thus his mind-- "my friends! be cautious how ye treat the subject upon which we meet; i fear we shall have winter yet." a finch, whose tongue knew no control, with golden wing and satin poll, a last year's bird who ne'er had tried what marriage means, thus pert replied: "methinks the gentleman," quoth she, "opposite in the appletree, by his good will would keep us single, until yonder heavens and earth shall mingle, or (which is likelier to befall) until death exterminate us all. i marry without more ado, my dear dick redcap; what say you?" dick heard, and tweedling, ogling, bridling; with many a strut and many a sidling, attested, glad, his approbation of an immediate conjugation. their sentiments so well expressed influenced mightily the rest; all paired, and each pair built a nest. but though the birds were thus in haste, the leaves came on not quite so fast, and destiny, that sometimes bears an aspect stern on man's affairs, not altogether smiled on theirs. the wind, of late breathed gently forth, now shifted east and east by north; bare trees and shrubs but ill, you know, could shelter them from rain or snow; stepping into their nests, they paddled, themselves were chilled, their eggs were addled, soon every father-bird and mother grew quarrelsome and pecked each other, parted without the least regret, except that they had ever met, and learned in future to be wiser than to neglect a good adviser. william cowper the poet, the oyster, and sensitive plant an oyster cast upon the shore was heard, though never heard before, complaining in a speech well worded, and worthy thus to be recorded: "ah, hapless wretch comdemn'd to dwell forever in my native shell, ordain'd to move when others please, not for my own content or ease, but toss'd and buffeted about, now in the water, and now out. 'twere better to be born a stone of ruder shape and feeling none, than with a tenderness like mine, and sensibilities so fine! i envy that unfeeling shrub, fast rooted against every rub." the plant he meant grew not far off, and felt the sneer with scorn enough; was hurt, disgusted, mortified, and with asperity replied. ("when," cry the botanists, and stare, "did plants call'd sensitive grow there?" no matter when--a poet's muse is to make them grow just where she chooses): "you shapeless nothing in a dish, you that are but almost a fish, i scorn your coarse insinuation, and have most plentiful occasion to wish myself the rock i view, or such another dolt as you. for many a grave and learned clerk, and many a gay unlettered spark, with curious touch examines me if i can feel as well as he; and when i bend, retire, and shrink, says, 'well--'tis more than one would think.' thus life is spent! oh fie upon't, in being touched, and crying--'don't'!" a poet, in his evening walk, overheard and checked this idle talk. "and your fine sense," he said, "and yours, whatever evil it endures, deserves not, if so soon offended, much to be pitied or commended. disputes, though short, are far too long, where both alike are in the wrong; your feelings in their full amount are all upon your own account." "you, in your grotto-work enclosed, complain of being thus exposed, yet nothing feel in that rough coat, save when the knife is at your throat. wherever driven by wind or tide, exempt from every ill beside." "and as for you, my lady squeamish, who reckon every touch a blemish, if all the plants that can be found embellishing the scene around, should droop and wither where they grow, you would not feel at all, not you. the noblest minds their virtue prove by pity, sympathy, and love: these, these are feelings truly fine, and prove their owner half divine." his censure reached them as he dealt it. and each by shrinking show'd he felt it. william cowper the pineapple and the bee the pineapples, in triple row, were basking hot, and all in blow. a bee of most deserving taste perceived the fragrance as he pass'd. on eager wing the spoiler came, and searched for crannies in the frame, urged his attempt on every side, to every pane his trunk applied; but still in vain, the frame was tight, and only pervious to the light: thus having wasted half the day, he trimm'd his flight another way. * * * * * our dear delights are often such, exposed to view, but not to touch; the sight our foolish heart inflames, we long for pineapples in frames; with hopeless wish one looks and lingers; one breaks the glass, and cuts his fingers; but they whom truth and wisdom lead, can gather honey from a weed. william cowper amelia and the spider the muslin torn, from tears of grief in vain amelia sought relief; in sighs and plaints she passed the day, the tattered frock neglected lay: while busied at the weaving trade, a spider heard the sighing maid, and kindly stopping in a trice, thus offered (gratis) her advice: "turn, little girl, behold in me a stimulus to industry; compare your woes my dear, with mine, then tell me who should most repine; this morning, ere you'd left your room, the chambermaid's relentless broom, in one sad moment that destroyed to build which thousands were employed. the shock was great, but as my life i saved in the relentless strife, i knew lamenting was in vain, so patient went to work again; by constant work a day or more my little mansion did restore. and if each tear which you have shed had been a needleful of thread, if every sigh of sad despair had been a stitch of proper care, closed would have been the luckless rent, nor thus the day have been misspent." anonymous the goose and the swans a goose, affected, empty, vain, the shrillest of the cackling train, with proud and elevated crest, precedence claimed above the rest, says she, "i laugh at human race, who say geese hobble in their pace; look here--the slander base detect; not haughty man is so erect. that peacock yonder, see how vain the creature's of his gaudy train. if both were stripped, i'd pledge my word a goose would be the finer bird. nature, to hide her own defects, her bungled work with finery decks. were geese set off with half that show, would men admire the peacock? no!" thus vaunting, 'cross the mead she stalks, the cackling breed attend her walks; the sun shot down his noontide beams, the swans were sporting in the streams. their snowy plumes and stately pride provoked her spleen. "why, there," she cried, "again, what arrogance we see! those creatures, how they mimic me! shall every fowl the waters skim because we geese are known to swim? humility they soon shall learn, and their own emptiness discern." so saying, with extended wings, lightly upon the wave she springs; her bosom swells, she spreads her plumes, and the swan's stately crest assumes. contempt and mockery ensued, and bursts of laughter shook the flood. a swan, superior to the rest, sprung forth, and thus the fool addressed: "conceited thing, elate with pride, thy affectation all deride; these airs thy awkwardness impart, and show thee plainly as thou art. among thy equals of the flock, thou hadst escaped the public mock; and, as thy parts to good conduce, been deemed an honest, hobbling goose. learn hence to study wisdom's rules; know, foppery's the pride of fools; and, striving nature to conceal, you only her defects reveal." anonymous the rats and the cheese if bees a government maintain, why may not rats, of stronger brain and greater power, as well be thought by machiavellian axioms taught? and so they are, for thus of late it happened in the rats' free state. their prince (his subjects more to please) had got a mighty cheshire cheese, in which his ministers of state might live in plenty and grow great. a powerful party straight combined, and their united forces joined to bring their measures into play, for none so loyal were as they; and none such patriots to support as well the country as the court. no sooner were those dons admitted, but (all those wondrous virtues quitted) they all the speediest means devise to raise themselves and families. another party well observing these pampered were, while they were starving, their ministry brought in disgrace, expelled them and supplied their place; these on just principles were known the true supporters of the throne. and for the subjects' liberty, they'd (marry, would they) freely die; but being well fixed in their station, regardless of their prince and nation, just like the others, all their skill was how they might their paunches fill. on this a rat not quite so blind in state intrigues as human kind, but of more honour, thus replied: "confound ye all on either side; all your contentions are but these, whose arts shall best secure the cheese." anonymous the drop of rain a little particle of rain that from a passing cloud descended: was heard thus idly to complain: "my brief existence now is ended! outcast alike of earth and sky, useless to live, unknown to die!" it chanced to fall into the sea, and there an open shell received it; and after years how rich was he who from its prison-house released it! the drop of rain had formed a gem to deck a monarch's diadem. anonymous the lion and the echo a lion bravest of the wood, whose title undisputed stood, as o'er the wide domains he prowled, and in pursuit of booty growled, an echo from a distant cave re-growled articulately grave. his majesty, surprised, began to think at first it was a man; but, on reflection sage, he found it was too like a lion's sound. "whose voice is that which growls at mine?" his highness asked. says echo, "mine!" "thine," says the lion; "who art thou?" echo as stern cried, "who art thou?" "know i'm a lion, hear and tremble!" replied the king. cried echo, "tremble!" "come forth," says lion, "show thyself!" laconic echo answered, "elf!" "elf dost thou call me, vile pretender?" echo as loud replied, "pretender?" at this, as jealous of his reign, he growled in rage--she growled again. incensed the more, he chafed and foamed, and round the spacious forest roamed, to find the rival of his throne, who durst with him dispute the crown. a fox, who listened all the while, addressed the monarch with a smile: "my liege, most humbly i make bold, though truth may not be always told, that this same phantom that you hear, that so alarms your royal ear, is not a rival of your throne-- the voice and fears are all your own." imaginary terrors scare a timorous soul with real fear! nay, e'en the wise and brave are cowed by apprehensions from the crowd; a frog a lion may disarm, and yet how causeless the alarm! anonymous here check we our career; long books i greatly fear; i would not quite exhaust my stuff; the flower of subjects is enough. jean de la fontaine the end index of titles acorn and the pumpkin, the. la fontaine (french) aesop and his fellow servants. aesop (greek) amelia and the spider. anonymous (english) animals' peace party, the. (chinese) animals sick of the plague, the. la fontaine (french) ant and the fly, the. aesop (greek) ass and his master, the. aesop (greek) ass and his purchaser, the. aesop (greek) ass and his shadow, the. aesop (greek) ass and the dog, the. la fontaine (french) ass and the lap-dog, the. la fontaine (french) ass carrying relics, the. la fontaine (french) ass in the lion's skin, the. aesop (greek) bat and the two weasels, the. la fontaine (french) bear and the fowls, the. aesop (greek) bear, the monkey and the pig, the. yriarte (spanish) bee and the cuckoo, the. yriarte (spanish) belling the cat. aesop (greek) birds and the monkeys, the. hitopadesa (sanskrit) blackamoor, the. aesop (greek) blue jackal, the. hitopadesa (sanskrit) boasting traveller, the. aesop (greek) boy and the filberts, the. aesop (greek) boy and the wolf, the. aesop (greek) boys and the frogs, the. aesop (greek) brahmin and the goat, the. hitopadesa (sanskrit) buffoon and the countryman, the. aesop (greek) builder of ability and the builder of haste, the. (african) camel and his master, the. aesop (greek) camel and the pig, the. raju (indian) cat and the fox, the. la fontaine (french) cat and the mice, the. aesop (greek) cat and the two sparrows, the. la fontaine (french) chameleon, the. aesop (greek) city rat and the country rat, the. la fontaine (french) cock and the fox, the. la fontaine (french) cock and the jewel, the. aesop (greek) council of horses, the. gay (english) country fellow and the river, a. aesop (greek) countryman and the serpent, the. la fontaine (french) crab and its mother, the. aesop (greek) crane and the fool, the. raju (indian) crow and the mussel, the. aesop (greek) crow and the partridge, the. bidpai (indian) crow and the pitcher, the. aesop (greek) cuckoo and the cock, the. krilof (russian) cuckoo and the eagle, the. krilof (russian) cuckoo and the turtle-dove, the. krilof (russian) dairywoman and the pot of milk, the. la fontaine (french) deer and the lion, the. aesop (greek) demian's fish soup. krilof (russian) despot and the wag, the. raju (indian) discontented ass, the. aesop (greek) dog and his shadow, the. aesop (greek) dog and the crocodile, the. aesop (greek) dog and the kingship. (african) dog in the manger, the. aesop (greek) dove and the ant, the. la fontaine (french) drop of rain, the. anonymous (english) duck and the serpent, the. yriarte (spanish) eagle and the beetle, the. la fontaine (french) eagle and the mole, the. krilof (russian) eagle and the owl, the. aesop (greek) eagle and the owl, the. la fontaine (french) eagle, the jackdaw and the magpie, the. aesop (greek) ears of the hare, the. la fontaine (french) earthen pot and the iron pot, the. la fontaine (french) education of the lion, the. krilof (russian) elephant and frog (african) elephant and the jackal, the. hitopadesa (sanskrit) elephant as governor, the. krilof (russian) elephant has a bet with the tiger, the. (malayan) elephant in favour, the. krilof (russian) falcon and the capon, the. aesop (greek) farmer and his dog, the. aesop (greek) farmer and the stork, the. aesop (greek) farmer's wife and the raven, the. gay (english) father "lime-stick" and the flower-pecker (malayan) fawn and the little tiger, the. raju (indian) flies and the honey-pot, the. aesop (greek) flint and the steel, the. yriarte (spanish) fowler, the hawk, and the lark, the. la fontaine (french) fox and the countryman, the. aesop (greek) fox and the crabs, the. raju (indian) fox and the crow, the. aesop (greek) fox and the drum, the. bidpai (indian) fox and the grapes, the. aesop (greek) fox and the stork, the. aesop (greek) fox and the villagers, the. raju (indian) fox in the well, the. aesop (greek) fox in the well, the. raju (indian) fox, the monkey, and the animals, the. la fontaine (french) fox, the wolf, and the horse, the. la fontaine (french) fox without a tail, the. aesop (greek) frog who wished to be as big as an ox, the. (greek) frogs desiring a king, the. aesop (greek) geese and the tortoise, the. bidpai (indian) glowworm and the daw, the. raju (indian) gnat and the bull, the. aesop (greek) goose and the swans, the. anonymous (english) goose with the golden eggs, the. aesop (greek) grasshopper and the ant, the. la fontaine (french) greedy jackal, the. hitopadesa (sanskrit) hare and many friends, the. gay (english) hare and the partridge, the, la fontaine (french) hare and the pig, the. raju (indian) hare and the tortoise, the. aesop (greek) hares and the frogs, the. aesop (greek) hen and the cat, the. (african) hen and the chinese mountain turtle, the. (chinese) hen and the fox, the. aesop (greek) hercules and the wagoner. aesop (greek) hermit, the thief, and the demon, the. bidpai (indian) hornets and the bees, the. la fontaine (french) how sense was distributed. (african) invalid lion, the. aesop (greek) jackal and the cat, the. hitopadesa (sanskrit) jackdaw with borrowed plumes, the. aesop (greek) jupiter's two wallets. aesop (greek) king and the hawk, the. bidpai (indian) king-crow and the water-snail, the. (malayan) kite and the pigeons, the. aesop (greek) lark and her young ones, the. aesop (greek) leopard and the other animals (african) lion and the ass hunting, the. la fontaine (french) lion and the echo, the. anonymous (english) lion and the gadfly, the. raju (indian) lion and the gnat, the. la fontaine (french) lion and the goat, the. raju (indian) lion and the mosquitoes, the. (chinese) lion and the mouse, the. aesop (greek) lion and the rabbit, the. hitopadesa (sanskrit) lion and the wild dog, the. (african) lion going to war, the. la fontaine (french) lion, the bear, the monkey, and the fox, the. aesop (greek) lion, the fox, and the story-teller, the. raju (indian) lion, the mouse, and the cat, the. hitopadesa (sanskrit) lion's share, the. la fontaine (french) lioness and the bear, the. la fontaine (french) man and his piece of cloth, the. raju (indian) man and the lion, the. aesop (greek) man and turtle (african) man of luck, and the man of pluck, the. raju (indian) matter of arbitration, a. aesop (greek) monkey and the cat, the. la fontaine (french) monkey and the leopard, the. la fontaine (french) monkey who had seen the world, the. gay (english) mouse and the frog, the. bidpai (indian) mouse who became a tiger, the. hitopadesa (sanskrit) mouse-deer's shipwreck, the. (malayan) muff, the fan, and the parasol, the. yriarte (spanish) mule and the lion, the. (chinese) mule, jackal and lion. (moorish) nianga dia ngenga and leopard. (african) nightingale and the glowworm, the. cowper (english) oak and the reed, the, la fontaine (french) old man and his sons, the. aesop (greek) old man and the ass, the. la fontaine (french) old man, his son, and the ass, the. aesop (greek) old woman and her maids, the. aesop (greek) old woman and the doctor, the. aesop (greek) old woman's cat, the. bidpai (indian) pairing time anticipated. cowper (english) passenger and the pilot, the. aesop (greek) peacock and the fox, the. raju (indian) peacock complaining to juno, the. la fontaine (french) peasant and the horse, the. krilof (russian) peasant and the robber, the. krilof (russian) peasant and the sheep, the. krilof (russian) pebble and the diamond, the. krilof (russian) phoebus and boreas. la fontaine (french) pike, the. krilof (russian) pike and the cat, the. krilof (russian) pineapple and the bee, the. cowper (english) playful ass, the. aesop (greek) ploughman and his sons, the. la fontaine (french) poet, the oyster, and sensitive plant, the. cowper (english) poor woman and the bell, the. hitopadesa (sanskrit) porcupine and the snakes, the. aesop (greek) power of fables, the. aesop (greek) proud chicken, the. (chinese) proud fox and the crab, the. (chinese) quartette, the. krilof (russian) rabbits and the elephants, the. hitopadesa (sanskrit) rat and the elephant, the. la fontaine (french) rat and the oyster, the. la fontaine (french) rat and the toad, the. (african) rat-catcher and cats, the. gay (english) rats and the cheese, the. anonymous (english) raven, the. cowper (english) rope dancer and his pupil, the. yriarte (spanish) sagacious snake, the. bidpai (indian) satyr and the traveller, the. aesop (greek) shepherd and his dog, the. la fontaine (french) shepherd and the lion, the. la fontaine (french) shepherd's dog and the wolf, the. gay. (english) sick stag, the. la fontaine (french) snake and the sparrows, the. bidpai (indian) sparrows and the falcon, the. bidpai (indian) spectacles, the. aesop (greek) spider and the bee, the. krilof (russian) squirrel and the horse, the. yriarte (spanish) stag and the vine, the. la fontaine (french) stork and the toad, the. (african) sunling, the. raju (indian) swallow and other birds, the. aesop (greek) swan and the cook, the. la fontaine (french) swan and the linnet, the. yriarte (spanish) sword-blade, the. krilof (russian) tail of the serpent, the. aesop (greek) tea and the sage, the. yriarte (spanish) tiger and the giraffe, the. raju (indian) tiger and the shadow, the. (malayan) tiger gets his deserts, the. (malayan) tiger, the fox, and the hunters, the. raju (indian) tinsel and lightning. raju (indian) traveller and the tiger, the. hitopadesa (sanskrit) travellers and the bear, the. aesop (greek) trishka's caftan. krilof (russian) tune that makes the tiger drowsy, the (malayan) two mules, the. la fontaine (french) two rats, the fox, and the egg, the. la fontaine (french) two travellers, the. aesop (greek) two travellers and the oyster, the. aesop (greek) wagtail and the jackal, the. (moorish) weasel in the granary, the. la fontaine (french) what employment our lord gave to insects (african) wolf and its cub, the. krilof (russian) wolf and the cat. the. krilof (russian) wolf and the crane, the. aesop (greek) wolf and the fox, the. la fontaine (french) wolf and the lamb, the. aesop (greek) wolf and the lamb, the. aesop (greek) wolf and the lean dog, the. la fontaine (french) wolf and the mastiff, the. aesop (greek) wolf and the sheep, the. aesop (greek) wolf in sheep's clothing, the. aesop (greek) wolf, the goat, and the kid, the. la fontaine (french) wolf turned shepherd, the. la fontaine (french) woodman and mercury, the. la fontaine (french) woods and the woodman, the. la fontaine (french) wren, the. (moorish) young mouse, the cock, and the cat, the. aesop (greek) young tiger, the. bidpai (indian) ====================================================================== the wisdom of the east series edited by l. cranmer-byng dr. s. a. kapadia arabian wisdom ====================================================================== wisdom of the east arabian wisdom selections and translations from the arabic by john wortabet, m.d. third impression london john murray, albemarle street all rights reserved to my children "what doth the lord require of thee, but to do justly, and to love mercy, and to walk humbly with thy god!"--micah vi. . contents introduction the first chapter of the koran repentance a sinner's cry unto god forgiving others forbearance humility true nobility self-respect character benevolence generosity gratitude recompense flaunting kindness knowledge speculative studies thoughts, doubts wisdom ignorance, folly consultation speaking, writing, books silence truthfulness truthfulness to promises truthfulness to secrets deceit exertion opportunities economy vicissitudes of fortune patience contentment cheerfulness war anger hatred, malice murder envy rashness laziness avarice complaint, blame marriage children filial duty brothers friends neighbours salutation love of country and home travelling health youth and old age death appendix editorial note the object of the editors of this series is a very definite one. they desire above all things that, in their humble way, these books shall be the ambassadors of good-will and understanding between east and west, the old world of thought, and the new of action. in this endeavour, and in their own sphere, they are but followers of the highest example in the land. they are confident that a deeper knowledge of the great ideals and lofty philosophy of oriental thought may help to a revival of that true spirit of charity which neither despises nor fears the nations of another creed and colour. l. cranmer-byng. s. a. kapadia. northbrook society, , cromwell road, kensington, s.w. introduction the wise sayings and proverbs of ancient and modern times, and in all the languages i know or to which i had access in translations, have always had a great attraction for me. drawn from the experiences and study of human life, they have been reduced by wise men to short, pithy sentences, generally expressed in some quaint or striking form, for conveying sound moral truths. they are intended to be maxims of life, or rules of conduct, chiefly for the young, but may be read with pleasure and profit by both young and old. it was with such an object in view that the editors of the _wisdom of the east_ series have lately issued a number of small books on this subject carefully translated by competent specialists, and which have been highly appreciated by the english press and public. their chief desire, however, appears to be "that these books shall be the ambassadors of good-will and understanding between east and west," and also that "the great ideals and lofty philosophy of oriental thought may help to a revival of that true spirit of charity which neither despises nor fears the nations of another creed and colour." (see editorial note.) it was also from such motives, but long before i had seen these books, that i have employed a part of my leisure hours in translating into arabic some of the best sayings of m. aurelius, shakespeare, tennyson, english and other proverbs, and, quite lately, selections from _the instruction of ptah-hotep_ and _sadi's scroll of wisdom_. they were published in the best arabic magazines, and have been read by many christians, moslems, and jews in egypt, syria, and other countries; and i have been told by some of these oriental readers that they found in them much matter for thought and instruction, while their views of the community and bonds of human nature among all nations, and in all parts of the world, have been broadened and enlarged. the arabic language is particularly rich in this kind of literature, and its proverbs are often appropriately introduced in conversation, letters, and books, and add much force to what is said or written. many are light and colloquial, and bring a smile or laughter to both speaker and hearer; but many also are distinguished by their classical form and the serious weighty ideas which they convey or inculcate. it was easy, therefore, to find abundant material for this little book, but it was somewhat difficult to make a wise selection, to classify the different subjects under proper heads, and to translate arabic idioms into good english. other difficulties were when the proverb in arabic is formed of two parts which assonate or rhyme, when the piquancy of a short sentence depends so much on the quaintness of its expression, when an untranslatable pun or play upon words is used, or when the phrase is too elliptical or too oriental in its reference to be easily understood by english readers. the translation i have made is generally literal, sometimes free, but always true to the original. some i have left in their oriental form to show the arabian bent of thought and mode of life. the renderings from the koran are all mine, and i alone am responsible for them. all that i have tried to do was for ordinary readers--and for them alone. many proverbs are common to all languages, and in them all--notably among semitic nations--there is often an exaggeration,[ ] or a one-sided view,[ ] or a paradox,[ ] which must be taken with some latitude and with the natural limitations required by common sense. it will also be observed that many arabic proverbs have a close resemblance to the proverbs of solomon, and often assume that rhetorical form or parallelism in which hebrew poetry abounds when the same idea is repeated in other words, or where its positive and negative sides are put into contrast. the following quotation, taken from the eighth chapter of that book, may serve as an example of what has just been said, and as an appropriate introduction to this little book: "doth not wisdom cry, and understanding put forth her voice? unto you, o men, i call; and my voice is to the sons of men. for my mouth shall utter truth; and wickedness is an abomination to my lips. for whoso findeth me findeth life, and shall obtain favour of the lord. but he that sinneth against me wrongeth his own soul: all they that hate me love death." [ ] "a fool throws a stone into a well, and a thousand wise men cannot get it out." [ ] "a man is safe when alone." "paradise without human companions is not worth living in." [ ] "do no good, and you will meet with no evil." the first chapter of the koran in the name of god, who is abundant in mercy and compassion! praise be to god, the lord of the universe, the most merciful and compassionate, the sovereign of the day of judgment. thee alone we worship, and from thee alone we seek help. guide us to the right path--the path of them to whom thou hast been gracious--not of them with whom thou art angry, nor of them who have gone astray. amen.[ ] [ ] this opening chapter of the koran--very short as it is--contains the fundamental principles of the whole book--the doctrine of god, his infinite mercy, the immortality of the soul, the rewards and punishments of the world to come, and the duty of prayer, and thanksgiving, and adoration, and obedience. it is a fair specimen of all that is best in the "revealed book" of the moslems, and is as frequently repeated by them as the lord's prayer is by christians. repentance, and god's forgiving mercy _koran_. o ye who believe, repent unto god, for he loveth them who are penitent. o ye who believe in me, who by much sin have done a great wrong to themselves, despair not of the mercy of god, for he forgiveth all sins. verily he forgiveth and is merciful. _traditions_. sorrow for sin is repentance. he who repents is like him who has not sinned. _wise sayings and proverbs_. no intercession succeeds so effectually as repentance. the most truthful man is he who is true to his repentance. two sins only god does not forgive--worship of false gods and injury to men. a sinner's cry unto god[ ] [ ] the original arabic is in verse. o thou who knowest every thought, and hearest every cry, who art the source of all that is, or ever shall be, who art the only hope in every trouble, the only help in every plaint and every woe, whose treasures of bounty and word creative are one, god of all good, hear my prayer! one sole plea i have--my need of thee; but needing thee my need is filled. one only resource i have--to stand and knock; and if unheard at thy mercy-gate, to whom shall i go? whom shall i call, what name shall i invoke, if thy needy servant shall in vain thy bounty seek? but far be it from thee, god of grace, to refuse a sinner's cry. too good and gracious art thou to send me thus away. contrite, i stand at thy door, believing that contrite prayer availeth much with thee. suppliant, i stretch forth my hands, and with all my soul look up to thee. save me, god, from every ill, and be thy favour ever mine! forgiving others _koran_. god forgiveth past sins; let men forgive and pardon. forgive freely. forgiving others is the nearest thing to piety. _traditions_. he who forgiveth others, god forgiveth him. be merciful, and you will have mercy; forgive and you will be forgiven. _sayings and proverbs_. of all things god loveth best forgiveness when one is able to inflict harm, and forbearance when one is angry. the pleasure of forgiving is sweeter than the pleasure of revenge. forgiveness is perfect when the sin is not remembered. the most wicked of men is he who accepts no apology, covers no sin, and forgives no fault. small men transgress, great men forgive. a noble man condones and pardons, and when by chance he finds out a sin, he conceals it. a man said to another who had spoken evil of him: "if what you have said be true, may god forgive me; and if false, may he forgive you." clemency, forbearance, and gentleness _koran_. those who worship the merciful one are they who walk on the earth gently, and who, when fools speak to them, say "peace." ( , .) _traditions_. be friendly to him who would be unfriendly to you, give him who will not give you, and forbear with him who would do you harm. next to faith in god, the chief duty of man is to treat his fellow men with gentleness and courtesy. _sayings and proverbs_. gentleness is one of the noblest traits in a man's character. a gentle man is a man of great beauty. one of the surest evidences of gentleness is tenderness to fools. the fierce anger of a foolish man is checked by gentleness as a fierce fire is extinguished by water. gentleness is sometimes an humiliation, and he who is always forbearing and patient may be trodden down by fools. if you honour a vile man, you disgrace the code of honour. humility humility is that line of conduct which is a mean between overbearing pride on the one hand and abject servility on the other, as economy is the middle term between extravagance and avarice. humility is the crown of nobility, a ladder to honour, and a means of procuring love and esteem. he who humbleth himself, god lifteth him up. when abu-bekr, "the righteous" (the first khalif), was praised, he used to say: "o god, thou knowest me better than i know myself, and i know myself better than they know me. make me, i pray thee, better than they suppose; forgive me what they know not, and lay not to my account what they say." a wise man was once asked whether he knew of any good which is not coveted, or any evil which deserves no mercy, and he said: "yes, they are humility and pride." to despise a proud man is true humility. true nobility true nobility lies in high character and refined manners, not in noble birth or ancient pedigree. a noble man is he who aims at noble ends--not he who glories in an ancestry mouldering in the dust. a noble man is noble though he come to want, and a base man is base though he walks on pearls. a lion is a lion though his claws be clipped, and a dog is a dog though he wear a collar of gold. he who disregards his own honour gets no good from an honourable lineage. learning and high principles take the place of noble birth, and cover the shame of a low origin. a branch tells of what stock it comes. self-respect, and the sense of shame son of man, if you have no self-respect, do what you will. men see no fault in one who respects himself. if you fear not the consequences of an evil life, and have no sense of shame, you are free to do what you will. no, by god, life has no worth, and this world has no happiness to a man who has lost his self-respect and abandons himself to shamelessness. there is no good in a man who is not ashamed of men. he who has a brazen face has a craven heart. to be ashamed before god is to obey his commandments and to avoid what he has forbidden; to be ashamed before men is to avoid all harm to them; and to be ashamed before one's self is to be chaste and clean when one is alone. be ashamed in your own sight more than in the sight of men. he who does a thing in secret of which he would be ashamed if done openly, has no respect for himself. he who respects not himself can have no respect for others. i shall not kiss a hand which deserves to be cut off. character a man is truly religious when he is truly good. a good character is a great boon. kind words are the bonds of love. a kind word is like an act of charity. if you cannot help men with money, help them with a cheerful face and a kindly bearing. no man is entitled to consideration unless he has these three things, or at least one of them: the fear of god to restrain him from evil, forbearance with wicked men, and a good nature towards all. there are cases where not kindness but severity is necessary. kindness increases the love of friends, and diminishes the hatred of enemies. be firm after you have been kind. god loves the man who is tender-hearted. an evil nature is a calamity from which there is no escape. if you hear that a mountain has moved from its place believe it, but if you hear that a man has changed his character do not believe it, for he will act only according to his nature. an inherited quality may be traced back to the seventh grandfather. there are four points in a good character from which all other good traits take their origin--prudence, courage, continence, and justice. when a woman has had more than one husband in this life, she will, in the future state, be free to be the wife of him whose character she esteemed the most. benevolence _koran_. do good unto others as god has done unto you. is the reward of kindness anything but kindness? he who does a kindly act shall be recompensed tenfold. ye can never be righteous unless ye give away from that which ye love. _traditions_. the upper hand [which giveth] is better than the lower hand [which taketh]. god's creatures are the objects of his care, and he loveth best that man who is most helpful to them. _proverbs_. do not be ashamed to give little, for it is less than that, if you give nothing. if you give, give freely, and if you strike, strike boldly. he who soweth kindness shall reap thanks. what a man does for god is never lost. be merciful to him who is beneath you, and you will have mercy from him who is above you. the best kind of good is that which is done most speedily. inopportune kindness is injustice. no true joy but in doing good and no true sorrow but in doing evil. cruelty to animals is forbidden by god. a peacemaker gets two-thirds of the blows. generosity generosity is to do a kindness before it is asked, and to pity and give a man who asks. a generous man is nigh unto god, nigh unto men, nigh unto paradise, far from hell. overlook the faults of a generous man, for god helps him when he falls and gives him when he is needy. a man who doeth good does not fall, and if he fall he will find a support. be not ashamed to give little--to refuse is less. gratitude he is unthankful to god who is unthankful to man. he who is unthankful for little is unthankful for much. god continues his favours to him who is grateful. he who is ungrateful for the good he receives deserves that it should be withdrawn from him. man can be thankful to god only so far as he does good to his fellow men. if a man professes to thank god and his wealth decreases, his thanksgiving must be vitiated by his neglect of the hungry and naked. be grateful to him who has done you good, and do good to him who is grateful to you. gratitude takes three forms--a feeling in the heart, an expression in words, and a giving in return. the most worthless things on earth are these four--rain on a barren soil, a lamp in sunshine, a beautiful woman given in marriage to a blind man, and a good deed to one who is ungrateful. recompense to recompense good for good is a duty. neglect of recompense is contemptible. if a man do you a favour recompense him, and if you are unable to do so, pray for him. the worst kind of recompense is to requite evil for good. reproach faults by kindness, and requite evil by good. there is no glory in revenge. meet insult by insult, and honour by honour. evil can be repelled only by evil. what you put into the pot you will take out in the ladle. he who plays with a cat must bear its scratches. he who lives in a house of glass should not throw stones at people. sins may lurk, but god deals heavy blows. flaunting kindness to carry a heavy rock to the summit of a mountain is easier than to receive a kindness which is flaunted. the bane of a generous action is to mention it. it is better to refuse a kindness than to be reminded of it. i would not accept the whole world if i were to suffer the humiliation of being constantly reminded of the gift. to bestow and flaunt a kindness, and to be stingy and refuse to do an act of kindness, are equally bad. when you do a kindness hide it, and when a kindness is done to you proclaim it. do good, and throw it into the sea. knowledge _koran_. o god, increase my knowledge. are they who know and they who know not equal? he who has been given wisdom has been given a great good. what ye have been given of knowledge is only a small part. above a learned man there is one more learned. _traditions_. learned men are trustees to whom god has confided mankind. stars are the beauty of the heavens, and learned men are the ornament of a people. angels bend down their wings to a seeker of knowledge. _proverbs_. the rank of the learned is the highest of all ranks. if learning does not give wealth it will give esteem. knowledge increaseth the honour of a nobleman, and bringeth men of low degree into the houses of kings. a seat of learning is a garden of heaven. forgetfulness is the bane of knowledge. it is difficult for a man to know himself. knowledge is a lamp from which men light their candles. a mind without education is like a brave man without arms. kings govern men, and learned men govern kings. that day in which i have learned nothing, and in which i have added nothing to my knowledge, is no part of my life. he who seeks learning without study will attain his end when the raven becomes grey with age. to every noble horse a stumble, and to every learned man an error. knowledge does not save from error, nor wealth from trouble. the owner of the house knows best what is in it. speculative studies all speculative research ends in perplexing uncertainty. i sought in the great sea of theoretical learning a bottom on which to stand--and found nothing but one wave dashing me against another. after a lifetime of research and learning, i amassed nothing but such phrases as: "it is said," or "they say." o erring reason, i am sick of thee! i take a single step and thou movest a whole mile away from me. the object sought in abstruse study is either a truth which cannot be known, or a vain thing which it is useless to know. thoughts, doubts most thoughts are wishes. the thoughts of the wise are more trustworthy than the convictions of fools. do not confuse opinions with certainties. if you are doubtful of a thing let it alone. remove doubts by enquiry. a thing that is heard is not like a thing that is seen. do not believe all that you hear. it is not wise to be sure of a thing only because you think so. where there is much difference of opinion it is difficult to know the truth. to think well of others is a religious duty. he who thinks well of others is a happy man. he who has an evil thing in him thinks all men are like him. if a man think well of you, make his thought true. a poet says: "it was my habit to think well of others until experience taught me otherwise." be well with god and fear nothing. most men think well of themselves, and this is self-delusion. wisdom, prudence, experience reason is a light in the heart which distinguishes between truth and error. a wise man sees with his heart what a fool does not see with his eyes. men should be judged according to their lights (reason). a wise man is not he who considers how he may get out of an evil, but he who sees that he does not fall into it. actions are judged by their endings. if you desire a thing, consider its end. a man cannot be wise without experience. no wise man will be bitten twice from the same den. no boon is so remunerative as reason. long experience is an addition to mind. consideration may take the place of experience. a wise man is he who has been taught by experience. one word is sufficient to the wise man. a cheap offer makes a wise purchaser wary. he who considers consequences will attain his object, and he who does not carefully think on them, evil will be sure to overtake him. everything has need of reason, and reason has need of experience. mind and experience are like water and earth co-operating--neither of which alone can bring forth a flower. reason and anxious thought are inseparable. a wise man is never happy. (for in much wisdom is much grief, and he that increaseth knowledge increaseth sorrow.--eccles. i. .) ignorance, folly ignorance is the greatest poverty. ignorance is death in life. there is no evil so great as ignorance. folly is an incurable disease. a foolish man is like an old garment, which if you patch it in one place becomes rent in many other places. it is just as allowable to blame a blind man for want of sight as to blame a fool for his folly. to bear the folly of a fool is indeed a great hardship. the best way to treat a fool is to shun him. the fool is an enemy to himself--how can he then be a friend to others? an ignorant man is highly favoured, for he casts away the burden of life, and does not vex his soul with thoughts of time and eternity. the most effectual preacher to a man is himself. a man never turns away from his passions unless the rebuke comes from himself to himself. consultation if you consult a wise man, his wisdom becomes yours. confide your secret to one only, and hear the counsel of a thousand. (in the multitude of counsellors there is safety. prov. xi. .) a counsellor is a trusted man. when men consult together, they are led by the wisest among them. the knowledge of two is better than the knowledge of one. two heads are better than one. let your counsellor be one who fears god. consult a man of experience, for he gives you what has cost him much, and for which you give nothing. a man who is older than yourself by a day is more experienced than you by a year. consult an older man and a younger, then decide for yourself. the wisest may need the advice of others. he who is wise, and consults others, is a whole man; he who has a wise opinion of his own, and seeks no counsel from others, is half a man; and he who has no opinion of his own, and seeks no advice, is no man at all. no man can be sorry for seeking advice, or happy if he blindly follows out his own thoughts. speaking, writing, books if it were not for the faculty of speech, man would be nothing more than a silent picture or a contemptible animal. the tongue is the best part of man. man is hidden behind his tongue. a man's talk shows what kind of mind he has. what you write is the truest thing that can be said of you. the words of eloquent men are like a mighty army, and their writings like glittering swords. note down in writing what you learn. all knowledge which is not committed to writing is lost. the best handwriting is that which is most easily read. a bad pen is like an unruly, undutiful child. if you value a book you will read it through. if you write a book, be ready to encounter criticism. a book is like a garden carried in the pocket. a book is an eloquent, silent companion, or a speaking friend answering and questioning you. books are the food of minds. there is something wise in every proverb. the tongues of men are the pens of truth. poets, love-stricken, ramble up and down in every valley. poetry is one of the musical instruments of satan. silence, guarded speech wise men are silent. silence is often more eloquent than words. be not hasty with your tongue. if words are silver, silence is gold. not all that is known should be said. silence is a wise thing, but they who observe it are few. when the mind becomes large speech becomes little. restrain your tongue from saying anything but what is good. an unguarded word may do you great harm. a man who talks much is open to much blame. the most faulty of men are they that are most loquacious in matters which do not concern them. to guard his tongue is one of the best traits in a man's character. man is saved from much evil if he guard his tongue. the tongue is a lion which must be chained, and a sharp sword which must be sheathed. nothing on earth is so deserving of a long imprisonment as the tongue. beware of saying anything of which you may be ashamed. it is better to regret a thing which you did not say than a thing which you did say. a slip of the foot is safer than a slip of the tongue. a false step may break a bone which can be set, but a slip of the tongue cannot be undone. a thrust of the tongue is sharper than the thrust of a lance. a word may cause much trouble, destroy a home, or open a grave. a great tree grows out of a small seed. the difference between loquacity and silence is like the difference between the noisy frog and the silent whale. wisdom is made up of ten parts--nine of which are silence, and the tenth is brevity of language. a man conceals his ignorance by his silence. he who says what he should not say, will have to hear what he would not like to hear. he who talks much does little. what is said at night the day blots out. truthfulness _koran_. o ye that believe, fear god and be truthful! verily god recompenseth the truthfulness of the truthful. _traditions_. be ever truthful, for truthfulness leads to righteousness, and righteousness leads to heaven. veracity brings peace to the heart. no man's religion can be right until his heart become right, nor can his heart become right until his tongue is right. keep to the truth though it may harm thee, and keep away from falsehood though it may profit thee. a man can be perfect only when he speaks the truth and acts according to the truth. _proverbs_. truth is the sword of god, which always cleaves when it smites. truth is armed with horns. by truth man is saved from evil. if falsehood saves from trouble truth saves much more. when thou speakest be truthful, and when thou actest be gentle. an ignorant man who is true is better than a clever man who is false. there are two kinds of truthfulness, and the greatest of them is that which may do thee harm. if truth and falsehood were pictured they would be represented by a terrible lion and a cunning fox. it is better to die a truthful man than to live the life of a liar. truthfulness to promises _koran_. be true to a covenant, for a covenant holds a man responsible. be faithful to your pledged covenants and keep your oaths. _traditions_. a man who keeps not his word has no religion. a true man's word is like an oath. be truthful in what you say, faithful to your promise, and careful of what is entrusted to you. a pledged word is as if you had made the gift. _proverbs_. a true man keeps his promise. a pledged word has the same value as a debt. the promise of a true man is a greater obligation than a debt. that man is a hypocrite who prays and fasts, but is untruthful in what he says, false to his word, and unfaithful in discharging a trust. truthfulness to secrets to keep a secret is a divine law. a secret is a trust, and to betray it is perfidy. the least of all noble traits is to keep a secret, and the greatest is to forget it. he controls himself most who hides a secret from his friends. when a secret is known to more than two, it becomes public. he who seeks a place to hide his secret reveals it. walls have ears. it is unwise to confide a secret to two tongues and four ears. your secret is your captive, betray it and you become its captive. a man should be a tomb in which a secret is deposited. if you keep your secret you are safe, and it will be to your sorrow if you reveal it. hearts are the depositaries of secrets, lips their locks, and tongues their keys. the hearts of the wise are the fortresses of secrets. deceit deceit does more harm to the deceitful than to the deceived. if a man commit these three things they will rise against him in judgment and punishment--aggression, perfidy, and deceit. to be true to the perfidious is perfidy, and to deceive the deceitful is lawful. in deceiving your neighbour be more wary than when he is trying to deceive you. when one would deceive you, and you feign to be deceived, you have deceived him. he who would deceive one who cannot be deceived is only deceiving himself. he who allows himself to be deceived by what his enemy says is the greatest enemy to himself. a wise man neither deceives nor is deceived. if a man believe in a stone it will do him good. self-deception is one of the forms of folly. most men think well of themselves, and this is self-delusion. vain desires are rarely realised, but they may give comfort in sorrow or pleasure in empty hope. exertion, perseverance, success a man obtains only what he strives for. he who seeks and struggles shall find. struggles bring the most unlikely things within reach. when a man makes up his mind to do a thing it becomes easy for him to do it. if you have a clear thought, be decided, and hesitate not--if you decide, hesitate not, but carry it out speedily. you must be ready to confront difficulties if you would realise your hopes. it is the part of man to strive, and not to rely on the favours of fortune. not every one who seeks shall find, nor every one who is indifferent be denied. beware of giving up hope in what you earnestly seek. a wise man perseveres, and is not easily turned away. not by fitful efforts, but by constancy, is an end secured. the most profitable labour is that which is most persevering--though it may not be strenuous. a moderate success is better than overwhelming work. success comes to him who abjures procrastination. the world is the booty of the skilful. the most wonderful thing in the world is the success of a fool and the failure of a wise man. a pleasing manner is a great aid to success. it is the duty of man to do his utmost, but he is not responsible for success. do not undertake a work for which you are not competent. what can a tirewoman do with an ugly face? opportunities opportunities move like clouds, or pass rapidly like meteors. seize a thief before he seizes you. take advantage of the light of day before the night sets in. seize on opportunities, for they are either a spoil if improved, or a grief if neglected. good judgment means a seizure of opportunities. keep quiet until the occasion presents itself. an action may be good if done at a fitting season, or evil if done at an improper time. procrastination means evil. put your bread into the oven while it is hot. if you undertake a work do it speedily. profit by occasions when they turn up, and do not worry about an evil which has not yet come. time is a sharp sword--strike with it before you are struck by it. if you have not sown, and see a reaper in the field, you will regret a lost opportunity. economy economy saves half the cost of living. the value of economy is equal to half of your profits. frugality saves a man from poverty. little with economy is better than much with waste. poverty with freedom from debt is great wealth. if you count beforehand you will thrive. the sea is made up of drops and the mountain of grains. my son, take a middle course between stinginess and extravagance, parsimony and prodigality. extravagance dissipates great riches, and economy increases them when they are small. extravagance ever leads to misery and ruin. extravagance does as much harm to life as it adds to the pleasures of living. in all things take a middle course. charity lies between two charities--one to yourself, the other to your needy fellow man. if you are too soft you will be squeezed, and if you are too dry you will be broken. he who spends and reckons not, ends in ruin and knows not. he who buys cheap meat will regret his purchase when it is served up. vicissitudes of fortune man is like an ear of wheat shaken by the wind--sometimes up and sometimes down. man is a target to the accidents of time. one day for us, and one day against us. with to-day there is to-morrow. to every moses there is a pharaoh. there is no day which has not its opposite. the changes of fortune show what a man is made of. there is no joy which is not followed by sorrow. when fortune brings a great good, she follows it by a great evil. fortune gives lavishly, and then turns round and takes away. when a man has attained his highest hope, let him expect that its downfall is near by. when a thing waxes to perfection it begins rapidly to wane. when distress reaches its utmost, relief is close at hand. what is past is dead. every ascent has a descent, and every trouble has an end. do not worry--between one twinkle of the eye and that which follows it things may change. i have looked far and wide, and saw nothing on the faces of men but looks of perplexity or regret. to complain of one's grief, except to god, is an humiliation. he who thinks that fortune will always favour him is a fool. follow the tracks of the fortunate man and you will come to fortune. patience god is with them that are patient. god loveth them that are patient (_koran_). patience is one-half of religious duty. there are two kinds of patience--one is for something which you desire, the other in something which you hate; and he is a strong man who can combine them both. patience is mostly needed at the first shock. grief is dispelled by patience. the device of a man who hath no device is patience. so long as there is a claimant, no just case is ever lost. patience is a bitter cup, which the strong alone can drink. a misfortune is one, but it becomes two to the impatient. patience is one of the gifts of heaven. he who is impatient to hear one word will have to listen to many words. difficulties can be overcome only by patience. it is a good omen when your messenger is delayed. rarely does a patient man fail in obtaining that which he seeks. be patient--every cloud dissipates, and every evil which does not continue is a small thing. he who receives the strokes is not like him who counts them. contentment contentment is to refrain from coveting what others have. contentment is a treasure which is inexhaustible. the most thankful of men is he who is contented. he who seeks riches must seek them in contentment. give freely, and be content with little. a contented man is happy in life. life is a vanishing space of time, and he alone vanquishes its changing fortunes who lives in contentment. be content with what god has given you, and you will be the richest of men. if you cannot have what you want, be content with what you have. if all cannot be obtained, a part may be attained. there is relief in despair. cheerfulness god loves a cheerful man. a main part of friendship is cheerfulness. cheerfulness denotes a generous nature, as a flower denotes fruit. the first duty of a host is cheerfulness. he who is sparing in cheerfulness is more sparing in doing a kindness. a cheerful countenance is a presage of good. a bright face and bright eyes are a greater boon than a rich inheritance. the expression of the eyes shows what is in the heart. an expression of the face may be more eloquent than that of the tongue. the face of an enemy betrays his secret thoughts. no one has ever harboured a secret which may not be discovered by a slip of the tongue or an expression of the face. hope for good from one who has a beautiful face. a gloomy look is an omen of ill, and a bright face is good news. life has no cloud to an ignorant man, to one who heeds not past or future events, and to him who deceives himself and constrains his soul to seek and hope for what is impossible. war war is an evil thing to both victor and vanquished. it is better to avoid than to make war. the most honourable death is on the battlefield. to die in battle from a thousand cuts of the sword is easier than to die in bed. he who incites soldiers to courage in action is of more value than a thousand fighting men. an army to a king is like wings to a bird. to carry out a well-devised plan in war is more effectual than strokes and thrusts. a battle is fought by feints and stratagems. what an easy thing is a battle to one who looks on at a distance! patient constancy is the key to victory. two wolves kill a lion. two weak men vanquish one that is strong. beware of aggression in war--for it can lead to no glory in victory. to overcome the weak has all the shame of a defeat. a butcher is not frightened at the sight of a multitude of sheep. to retire from an unsuccessful battle is defeat. magnanimity to captives, and mercy to the fallen, are a hymn of praise to god for victory. anger the first part of anger is madness and the second is regret. passion and blindness are inseparable mates. beware of anger, for it ends in the humiliation of apology. anger leads to all kinds of evil. when you are angry be silent. it is not a trait of noble character to be hasty either in anger or in revenge. the anger of a fool reveals itself in what he says, and the anger of a wise man in what he does. quarrelsomeness is a contemptible habit. call not yourself a man so long as you are angry. hatred, malice of all men god abhors most an implacable enemy. of all things nothing is so bad as the making of enemies. of all evils nothing is so hard to be borne as the triumph of an enemy. rejoice not over a fallen man--he may rise and you may fall. despise no enemy, however insignificant he may be--see how the shadow of the earth causes an eclipse of the moon, or how a midge brings a tear to the eye of a lion. he who makes enemies shall have many a restless night. he who has many enemies, let him expect a downfall. when anger is repressed by reason of inability to do immediate harm, it retires into the heart in the form of malice and breeds these vices--envy, triumph over the enemy's ill, repulsion of friendly approaches, contempt, slander, derision, personal violence, and injustice. murder the first thing which shall be taken up in the day of judgment is murder. man is a building made by god, and he who destroys the building of god shall be demolished. put no man to undeserved death, for god forbids murder. announce violent death to the murderer, and poverty to the adulterer, though after a season. envy the difference between envy and emulation is, that in the first the desire is for the cessation of a good enjoyed by another, and in the second the desire is for the possession of a similar good. an envious man is angry with god for his favours to other men. every favoured man is envied. a lordly man is always an object of admiration or of envy. beware of envy, for it shows itself in you, not in him whom you envy. envy is a disease for which there is no cure. envy is a disease which does more harm to the envious than to the envied. all enmity may be overcome except that which comes from envy. there can be no peace in the heart of an envious man. a man cannot be happy if he be malicious, envious, or ill-tempered. keep your affairs to yourself, for every favoured man is an object of envy. envy may be cured only by a sure knowledge that it is a cause of much pain to you and no evil to him whom you envy--so you must shun it if you would not be an enemy to yourself and a friend to your enemy. envy consumes man, as rust corrodes iron. he who strains his neck to look at one above him gets nothing but pain. envy no man except him who is good. rashness beware of rashness, for it has well been called the mother of regrets. he who acts hastily either makes a blunder, or comes very near it. he who is deliberate is either right, or very nearly so. a hasty act comes from the evil one, and a deliberate act from god. haste is the resort of the weak. laziness hopes are never realised by sloth. a lazy man can never succeed in life. it is one of the signs of weakness to leave things to fate. a lazy man loses what is due to him. weakness and sloth lead to ruin. a man gets tired of having nothing to do, as he gets tired of work. if work is hard, want of work is a great evil. youth, riches, and leisure are the great corrupters of life. the head of an idle man is the workshop of satan. avarice, stinginess, greed avarice and faith in god can never live together in the heart of man. avarice and ill-nature have no place in the heart of a good man. avarice is the parent of all evil dispositions. the riches of an avaricious man go either to naught or to an heir. he who is close-fisted shall be treated in a like manner. a man who is miserly to himself cannot be generous to others. an avaricious man is more lavish of his life than of his money. a liberal man lives on his riches, a miser is eaten up by them. a miser lives the life of a poor man in this world, and will be judged as a rich man in the world to come. he who makes his morsel large will be choked. avarice is the murderer of the miser. greed is the mate of sorrow. strong wine is not more destructive to reason than greed. an old man continues to be young in two things--love of money and love of life. complaint, blame to god alone i make my plaint of sorrow and grief (_koran_ , ). to bewail grief, except to god, is an humiliation. lamentation is the weapon of the weak. a good man sees his own faults and is blind to the faults of others. censure your friend by kindness, and return the evil which he may have done to you by acts of favour. to blame a friend is better than to lose him. no man is free from faults. if you count your friend's faults you will have no friend left. an absent man has his apology with him. he who compels you to blame him has made up his mind to forsake you. open blame is better than secret malice. blame not, nor boast, until a year and a half shall have passed away. he who has a needle under his arm it will prick him. there is no wood which has no smoke in it. among all snakes there is not one that is good. you are your own enemy. marriage the advantages of marriage are purity of life, children, pleasures of home, and the happiness of exertion for the comfort of wife and children. this life is a joy, and its greatest delight is a good wife. an honourable marriage is a stepping-stone to honour. take a wife not for her beauty, but for her virtues. chastity united to beauty makes a wife perfect. three things contribute to long life--a large house, an obedient wife, and a swift horse. the violence of love vanishes soon after marriage. if the love of bride and bridegroom were to endure, the resurrection day would be at hand. a man has no portion in the love of women when he becomes grey, or when he loses his fortune. the lover's eye is blind. the disgrace of a woman is abiding. take the high-road, though it turn; and marry a woman of good birth, though she may have been passed by. women are the snares of satan. happy is the woman who dies before her husband. it is better to have a thousand enemies out of the house than one in it. the girl who has many suitors, and makes no choice of one of them, is doomed to become an old maid. children children are a gift from god. a child is a flower which has come down from paradise. nothing is dearer than a child, except a grandchild. when your son is young, train him; when he is grown, make a brother of him. that child is loved most who is young until he is grown up, or sick until he recovers, or absent until he returns home. your riches and your children are a temptation to you (_koran_). happy is the woman who has first daughters, then sons. if you do not train up your child, time will do it. the training of children is like chewing stones. your riches and children are your enemies--beware of them (_koran_). the joy of parents in their children prolongs life. sorrow for a child is a burning fire in the heart. he who is not tender to his child shall find no tenderness in god to him. your children are not too many for death, nor is your money too much for a rapacious governor. filial duty when your father and mother become old, and you take them into your house, say not a word of impatience to them, nor rebuke them, but speak graciously, and be humble to them, and say: "o my god, be merciful to them, even as they tended me when i was young" (_koran_). be dutiful to your father, and your son shall be dutiful to you. he who is ill-mannered to his father will be ill-treated by his son. the good-will of parents procures the good-will of god. the central gate of heaven is open to the man who has been dutiful to his parents. paradise is open at the command of mothers. you, and all that you have, belong to your father. a daughter is always proud of her father. an unmarried daughter has a broken wing. brothers, relations a man who has no brother is like one who has a left arm and no right. a brother is a wing. when evil befalls you, you will know the value of a brother. your brother is he who shares your distress. the same regard is due to the eldest brother from the youngest as that which is due to a parent from his child. god helps him who helps his brother. who forsakes his brother will be forsaken by god. a man is a mirror in which his brother's likeness is seen. the best man among you is he who is best to his relations. blood does not become water. honour your tribe, for they are the wing with which you fly. the measure of a man's greatness is that of his tribe (clan, party). be friendly to your relations, but do not depend on your relationship. if it were not for my own arm, my mouth would have nothing to eat. friends, companions a friend is a second self and a third eye. a true man is he who remembers his friend when he is absent, when he is in distress, and when he dies. a friend is known only in adversity. if your friend is sweet, do not eat him up. if you would keep a friend, do not lend him money nor borrow from him. keep to your old friends--your new friends will not be so constant. you may find in a friend a brother who was not born of your mother. the noblest man is he whose friendship may be easily obtained, and whose enmity can be incurred only with difficulty. he is a weak man who can make no friends, and still weaker is he who loses them. when my vine was laden with grapes, my friends were many; when the grapes were finished, my friends disappeared. friendship may come down by inheritance from ancestors, and so may hatred. nothing makes us feel so lonely as solitude, and nothing makes us so cheerful as freedom from evil companions. without human companions, paradise itself would be an undesirable place to live in. a man's character is judged by the character of his companions. smoke is no less an evidence of fire than that a man's character is that of the character of his associates. he who associates with a suspected person will himself be suspected. neighbours he is a good man who is a good neighbour. no man enters heaven who is a bad neighbour. a good neighbour is he who is not only harmless, but bears harm with patience. be friends, but do not become neighbours. in social life be as friends, in business as strangers. prefer a near neighbour to a distant brother. salutation, visiting return a salutation by something better, or at least by something as good (_koran_). a warm greeting renews friendship. respect is due to a visitor. the best of men is a rich man who visits the poor, and the worst is a poor man who visits the rich. go a mile to see a sick man, go two miles to make peace between two men, and go three miles to call on a friend. make your visits short, especially to the sick. to visit too often is tiresome to your friends, and to visit too rarely is less than what is due to friendship. your calls will be best appreciated when they are seasonable and not too frequent. too much familiarity is a cause of coolness among friends. do not associate much with men; if you do, shut your eyes to their faults, and bear consequent trouble. love of country and home love of one's own country is a religious duty. a true man yearns towards his native country, and longs for his home as a lion longs for his lair. it is a sign of sound judgment when the heart craves for country and home. he is better to suffer hardship in one's own country than to enjoy ease in a foreign land. god blesses the land which is loved by its people. as a nurse who has brought you up, has a special claim on you, so has your country. he is an unwise man who alienates himself from his country and home. if it were not for love of country, unhappy lands would be desolate. it is an honour to you to love the land and house where you were born. an old man is most comfortable in his own house. travelling in travelling you will find health and profit. if water stagnates long it becomes foul. a roaming dog is better than a couching lion. during a journey a man's character is weighed and revealed. the day on which a journey is begun is half the journey done. health health is a crown on the head of the hale, invisible except to the sick. sound health is beyond all price. the greatest gift to man is a long healthy life. if there be anything more valuable than life, it is sound health. it is wonderful that the envious see not the blessing of good health. no man appreciates the worth of health until he is afflicted with disease. if your dinner is light, your dreams will be pleasant. so long as the head is free from trouble, the body will be sound. youth and old age an old man among his people is like a prophet sent from god. to venerate old age is to revere god. youth is a kind of madness. the wisest young men are they who follow the good example of the old, and the most foolish old men are they who follow the bad example of the young. it is the duty of every one to be tender to the young and respectful to the old. an old man should not give up his old habits, nor take to new ones. an old man speaks of what he has seen, and a young man speaks of what he has heard. grey hairs are a sign of wisdom, and are beautified by reverence. a hoary head is a rich cream churned by long years. grey hairs are a message from the other world. after old age there is nothing but infirmity or death. an old man cries out, "o that youth would return for a day, that i might relate to it what the roll of years has done to me!" the hair often becomes white, not from the succession of years, but from a succession of evils. life is a parting shadow and youth a departing guest. when a young man says he is hungry, believe him; but when he says he is tired, do not believe him. death all life ends in death. when i see all paths leading men unto death, and no paths leading from death unto us--no traveller there ever returning--not one of ages past ever remaining--i see that i also shall assuredly go where they have gone. if death be surely inevitable, be not a fool and die a coward's death. death is a cup which every man must drink, and the grave a door which every man must enter. if we are hastening to death, why all this impatience with the ills of life? this life is a sleep, the life to come is a wakening; the intermediate step between them is death, and our life here is a disturbed dream. he who dreads the causes of death, they will surely seize him--do what he will to evade them. death, so far as one can see, strikes at random, killing the man whom he hits, and leaving the man whom he misses to old age and decrepitude. death covers all faults. appendix what is righteousness? "righteousness is not that ye turn your faces [in prayer] to the east or west; but righteousness is to him who believeth in god and the last day, and angels, and revealed books, and prophets; who giveth cheerfully from his substance to kinsmen, orphans, the needy, the wayfarer, and to them that ask; who freeth the prisoner and the slave; who offereth prayers at their appointed times, and giveth the ordained alms; to them who fulfil the covenants to which they have bound themselves, and who are patient in times of distress, and pain, and struggle: these are they who are sincere [in religion], and who fear to do evil (_koran_ , )." this fine passage from the koran is considered by moslem commentators as the most comprehensive statement of the duties of man: "sound faith, a good social life, and right culture of the soul" (el-beidaway). _instructions of ali ibn-abi talib, the first khalif to his son_--"my son, fear god both secretly and openly; speak the truth, whether you be calm or angry; be economical, whether you be poor or rich; be just to friend and foe; be resigned alike in times of adversity and prosperity. my son, he who sees his own faults has no time to see the faults of others; he who is satisfied with the allotments of providence does not regret the past; he who unsheaths the sword of aggression will be killed by it; he who digs a pit for his brother will fall into it; he who forgets his own sin makes much of the sin of another; he who takes to evil ways will be despised; he who commits excesses will be known to do them; he who associates with the base will be subject to constant suspicion; he who remembers death will be content with little in this world; he who boasts of his sins before men, god will bring him to shame." the experiences of an old man "i have heard many sermons and had many counsels, but i have heard no preacher so effective as my grey hairs, and no counsellor so effectual as the voice of my own conscience. i have eaten the most choice food, and drunk the best kinds of wine, and enjoyed the love of the most beautiful women; but i found no pleasure so great as that of sound health. i have swallowed the bitterest food and drink, but i found nothing so bitter as poverty. i have worked at iron and carried heavy weights, but i found no burden so heavy as that of debt. i have sought wealth in all its forms, but found no riches so great as those of contentment." eight men who deserve to be slapped on the face he who despises a man of power; he who enters a house uninvited and unwelcomed; he who gives orders in a house not his own; he who takes a seat above his position; he who speaks to one who does not listen to him; he who intrudes on the conversation of others; he who seeks favours from the ungenerous; and he who expects love from his enemies. forbearance the following story is related by arabian authors of ma'an ibn-zaidah, who, from a humble origin, rose to be governor of irak. the story is probably not altogether historical, but it shows the high ideal of arab moralists as regards forbearance and gentleness. an arab of the desert, who had heard much of the great gentleness of ibn-zaidah, came one day to try him. entering abruptly into his presence he addressed him thus (in verse): "rememberest thou when thy bed-covering was a sheepskin and thy sandals made of camel-skin?" _ma'an_ answers (in prose): yes, i remember, and i have not forgotten it. _the arab_. praise be to god, who hath given thee a great rule, and taught thee how to sit on a throne! _ma'an_. yes, praise to him in every condition of life! _arab_. never shall i greet ma'an as an emir should be greeted! _ma'an_. greeting is an ordinance among arabs in which you are free to take what form you like. _arab_. an emir who eats sweet pastry in secret, and entertains his guest with barley bread! _ma'an_. the food is our own: we eat what we like and give others what we like. _arab_. i shall leave a land in which thou dwellest, and depart, though the hand of fortune is hard upon me. _ma'an_. brother arab, if thou stay, thou art welcome; and if thou depart, peace go with thee. _arab_. son of shame, give me something for my journey, for i have decided to go. _ma'an_ (_to his treasurer_): give him a thousand pieces of money. _arab_. noble prince, i have heard much of thy great forbearance, and came only to try thee. thy gentleness is indeed very great, and has no like among men. i pray god that thy life may be long, and thy forbearance be ever a noble example to which men may look up! truthfulness to trust the following historical incident is related by arab authors as the highest example of faithfulness to trust. al-samau'al (samuel) was the emir of a jewish tribe in southern arabia, shortly before the time of mohammed. a friend of his, before setting out on a journey, left with him some very fine mailed armour. this friend was killed in a battle, and one of the kings of syria demanded the arms. al-samau'al refused to give them up except to the rightful heir, and the king laid siege to him in one of his fortresses. one day his son fell into the hands of the enemy, and the king threatened to kill him if the arms were not given up. again he refused, and from the turrets of the castle saw his son put to death. the siege was soon after raised, and the arms were delivered to the heirs of his friend. truthfulness to pledge the terms of surrender at the capture of jerusalem by saladin, in , were that the crusaders should retire with their goods from that city to one of the garrisoned ports which were held by the franks, on the payment of ten pieces of gold for each man. as they were filing out of the city, and handing in their ransom-money, saladin and his generals looked on, watching the proceedings. the patriarch's turn came, and he was followed by a number of mules laden with much treasure. saladin made no sign, but his generals said: "sire, the conditions of surrender were for private property, not for such treasures of money, which we urgently need for carrying on the war." to this appeal he replied: "no, i have pledged my word, and for the ten pieces of gold agreed upon he shall be free." but just as he was so strictly truthful to his word, he was equally severe in exacting the same truthfulness from his foes. thus after the great battle of hittin, when the crusading army was utterly crushed, a large number of prisoners fell into his hands, including the king of jerusalem and count raymond de chatillon, governor of kerak, to the east of the jordan. the count was a bad, dishonourable man, and had (not long before) shamelessly violated an armistice, and fallen on a defenceless moslem caravan which was passing through his province, killing the men and seizing their property. when saladin heard of this base breach of the laws of war he was furious, and vowed that if this perfidious prince should ever fall into his power, he would kill him with his own hand; and now the count was his prisoner. the day of battle, in the month of august, had been very hot, and the crusaders, with their heavy coats of mail, and without a drop of water to drink, had suffered terribly from thirst. the tents of saladin were pitched near the lake of tiberias, and when the king and the count were brought in, the king asked for a drink of water--which saladin at once ordered. a large goblet of iced water was handed to him, and after quenching his thirst he passed the cup to the count. saladin looked on, but said nothing until the count had finished drinking, and he then said to him: "i gave no orders for drink for you; if i had, your life would have been safe by our laws of hospitality. but you are a bad, faithless man, who broke the terms of our truce, and you shall now suffer the death which you deserve," and with one stroke of his scimitar he cut off his head. he then sent for the knights of st. john, of whom there were about a thousand prisoners, and said to them: "so far as you have been brave warriors, and cost the moslems many a man, i have nothing to say; but you have not been fair and honourable in our wars, nor true to your engagements, and i now offer you the option of islam or death." to a man they all chose death in preference to adopting a faith which they hated; and so they were led to the shores of the lake and there beheaded. more than seven hundred years after these tragic events, william ii., the present emperor of germany, who is a descendant of the crusading princes, and a knight of the brandenburg branch of the order of st. john, came to damascus in ; and one of the first things he did there was to visit the tomb of saladin, and lay on it a wreath of flowers. it was a generous and beautiful and well-deserved tribute to the memory of a truly great man, from whom the christian nations of his times learned much of their chivalry and truthfulness to their pledged word. a thankful old man two old men, who had been friends in early youth, met after an interval of many years. a cordial greeting ensued, and then one of them asked the other: "how old are you now?" he said: "thank god, i am in good health." "are you well-off in worldly goods?" "thank god, i am in debt to no man." "have you any special trouble of mind?" "thank god, i have no young children." "have you any enemies?" "thank god, i have no near relations." the three sorts of happy men in two verses of poetry, al-mutanabbi, one of the greatest arabian poets and philosophers, reduces the number of happy men to three classes. they have been paraphrased and put into english verse by a friend, as follows: to three life seems a summer sky: the first who has no mind to know the heights and depths of life below, nor ever asks the reason why. the second he to whom life's sum is self at ease; who never lets the past disturb with dark regrets, nor hopes and fears from days to come. the third who, led by fancies crude, in scorn of truth, deceived at heart, makes fruitless dreams his better part, and hollow hopes the highest good. cynical views of life abu'l-ala was another great poet-philosopher. he lost his sight from small-pox early in life, was a cynic and pessimist, and may have often been copied by omar khayyam. he refers to his affliction and to the fact that he lived and died an unmarried man (so as to have no children) in a well-known verse: "here am i--wronged by my father who gave me birth--while i have done wrong to no one." some of his poetry has been put into english quatrains by ameen f. rihany, in imitation of omar khayyam's _rubaiyat_, and the following, from the _quatrains of abu'l-ala_, are a few striking examples: "what boots it, in my creed, that man should moan in sorrow's night, or sing in pleasure's dawn? in vain the doves all coo on yonder branch, in vain one sings or sobs: lo! he is gone. so solemnly the funeral passes by! the march of triumph, under this same sky. trails in its course--both vanish into night: to me are one, the sob, the joyous cry. many a grave embraces friend and foe, and grins in scorn at this most sorry show; a multitude of corses passed therein-- alas! time almost reaps e'er he doth sow! how oft around the well my soul would grope athirst; but lo! my pail was without rope: i cried for water, and the deep, dark well echoed my wailing cry, but not my hope. the door of what-may-be none can unlock, but we can knock and guess, and guess and knock: night sets her glittering sail, and glides along, ship-like; but where, o night-ship, is thy dock? oh, when will fate come forth with his decree, that i might clasp the cool clay, and be free? my soul and body, wedded for a while, are sick, and would that separation be. if miracles were wrought in bygone years, why not to-day, why not to-day, o seers? this leprous age most needs a healing hand, oh, why not heed his cries, and dry his tears?" miscellaneous proverbs he who treats you as he treats himself does you no injustice. he who lives on expectations dies in poverty. three things are no disgrace to man--to serve his guest, to serve his horse, and to serve in his own house. extremes are a mistake--a middle course is the best. when the cooks are many the food is spoiled. when a ship has two captains it will sink. tie the ass where his owner wants. be a slave to truth--the slave to truth is a freeman. no bravery in war can withstand overwhelming numbers. if god gives you, give you to others. a horseman has ever an open grave before him. confide not in a friend until you have tried him, and fight no enemy until you have sufficient power. a prudent man is right though he perisheth, and a reckless man is wrong though he cometh out safely. trust not in present prosperity, for it is a departing guest. reserve the white coin for the black day. if it be in your power to do harm to your enemy--do it not, but forgive him and win his thanks. the eye cannot contend with pointed steel. be cautious even where you are most sure. poverty is a chain which restrains men from doing much evil. if you would know what a man hath, look not to what he gains but to what he spends. nothing can be concealed except that which is not. the best friend is he who changeth not with the changes of time. every rule has exceptions. the most unjust man to himself is he who humbles himself to one who hates him, and he who praises one whom he does not know. when you do a kindness, make a small thing of it, though it be a great; and when you receive a kindness, make much of it, though it be small. idle hands are unclean. this world is honey mixed with poison--a joy inseparable from sorrow. if you are ignorant, inquire; if you stray, return; if you do wrong, repent; and if you are angry, restrain yourself. _printed by hazell, watson & viney, ld., london and aylesbury, england._ the essays of arthur schopenhauer translated by t. bailey saunders, m.a. the wisdom of life. contents. chapter introduction i. division of the subject ii. personality, or what a man is iii. property, or what a man has iv. position, or a man's place in the estimation of others-- sect. . reputation " . pride " . rank " . honor " . fame introduction. in these pages i shall speak of _the wisdom of life_ in the common meaning of the term, as the art, namely, of ordering our lives so as to obtain the greatest possible amount of pleasure and success; an art the theory of which may be called _eudaemonology_, for it teaches us how to lead a happy existence. such an existence might perhaps be defined as one which, looked at from a purely objective point of view, or, rather, after cool and mature reflection--for the question necessarily involves subjective considerations,--would be decidedly preferable to non-existence; implying that we should cling to it for its own sake, and not merely from the fear of death; and further, that we should never like it to come to an end. now whether human life corresponds, or could possibly correspond, to this conception of existence, is a question to which, as is well-known, my philosophical system returns a negative answer. on the eudaemonistic hypothesis, however, the question must be answered in the affirmative; and i have shown, in the second volume of my chief work (ch. ), that this hypothesis is based upon a fundamental mistake. accordingly, in elaborating the scheme of a happy existence, i have had to make a complete surrender of the higher metaphysical and ethical standpoint to which my own theories lead; and everything i shall say here will to some extent rest upon a compromise; in so far, that is, as i take the common standpoint of every day, and embrace the error which is at the bottom of it. my remarks, therefore, will possess only a qualified value, for the very word _eudaemonology_ is a euphemism. further, i make no claims to completeness; partly because the subject is inexhaustible, and partly because i should otherwise have to say over again what has been already said by others. the only book composed, as far as i remember, with a like purpose to that which animates this collection of aphorisms, is cardan's _de utilitate ex adversis capienda_, which is well worth reading, and may be used to supplement the present work. aristotle, it is true, has a few words on eudaemonology in the fifth chapter of the first book of his _rhetoric_; but what he says does not come to very much. as compilation is not my business, i have made no use of these predecessors; more especially because in the process of compiling, individuality of view is lost, and individuality of view is the kernel of works of this kind. in general, indeed, the wise in all ages have always said the same thing, and the fools, who at all times form the immense majority, have in their way too acted alike, and done just the opposite; and so it will continue. for, as voltaire says, _we shall leave this world as foolish and as wicked as we found it on our arrival_. the wisdom of life. chapter i. division of the subject. aristotle[ ] divides the blessings of life into three classes--those which come to us from without, those of the soul, and those of the body. keeping nothing of this division but the number, i observe that the fundamental differences in human lot may be reduced to three distinct classes: [footnote : _eth. nichom_., i. .] ( ) what a man is: that is to say, personality, in the widest sense of the word; under which are included health, strength, beauty, temperament, moral character, intelligence, and education. ( ) what a man has: that is, property and possessions of every kind. ( ) how a man stands in the estimation of others: by which is to be understood, as everybody knows, what a man is in the eyes of his fellowmen, or, more strictly, the light in which they regard him. this is shown by their opinion of him; and their opinion is in its turn manifested by the honor in which he is held, and by his rank and reputation. the differences which come under the first head are those which nature herself has set between man and man; and from this fact alone we may at once infer that they influence the happiness or unhappiness of mankind in a much more vital and radical way than those contained under the two following heads, which are merely the effect of human arrangements. compared with _genuine personal advantages_, such as a great mind or a great heart, all the privileges of rank or birth, even of royal birth, are but as kings on the stage, to kings in real life. the same thing was said long ago by metrodorus, the earliest disciple of epicurus, who wrote as the title of one of his chapters, _the happiness we receive from ourselves is greater than that which we obtain from our surroundings_[ ] and it is an obvious fact, which cannot be called in question, that the principal element in a man's well-being,--indeed, in the whole tenor of his existence,--is what he is made of, his inner constitution. for this is the immediate source of that inward satisfaction or dissatisfaction resulting from the sum total of his sensations, desires and thoughts; whilst his surroundings, on the other hand, exert only a mediate or indirect influence upon him. this is why the same external events or circumstances affect no two people alike; even with perfectly similar surroundings every one lives in a world of his own. for a man has immediate apprehension only of his own ideas, feelings and volitions; the outer world can influence him only in so far as it brings these to life. the world in which a man lives shapes itself chiefly by the way in which he looks at it, and so it proves different to different men; to one it is barren, dull, and superficial; to another rich, interesting, and full of meaning. on hearing of the interesting events which have happened in the course of a man's experience, many people will wish that similar things had happened in their lives too, completely forgetting that they should be envious rather of the mental aptitude which lent those events the significance they possess when he describes them; to a man of genius they were interesting adventures; but to the dull perceptions of an ordinary individual they would have been stale, everyday occurrences. this is in the highest degree the case with many of goethe's and byron's poems, which are obviously founded upon actual facts; where it is open to a foolish reader to envy the poet because so many delightful things happened to him, instead of envying that mighty power of phantasy which was capable of turning a fairly common experience into something so great and beautiful. [footnote : cf. clemens alex. strom. ii., .] in the same way, a person of melancholy temperament will make a scene in a tragedy out of what appears to the sanguine man only in the light of an interesting conflict, and to a phlegmatic soul as something without any meaning;--all of which rests upon the fact that every event, in order to be realized and appreciated, requires the co-operation of two factors, namely, a subject and an object, although these are as closely and necessarily connected as oxygen and hydrogen in water. when therefore the objective or external factor in an experience is actually the same, but the subjective or personal appreciation of it varies, the event is just as much a different one in the eyes of different persons as if the objective factors had not been alike; for to a blunt intelligence the fairest and best object in the world presents only a poor reality, and is therefore only poorly appreciated,--like a fine landscape in dull weather, or in the reflection of a bad _camera obscura_. in plain language, every man is pent up within the limits of his own consciousness, and cannot directly get beyond those limits any more than he can get beyond his own skin; so external aid is not of much use to him. on the stage, one man is a prince, another a minister, a third a servant or a soldier or a general, and so on,--mere external differences: the inner reality, the kernel of all these appearances is the same--a poor player, with all the anxieties of his lot. in life it is just the same. differences of rank and wealth give every man his part to play, but this by no means implies a difference of inward happiness and pleasure; here, too, there is the same being in all--a poor mortal, with his hardships and troubles. though these may, indeed, in every case proceed from dissimilar causes, they are in their essential nature much the same in all their forms, with degrees of intensity which vary, no doubt, but in no wise correspond to the part a man has to play, to the presence or absence of position and wealth. since everything which exists or happens for a man exists only in his consciousness and happens for it alone, the most essential thing for a man is the constitution of this consciousness, which is in most cases far more important than the circumstances which go to form its contents. all the pride and pleasure of the world, mirrored in the dull consciousness of a fool, are poor indeed compared with the imagination of cervantes writing his _don quixote_ in a miserable prison. the objective half of life and reality is in the hand of fate, and accordingly takes various forms in different cases: the subjective half is ourself, and in essentials is always remains the same. hence the life of every man is stamped with the same character throughout, however much his external circumstances may alter; it is like a series of variations on a single theme. no one can get beyond his own individuality. an animal, under whatever circumstances it is placed, remains within the narrow limits to which nature has irrevocably consigned it; so that our endeavors to make a pet happy must always keep within the compass of its nature, and be restricted to what it can feel. so it is with man; the measure of the happiness he can attain is determined beforehand by his individuality. more especially is this the case with the mental powers, which fix once for all his capacity for the higher kinds of pleasure. if these powers are small, no efforts from without, nothing that his fellowmen or that fortune can do for him, will suffice to raise him above the ordinary degree of human happiness and pleasure, half animal though it be; his only resources are his sensual appetite,--a cozy and cheerful family life at the most,--low company and vulgar pastime; even education, on the whole, can avail little, if anything, for the enlargement of his horizon. for the highest, most varied and lasting pleasures are those of the mind, however much our youth may deceive us on this point; and the pleasures of the mind turn chiefly on the powers of the mind. it is clear, then, that our happiness depends in a great degree upon what we _are_, upon our individuality, whilst lot or destiny is generally taken to mean only what we _have_, or our _reputation_. our lot, in this sense, may improve; but we do not ask much of it if we are inwardly rich: on the other hand, a fool remains a fool, a dull blockhead, to his last hour, even though he were surrounded by houris in paradise. this is why goethe, in the _west-östliclien divan_, says that every man, whether he occupies a low position in life, or emerges as its victor, testifies to personality as the greatest factor in happiness:-- _volk und knecht und uberwinder sie gestehen, zu jeder zeit, höchtes glück der erdenkinder sei nur die persönlichkeit_. everything confirms the fact that the subjective element in life is incomparably more important for our happiness and pleasure than the objective, from such sayings as _hunger is the best sauce_, and _youth and age cannot live together_, up to the life of the genius and the saint. health outweighs all other blessings so much that one may really say that a healthy beggar is happier than an ailing king. a quiet and cheerful temperament, happy in the enjoyment of a perfectly sound physique, an intellect clear, lively, penetrating and seeing things as they are, a moderate and gentle will, and therefore a good conscience--these are privileges which no rank or wealth can make up for or replace. for what a man is in himself, what accompanies him when he is alone, what no one can give or take away, is obviously more essential to him than everything he has in the way of possessions, or even what he may be in the eyes of the world. an intellectual man in complete solitude has excellent entertainment in his own thoughts and fancies, while no amount of diversity or social pleasure, theatres, excursions and amusements, can ward off boredom from a dullard. a good, temperate, gentle character can be happy in needy circumstances, whilst a covetous, envious and malicious man, even if he be the richest in the world, goes miserable. nay more; to one who has the constant delight of a special individuality, with a high degree of intellect, most of the pleasures which are run after by mankind are simply superfluous; they are even a trouble and a burden. and so horace says of himself, that, however many are deprived of the fancy-goods of life, there is one at least who can live without them:-- _gemmas, marmor, ebur, tyrrhena sigilla, tabellas, argentum, vestes, gaetulo murice tinctas sunt qui non habeant, est qui non curat habere_; and when socrates saw various articles of luxury spread out for sale, he exclaimed: _how much there is in the world i do not want_. so the first and most essential element in our life's happiness is what we are,--our personality, if for no other reason than that it is a constant factor coming into play under all circumstances: besides, unlike the blessings which are described under the other two heads, it is not the sport of destiny and cannot be wrested from us;--and, so far, it is endowed with an absolute value in contrast to the merely relative worth of the other two. the consequence of this is that it is much more difficult than people commonly suppose to get a hold on a man from without. but here the all-powerful agent, time, comes in and claims its rights, and before its influence physical and mental advantages gradually waste away. moral character alone remains inaccessible to it. in view of the destructive effect of time, it seems, indeed, as if the blessings named under the other two heads, of which time cannot directly rob us, were superior to those of the first. another advantage might be claimed for them, namely, that being in their very nature objective and external, they are attainable, and every one is presented with the possibility, at least, of coming into possession of them; whilst what is subjective is not open to us to acquire, but making its entry by a kind of _divine right_, it remains for life, immutable, inalienable, an inexorable doom. let me quote those lines in which goethe describes how an unalterable destiny is assigned to every man at the hour of his birth, so that he can develop only in the lines laid down for him, as it were, by the conjunctions of the stars: and how the sybil and the prophets declare that _himself_ a man can never escape, nor any power of time avail to change the path on which his life is cast:-- _wie an dem tag, der dich der welt verliehen, dïe sonne stand zum grusse der planeten, bist alsobald und fort und fort gediehen, nach dem gesetz, wonach du angetreten. so musst du sein, dir kannst du nicht entfliehen, so tagten schon sybillen und propheten; und keine zeit, und keine macht zerstückelt geprägte form, die lebend sich entwickelt_. the only thing that stands in our power to achieve, is to make the most advantageous use possible of the personal qualities we possess, and accordingly to follow such pursuits only as will call them into play, to strive after the kind of perfection of which they admit and to avoid every other; consequently, to choose the position, occupation and manner of life which are most suitable for their development. imagine a man endowed with herculean strength who is compelled by circumstances to follow a sedentary occupation, some minute exquisite work of the hands, for example, or to engage in study and mental labor demanding quite other powers, and just those which he has not got,--compelled, that is, to leave unused the powers in which he is pre-eminently strong; a man placed like this will never feel happy all his life through. even more miserable will be the lot of the man with intellectual powers of a very high order, who has to leave them undeveloped and unemployed, in the pursuit of a calling which does not require them, some bodily labor, perhaps, for which his strength is insufficient. still, in a case of this kind, it should be our care, especially in youth, to avoid the precipice of presumption, and not ascribe to ourselves a superfluity of power which is not there. since the blessings described under the first head decidedly outweigh those contained under the other two, it is manifestly a wiser course to aim at the maintenance of our health and the cultivation of our faculties, than at the amassing of wealth; but this must not be mistaken as meaning that we should neglect to acquire an adequate supply of the necessaries of life. wealth, in the strict sense of the word, that is, great superfluity, can do little for our happiness; and many rich people feel unhappy just because they are without any true mental culture or knowledge, and consequently have no objective interests which would qualify them for intellectual occupations. for beyond the satisfaction of some real and natural necessities, all that the possession of wealth can achieve has a very small influence upon our happiness, in the proper sense of the word; indeed, wealth rather disturbs it, because the preservation of property entails a great many unavoidable anxieties. and still men are a thousand times more intent on becoming rich than on acquiring culture, though it is quite certain that what a man _is_ contributes much more to his happiness than what he _has_. so you may see many a man, as industrious as an ant, ceaselessly occupied from morning to night in the endeavor to increase his heap of gold. beyond the narrow horizon of means to this end, he knows nothing; his mind is a blank, and consequently unsusceptible to any other influence. the highest pleasures, those of the intellect, are to him inaccessible, and he tries in vain to replace them by the fleeting pleasures of sense in which he indulges, lasting but a brief hour and at tremendous cost. and if he is lucky, his struggles result in his having a really great pile of gold, which he leaves to his heir, either to make it still larger, or to squander it in extravagance. a life like this, though pursued with a sense of earnestness and an air of importance, is just as silly as many another which has a fool's cap for its symbol. _what a man has in himself_ is, then, the chief element in his happiness. because this is, as a rule, so very little, most of those who are placed beyond the struggle with penury feel at bottom quite as unhappy as those who are still engaged in it. their minds are vacant, their imagination dull, their spirits poor, and so they are driven to the company of those like them--for _similis simili gaudet_--where they make common pursuit of pastime and entertainment, consisting for the most part in sensual pleasure, amusement of every kind, and finally, in excess and libertinism. a young man of rich family enters upon life with a large patrimony, and often runs through it in an incredibly short space of time, in vicious extravagance; and why? simply because, here too, the mind is empty and void, and so the man is bored with existence. he was sent forth into the world outwardly rich but inwardly poor, and his vain endeavor was to make his external wealth compensate for his inner poverty, by trying to obtain everything _from without_, like an old man who seeks to strengthen himself as king david or maréchal de rex tried to do. and so in the end one who is inwardly poor comes to be also poor outwardly. i need not insist upon the importance of the other two kinds of blessings which make up the happiness of human life; now-a-days the value of possessing them is too well known to require advertisement. the third class, it is true, may seem, compared with the second, of a very ethereal character, as it consists only of other people's opinions. still every one has to strive for reputation, that is to say, a good name. rank, on the other hand, should be aspired to only by those who serve the state, and fame by very few indeed. in any case, reputation is looked upon as a priceless treasure, and fame as the most precious of all the blessings a man can attain,--the golden fleece, as it were, of the elect: whilst only fools will prefer rank to property. the second and third classes, moreover, are reciprocally cause and effect; so far, that is, as petronius' maxim, _habes habeberis_, is true; and conversely, the favor of others, in all its forms, often puts us in the way of getting what we want. chapter ii. personality, or what a man is. we have already seen, in general, that what a man _is_ contributes much more to his happiness than what he _has_, or how he is regarded by others. what a man is, and so what he has in his own person, is always the chief thing to consider; for his individuality accompanies him always and everywhere, and gives its color to all his experiences. in every kind of enjoyment, for instance, the pleasure depends principally upon the man himself. every one admits this in regard to physical, and how much truer it is of intellectual, pleasure. when we use that english expression, "to enjoy one's self," we are employing a very striking and appropriate phrase; for observe--one says, not "he enjoys paris," but "he enjoys himself in paris." to a man possessed of an ill-conditioned individuality, all pleasure is like delicate wine in a mouth made bitter with gall. therefore, in the blessings as well as in the ills of life, less depends upon what befalls us than upon the way in which it is met, that is, upon the kind and degree of our general susceptibility. what a man is and has in himself,--in a word personality, with all it entails, is the only immediate and direct factor in his happiness and welfare. all else is mediate and indirect, and its influence can be neutralized and frustrated; but the influence of personality never. this is why the envy which personal qualities excite is the most implacable of all,--as it is also the most carefully dissembled. further, the constitution of our consciousness is the ever present and lasting element in all we do or suffer; our individuality is persistently at work, more or less, at every moment of our life: all other influences are temporal, incidental, fleeting, and subject to every kind of chance and change. this is why aristotle says: _it is not wealth but character that lasts_.[ ] [greek: --hae gar phusis bebion ou ta chraemata] [footnote : eth. eud., vii. . :] and just for the same reason we can more easily bear a misfortune which comes to us entirely from without, than one which we have drawn upon ourselves; for fortune may always change, but not character. therefore, subjective blessings,--a noble nature, a capable head, a joyful temperament, bright spirits, a well-constituted, perfectly sound physique, in a word, _mens sana in corpore sano_, are the first and most important elements in happiness; so that we should be more intent on promoting and preserving such qualities than on the possession of external wealth and external honor. and of all these, the one which makes us the most directly happy is a genial flow of good spirits; for this excellent quality is its own immediate reward. the man who is cheerful and merry has always a good reason for being so,--the fact, namely, that he is so. there is nothing which, like this quality, can so completely replace the loss of every other blessing. if you know anyone who is young, handsome, rich and esteemed, and you want to know, further, if he is happy, ask, is he cheerful and genial?--and if he is, what does it matter whether he is young or old, straight or humpbacked, poor or rich?--he is happy. in my early days i once opened an old book and found these words: _if you laugh a great deal, you are happy; if you cry a great deal, you are unhappy_;--a very simple remark, no doubt; but just because it is so simple i have never been able to forget it, even though it is in the last degree a truism. so if cheerfulness knocks at our door, we should throw it wide open, for it never comes inopportunely; instead of that, we often make scruples about letting it in. we want to be quite sure that we have every reason to be contented; then we are afraid that cheerfulness of spirits may interfere with serious reflections or weighty cares. cheerfulness is a direct and immediate gain,--the very coin, as it were, of happiness, and not, like all else, merely a cheque upon the bank; for it alone makes us immediately happy in the present moment, and that is the highest blessing for beings like us, whose existence is but an infinitesimal moment between two eternities. to secure and promote this feeling of cheerfulness should be the supreme aim of all our endeavors after happiness. now it is certain that nothing contributes so little to cheerfulness as riches, or so much, as health. is it not in the lower classes, the so-called working classes, more especially those of them who live in the country, that we see cheerful and contented faces? and is it not amongst the rich, the upper classes, that we find faces full of ill-humor and vexation? consequently we should try as much as possible to maintain a high degree of health; for cheerfulness is the very flower of it. i need hardly say what one must do to be healthy--avoid every kind of excess, all violent and unpleasant emotion, all mental overstrain, take daily exercise in the open air, cold baths and such like hygienic measures. for without a proper amount of daily exercise no one can remain healthy; all the processes of life demand exercise for the due performance of their functions, exercise not only of the parts more immediately concerned, but also of the whole body. for, as aristotle rightly says, _life is movement_; it is its very essence. ceaseless and rapid motion goes on in every part of the organism. the heart, with its complicated double systole and diastole, beats strongly and untiringly; with twenty-eight beats it has to drive the whole of the blood through arteries, veins and capillaries; the lungs pump like a steam-engine, without intermission; the intestines are always in peristaltic action; the glands are all constantly absorbing and secreting; even the brain has a double motion of its own, with every beat of the pulse and every breath we draw. when people can get no exercise at all, as is the case with the countless numbers who are condemned to a sedentary life, there is a glaring and fatal disproportion between outward inactivity and inner tumult. for this ceaseless internal motion requires some external counterpart, and the want of it produces effects like those of emotion which we are obliged to suppress. even trees must be shaken by the wind, if they are to thrive. the rule which finds its application here may be most briefly expressed in latin: _omnis motus, quo celerior, eo magis motus_. how much our happiness depends upon our spirits, and these again upon our state of health, may be seen by comparing the influence which the same external circumstances or events have upon us when we are well and strong with the effects which they have when we are depressed and troubled with ill-health. it is not what things are objectively and in themselves, but what they are for us, in our way of looking at them, that makes us happy or the reverse. as epictetus says, _men are not influenced by things, but by their thoughts about things_. and, in general, nine-tenths of our happiness depends upon health alone. with health, everything is a source of pleasure; without it, nothing else, whatever it may be, is enjoyable; even the other personal blessings,--a great mind, a happy temperament--are degraded and dwarfed for want of it. so it is really with good reason that, when two people meet, the first thing they do is to inquire after each other's health, and to express the hope that it is good; for good health is by far the most important element in human happiness. it follows from all this that the greatest of follies is to sacrifice health for any other kind of happiness, whatever it may be, for gain, advancement, learning or fame, let alone, then, for fleeting sensual pleasures. everything else should rather be postponed to it. but however much health may contribute to that flow of good spirits which is so essential to our happiness, good spirits do not entirely depend upon health; for a man may be perfectly sound in his physique and still possess a melancholy temperament and be generally given up to sad thoughts. the ultimate cause of this is undoubtedly to be found in innate, and therefore unalterable, physical constitution, especially in the more or less normal relation of a man's sensitiveness to his muscular and vital energy. abnormal sensitiveness produces inequality of spirits, a predominating melancholy, with periodical fits of unrestrained liveliness. a genius is one whose nervous power or sensitiveness is largely in excess; as aristotle[ ] has very correctly observed, _men distinguished in philosophy, politics, poetry or art appear to be all of a melancholy temperament_. this is doubtless the passage which cicero has in his mind when he says, as he often does, _aristoteles ait omnes ingeniosos melancholicos esse_.[ ] shakespeare has very neatly expressed this radical and innate diversity of temperament in those lines in _the merchant of venice_: [footnote : probl. xxx., ep. ] [footnote : tusc. i., .] _nature has framed strange fellows in her time; some that will evermore peep through their eyes, and laugh, like parrots at a bag-piper; and others of such vinegar aspect, that they'll not show their teeth in way of smile, though nestor swear the jest be laughable_. this is the difference which plato draws between [greek: eukolos] and [greek: dyskolos]--the man of _easy_, and the man of _difficult_ disposition--in proof of which he refers to the varying degrees of susceptibility which different people show to pleasurable and painful impressions; so that one man will laugh at what makes another despair. as a rule, the stronger the susceptibility to unpleasant impressions, the weaker is the susceptibility to pleasant ones, and _vice versa_. if it is equally possible for an event to turn out well or ill, the [greek: dyskolos] will be annoyed or grieved if the issue is unfavorable, and will not rejoice, should it be happy. on the other hand, the [greek: eukolos] will neither worry nor fret over an unfavorable issue, but rejoice if it turns out well. if the one is successful in nine out of ten undertakings, he will not be pleased, but rather annoyed that one has miscarried; whilst the other, if only a single one succeeds, will manage to find consolation in the fact and remain cheerful. but here is another instance of the truth, that hardly any evil is entirely without its compensation; for the misfortunes and sufferings which the [greek: auskoloi], that is, people of gloomy and anxious character, have to overcome, are, on the whole, more imaginary and therefore less real than those which befall the gay and careless; for a man who paints everything black, who constantly fears the worst and takes measures accordingly, will not be disappointed so often in this world, as one who always looks upon the bright side of things. and when a morbid affection of the nerves, or a derangement of the digestive organs, plays into the hands of an innate tendency to gloom, this tendency may reach such a height that permanent discomfort produces a weariness of life. so arises an inclination to suicide, which even the most trivial unpleasantness may actually bring about; nay, when the tendency attains its worst form, it may be occasioned by nothing in particular, but a man may resolve to put an end to his existence, simply because he is permanently unhappy, and then coolly and firmly carry out his determination; as may be seen by the way in which the sufferer, when placed under supervision, as he usually is, eagerly waits to seize the first unguarded moment, when, without a shudder, without a struggle or recoil, he may use the now natural and welcome means of effecting his release.[ ] even the healthiest, perhaps even the most cheerful man, may resolve upon death under certain circumstances; when, for instance, his sufferings, or his fears of some inevitable misfortune, reach such a pitch as to outweigh the terrors of death. the only difference lies in the degree of suffering necessary to bring about the fatal act, a degree which will be high in the case of a cheerful, and low in that of a gloomy man. the greater the melancholy, the lower need the degree be; in the end, it may even sink to zero. but if a man is cheerful, and his spirits are supported by good health, it requires a high degree of suffering to make him lay hands upon himself. there are countless steps in the scale between the two extremes of suicide, the suicide which springs merely from a morbid intensification of innate gloom, and the suicide of the healthy and cheerful man, who has entirely objective grounds for putting an end to his existence. [footnote : for a detailed description of this condition of mind _cf_ esquirol, _des maladies mentales_.] beauty is partly an affair of health. it may be reckoned as a personal advantage; though it does not, properly speaking, contribute directly to our happiness. it does so indirectly, by impressing other people; and it is no unimportant advantage, even in man. beauty is an open letter of recommendation, predisposing the heart to favor the person who presents it. as is well said in these lines of homer, the gift of beauty is not lightly to be thrown away, that glorious gift which none can bestow save the gods alone-- [greek: outoi hapoblaet erti theon erikuoea dora, ossa ken autoi dosin, ekon douk an tis eloito].[ ] [footnote : _iliad_ , .] the most general survey shows us that the two foes of human happiness are pain and boredom. we may go further, and say that in the degree in which we are fortunate enough to get away from the one, we approach the other. life presents, in fact, a more or less violent oscillation between the two. the reason of this is that each of these two poles stands in a double antagonism to the other, external or objective, and inner or subjective. needy surroundings and poverty produce pain; while, if a man is more than well off, he is bored. accordingly, while the lower classes are engaged in a ceaseless struggle with need, in other words, with pain, the upper carry on a constant and often desperate battle with boredom.[ ] the inner or subjective antagonism arises from the fact that, in the individual, susceptibility to pain varies inversely with susceptibility to boredom, because susceptibility is directly proportionate to mental power. let me explain. a dull mind is, as a rule, associated with dull sensibilities, nerves which no stimulus can affect, a temperament, in short, which does not feel pain or anxiety very much, however great or terrible it may be. now, intellectual dullness is at the bottom of that _vacuity of soul_ which is stamped on so many faces, a state of mind which betrays itself by a constant and lively attention to all the trivial circumstances in the external world. this is the true source of boredom--a continual panting after excitement, in order to have a pretext for giving the mind and spirits something to occupy them. the kind of things people choose for this purpose shows that they are not very particular, as witness the miserable pastimes they have recourse to, and their ideas of social pleasure and conversation: or again, the number of people who gossip on the doorstep or gape out of the window. it is mainly because of this inner vacuity of soul that people go in quest of society, diversion, amusement, luxury of every sort, which lead many to extravagance and misery. nothing is so good a protection against such misery as inward wealth, the wealth of the mind, because the greater it grows, the less room it leaves for boredom. the inexhaustible activity of thought! finding ever new material to work upon in the multifarious phenomena of self and nature, and able and ready to form new combinations of them,--there you have something that invigorates the mind, and apart from moments of relaxation, sets it far above the reach of boredom. [footnote : and the extremes meet; for the lowest state of civilization, a nomad or wandering life, finds its counterpart in the highest, where everyone is at times a tourist. the earlier stage was a case of necessity; the latter is a remedy for boredom.] but, on the other hand, this high degree of intelligence is rooted in a high degree of susceptibility, greater strength of will, greater passionateness; and from the union of these qualities comes an increased capacity for emotion, an enhanced sensibility to all mental and even bodily pain, greater impatience of obstacles, greater resentment of interruption;--all of which tendencies are augmented by the power of the imagination, the vivid character of the whole range of thought, including what is disagreeable. this applies, in various degrees, to every step in the long scale of mental power, from the veriest dunce to the greatest genius that ever lived. therefore the nearer anyone is, either from a subjective or from an objective point of view, to one of those sources of suffering in human life, the farther he is from the other. and so a man's natural bent will lead him to make his objective world conform to his subjective as much as possible; that is to say, he will take the greatest measures against that form of suffering to which he is most liable. the wise man will, above all, strive after freedom from pain and annoyance, quiet and leisure, consequently a tranquil, modest life, with as few encounters as may be; and so, after a little experience of his so-called fellowmen, he will elect to live in retirement, or even, if he is a man of great intellect, in solitude. for the more a man has in himself, the less he will want from other people,--the less, indeed, other people can be to him. this is why a high degree of intellect tends to make a man unsocial. true, if _quality_ of intellect could be made up for by quantity, it might be worth while to live even in the great world; but unfortunately, a hundred fools together will not make one wise man. but the individual who stands at the other end of the scale is no sooner free from the pangs of need than he endeavors to get pastime and society at any cost, taking up with the first person he meets, and avoiding nothing so much as himself. for in solitude, where every one is thrown upon his own resources, what a man has in himself comes to light; the fool in fine raiment groans under the burden of his miserable personality, a burden which he can never throw off, whilst the man of talent peoples the waste places with his animating thoughts. seneca declares that folly is its own burden,--_omnis stultitia laborat fastidio sui_,--a very true saying, with which may be compared the words of jesus, the son of sirach, _the life of a fool is worse than death_[ ]. and, as a rule, it will be found that a man is sociable just in the degree in which he is intellectually poor and generally vulgar. for one's choice in this world does not go much beyond solitude on one side and vulgarity on the other. it is said that the most sociable of all people are the negroes; and they are at the bottom of the scale in intellect. i remember reading once in a french paper[ ] that the blacks in north america, whether free or enslaved, are fond of shutting themselves up in large numbers in the smallest space, because they cannot have too much of one another's snub-nosed company. [footnote : ecclesiasticus, xxii. .] [footnote : _le commerce_, oct. th, .] the brain may be regarded as a kind of parasite of the organism, a pensioner, as it were, who dwells with the body: and leisure, that is, the time one has for the free enjoyment of one's consciousness or individuality, is the fruit or produce of the rest of existence, which is in general only labor and effort. but what does most people's leisure yield?--boredom and dullness; except, of course, when it is occupied with sensual pleasure or folly. how little such leisure is worth may be seen in the way in which it is spent: and, as ariosto observes, how miserable are the idle hours of ignorant men!--_ozio lungo d'uomini ignoranti_. ordinary people think merely how they shall _spend_ their time; a man of any talent tries to _use_ it. the reason why people of limited intellect are apt to be bored is that their intellect is absolutely nothing more than the means by which the motive power of the will is put into force: and whenever there is nothing particular to set the will in motion, it rests, and their intellect takes a holiday, because, equally with the will, it requires something external to bring it into play. the result is an awful stagnation of whatever power a man has--in a word, boredom. to counteract this miserable feeling, men run to trivialities which please for the moment they are taken up, hoping thus to engage the will in order to rouse it to action, and so set the intellect in motion; for it is the latter which has to give effect to these motives of the will. compared with real and natural motives, these are but as paper money to coin; for their value is only arbitrary--card games and the like, which have been invented for this very purpose. and if there is nothing else to be done, a man will twirl his thumbs or beat the devil's tattoo; or a cigar may be a welcome substitute for exercising his brains. hence, in all countries the chief occupation of society is card-playing,[ ] and it is the gauge of its value, and an outward sign that it is bankrupt in thought. because people have no thoughts to deal in, they deal cards, and try and win one another's money. idiots! but i do not wish to be unjust; so let me remark that it may certainly be said in defence of card-playing that it is a preparation for the world and for business life, because one learns thereby how to make a clever use of fortuitous but unalterable circumstances (cards, in this case), and to get as much out of them as one can: and to do this a man must learn a little dissimulation, and how to put a good face upon a bad business. but, on the other hand, it is exactly for this reason that card-playing is so demoralizing, since the whole object of it is to employ every kind of trick and machination in order to win what belongs to another. and a habit of this sort, learnt at the card-table, strikes root and pushes its way into practical life; and in the affairs of every day a man gradually comes to regard _meum_ and _tuum_ in much the same light as cards, and to consider that he may use to the utmost whatever advantages he possesses, so long as he does not come within the arm of the law. examples of what i mean are of daily occurrence in mercantile life. since, then, leisure is the flower, or rather the fruit, of existence, as it puts a man into possession of himself, those are happy indeed who possess something real in themselves. but what do you get from most people's leisure?--only a good-for-nothing fellow, who is terribly bored and a burden to himself. let us, therefore, rejoice, dear brethren, for _we are not children of the bondwoman, but of the free_. [footnote : _translator's note_.--card-playing to this extent is now, no doubt, a thing of the past, at any rate amongst the nations of northern europe. the present fashion is rather in favor of a dilettante interest in art or literature.] further, as no land is so well off as that which requires few imports, or none at all, so the happiest man is one who has enough in his own inner wealth, and requires little or nothing from outside for his maintenance, for imports are expensive things, reveal dependence, entail danger, occasion trouble, and when all is said and done, are a poor substitute for home produce. no man ought to expect much from others, or, in general, from the external world. what one human being can be to another is not a very great deal: in the end every one stands alone, and the important thing is _who_ it is that stands alone. here, then, is another application of the general truth which goethe recognizes in _dichtung und wahrheit_ (bk. iii.), that in everything a man has ultimately to appeal to himself; or, as goldsmith puts it in _the traveller_: _still to ourselves in every place consign'd our own felicity we make or find_. himself is the source of the best and most a man can be or achieve. the more this is so--the more a man finds his sources of pleasure in himself--the happier he will be. therefore, it is with great truth that aristotle[ ] says, _to be happy means to be self-sufficient_. for all other sources of happiness are in their nature most uncertain, precarious, fleeting, the sport of chance; and so even under the most favorable circumstances they can easily be exhausted; nay, this is unavoidable, because they are not always within reach. and in old age these sources of happiness must necessarily dry up:--love leaves us then, and wit, desire to travel, delight in horses, aptitude for social intercourse; friends and relations, too, are taken from us by death. then more than ever, it depends upon what a man has in himself; for this will stick to him longest; and at any period of life it is the only genuine and lasting source of happiness. there is not much to be got anywhere in the world. it is filled with misery and pain; and if a man escapes these, boredom lies in wait for him at every corner. nay more; it is evil which generally has the upper hand, and folly makes the most noise. fate is cruel, and mankind is pitiable. in such a world as this, a man who is rich in himself is like a bright, warm, happy room at christmastide, while without are the frost and snow of a december night. therefore, without doubt, the happiest destiny on earth is to have the rare gift of a rich individuality, and, more especially to be possessed of a good endowment of intellect; this is the happiest destiny, though it may not be, after all, a very brilliant one. [footnote : eth. eud, vii ] there was a great wisdom in that remark which queen christina of sweden made, in her nineteenth year, about descartes, who had then lived for twenty years in the deepest solitude in holland, and, apart from report, was known to her only by a single essay: _m. descartes_, she said, _is the happiest of men, and his condition seems to me much to be envied.[ ]_ of course, as was the case with descartes, external circumstances must be favorable enough to allow a man to be master of his life and happiness; or, as we read in _ecclesiastes_[ ]--_wisdom is good together with an inheritance, and profitable unto them that see the sun_. the man to whom nature and fate have granted the blessing of wisdom, will be most anxious and careful to keep open the fountains of happiness which he has in himself; and for this, independence and leisure are necessary. to obtain them, he will be willing to moderate his desires and harbor his resources, all the more because he is not, like others, restricted to the external world for his pleasures. so he will not be misled by expectations of office, or money, or the favor and applause of his fellowmen, into surrendering himself in order to conform to low desires and vulgar tastes; nay, in such a case he will follow the advice that horace gives in his epistle to maecenas.[ ] [footnote : _vie de descartes_, par baillet. liv. vii., ch. .] [footnote : vii. .] [footnote : lib. ., ep. .] _nec somnum plebis laudo, satur altilium, nec otia divitiis arabum liberrima muto_. it is a great piece of folly to sacrifice the inner for the outer man, to give the whole or the greater part of one's quiet, leisure and independence for splendor, rank, pomp, titles and honor. this is what goethe did. my good luck drew me quite in the other direction. the truth which i am insisting upon here, the truth, namely, that the chief source of human happiness is internal, is confirmed by that most accurate observation of aristotle in the _nichomachean ethics_[ ] that every pleasure presupposes some sort of activity, the application of some sort of power, without which it cannot exist. the doctrine of aristotle's, that a man's happiness consists in the free exercise of his highest faculties, is also enunciated by stobaeus in his exposition of the peripatetic philosophy[ ]: _happiness_, he says, _means vigorous and successful activity in all your undertakings_; and he explains that by _vigor [greek: aretae]_ he means _mastery_ in any thing, whatever it be. now, the original purpose of those forces with which nature has endowed man is to enable him to struggle against the difficulties which beset him on all sides. but if this struggle comes to an end, his unemployed forces become a burden to him; and he has to set to work and play with them,--to use them, i mean, for no purpose at all, beyond avoiding the other source of human suffering, boredom, to which he is at once exposed. it is the upper classes, people of wealth, who are the greatest victims of boredom. lucretius long ago described their miserable state, and the truth of his description may be still recognized to-day, in the life of every great capital--where the rich man is seldom in his own halls, because it bores him to be there, and still he returns thither, because he is no better off outside;--or else he is away in post-haste to his house in the country, as if it were on fire; and he is no sooner arrived there, than he is bored again, and seeks to forget everything in sleep, or else hurries back to town once more. [footnote : i. and vii. , .] [footnote : ecl. eth. ii., ch .] _exit saepe foras magnis ex aedibus ille, esse domi quem pertaesum est, subitoque reventat, quippe foris nihilo melius qui sentiat esse. currit, agens mannos, ad villam precipitanter, auxilium tectis quasi ferre ardentibus instans: oscitat extemplo, tetigit quum limina villae; aut abit in somnum gravis, atque oblivia quaerit; aut etiam properans urbem petit atque revisit_.[ ] [footnote : iii .] in their youth, such people must have had a superfluity of muscular and vital energy,--powers which, unlike those of the mind, cannot maintain their full degree of vigor very long; and in later years they either have no mental powers at all, or cannot develop any for want of employment which would bring them into play; so that they are in a wretched plight. _will_, however, they still possess, for this is the only power that is inexhaustible; and they try to stimulate their will by passionate excitement, such as games of chance for high stakes--undoubtedly a most degrading form of vice. and one may say generally that if a man finds himself with nothing to do, he is sure to choose some amusement suited to the kind of power in which he excels,--bowls, it may be, or chess; hunting or painting; horse-racing or music; cards, or poetry, heraldry, philosophy, or some other dilettante interest. we might classify these interests methodically, by reducing them to expressions of the three fundamental powers, the factors, that is to say, which go to make up the physiological constitution of man; and further, by considering these powers by themselves, and apart from any of the definite aims which they may subserve, and simply as affording three sources of possible pleasure, out of which every man will choose what suits him, according as he excels in one direction or another. first of all come the pleasures of _vital energy_, of food, drink, digestion, rest and sleep; and there are parts of the world where it can be said that these are characteristic and national pleasures. secondly, there are the pleasures of _muscular energy_, such as walking, running, wrestling, dancing, fencing, riding and similar athletic pursuits, which sometimes take the form of sport, and sometimes of a military life and real warfare. thirdly, there are the pleasures of sensibility, such as observation, thought, feeling, or a taste for poetry or culture, music, learning, reading, meditation, invention, philosophy and the like. as regards the value, relative worth and duration of each of these kinds of pleasure, a great deal might be said, which, however, i leave the reader to supply. but every one will see that the nobler the power which is brought into play, the greater will be the pleasure which it gives; for pleasure always involves the use of one's own powers, and happiness consists in a frequent repetition of pleasure. no one will deny that in this respect the pleasures of sensibility occupy a higher place than either of the other two fundamental kinds; which exist in an equal, nay, in a greater degree in brutes; it is this preponderating amount of sensibility which distinguishes man from other animals. now, our mental powers are forms of sensibility, and therefore a preponderating amount of it makes us capable of that kind of pleasure which has to do with mind, so-called intellectual pleasure; and the more sensibility predominates, the greater the pleasure will be.[ ] [footnote : nature exhibits a continual progress, starting from the mechanical and chemical activity of the inorganic world, proceeding to the vegetable, with its dull enjoyment of self, from that to the animal world, where intelligence and consciousness begin, at first very weak, and only after many intermediate stages attaining its last great development in man, whose intellect is nature's crowning point, the goal of all her efforts, the most perfect and difficult of all her works. and even within the range of the human intellect, there are a great many observable differences of degree, and it is very seldom that intellect reaches its highest point, intelligence properly so-called, which in this narrow and strict sense of the word, is nature's most consummate product, and so the rarest and most precious thing of which the world can boast. the highest product of nature is the clearest degree of consciousness, in which the world mirrors itself more plainly and completely than anywhere else. a man endowed with this form of intelligence is in possession of what is noblest and best on earth; and accordingly, he has a source of pleasure in comparison with which all others are small. from his surroundings he asks nothing but leisure for the free enjoyment of what he has got, time, as it were, to polish his diamond. all other pleasures that are not of the intellect are of a lower kind; for they are, one and all, movements of will--desires, hopes, fears and ambitions, no matter to what directed: they are always satisfied at the cost of pain, and in the case of ambition, generally with more or less of illusion. with intellectual pleasure, on the other hand, truth becomes clearer and clearer. in the realm of intelligence pain has no power. knowledge is all in all. further, intellectual pleasures are accessible entirely and only through the medium of the intelligence, and are limited by its capacity. _for all the wit there is in the world is useless to him who has none_. still this advantage is accompanied by a substantial disadvantage; for the whole of nature shows that with the growth of intelligence comes increased capacity for pain, and it is only with the highest degree of intelligence that suffering reaches its supreme point.] the normal, ordinary man takes a vivid interest in anything only in so far as it excites his will, that is to say, is a matter of personal interest to him. but constant excitement of the will is never an unmixed good, to say the least; in other words, it involves pain. card-playing, that universal occupation of "good society" everywhere, is a device for providing this kind of excitement, and that, too, by means of interests so small as to produce slight and momentary, instead of real and permanent, pain. card-playing is, in fact, a mere tickling of the will.[ ] [footnote : _vulgarity_ is, at bottom, the kind of consciousness in which the will completely predominates over the intellect, where the latter does nothing more than perform the service of its master, the will. therefore, when the will makes no demands, supplies no motives, strong or weak, the intellect entirely loses its power, and the result is complete vacancy of mind. now _will without intellect_ is the most vulgar and common thing in the world, possessed by every blockhead, who, in the gratification of his passions, shows the stuff of which he is made. this is the condition of mind called _vulgarity_, in which the only active elements are the organs of sense, and that small amount of intellect which is necessary for apprehending the data of sense. accordingly, the vulgar man is constantly open to all sorts of impressions, and immediately perceives all the little trifling things that go on in his environment: the lightest whisper, the most trivial circumstance, is sufficient to rouse his attention; he is just like an animal. such a man's mental condition reveals itself in his face, in his whole exterior; and hence that vulgar, repulsive appearance, which is all the more offensive, if, as is usually the case, his will--the only factor in his consciousness--is a base, selfish and altogether bad one.] on the other hand, a man of powerful intellect is capable of taking a vivid interest in things in the way of mere _knowledge_, with no admixture of _will_; nay, such an interest is a necessity to him. it places him in a sphere where pain is an alien,--a diviner air, where the gods live serene. _[greek: phusis bebion ou ta chraematatheoi reia xoontes][ ]_ [footnote : odyssey iv., .] look on these two pictures--the life of the masses, one long, dull record of struggle and effort entirely devoted to the petty interests of personal welfare, to misery in all its forms, a life beset by intolerable boredom as soon as ever those aims are satisfied and the man is thrown back upon himself, whence he can be roused again to some sort of movement only by the wild fire of passion. on the other side you have a man endowed with a high degree of mental power, leading an existence rich in thought and full of life and meaning, occupied by worthy and interesting objects as soon as ever he is free to give himself to them, bearing in himself a source of the noblest pleasure. what external promptings he wants come from the works of nature, and from the contemplation of human affairs and the achievements of the great of all ages and countries, which are thoroughly appreciated by a man of this type alone, as being the only one who can quite understand and feel with them. and so it is for him alone that those great ones have really lived; it is to him that they make their appeal; the rest are but casual hearers who only half understand either them or their followers. of course, this characteristic of the intellectual man implies that he has one more need than the others, the need of reading, observing, studying, meditating, practising, the need, in short, of undisturbed leisure. for, as voltaire has very rightly said, _there are no real pleasures without real needs_; and the need of them is why to such a man pleasures are accessible which are denied to others,--the varied beauties of nature and art and literature. to heap these pleasures round people who do not want them and cannot appreciate them, is like expecting gray hairs to fall in love. a man who is privileged in this respect leads two lives, a personal and an intellectual life; and the latter gradually comes to be looked upon as the true one, and the former as merely a means to it. other people make this shallow, empty and troubled existence an end in itself. to the life of the intellect such a man will give the preference over all his other occupations: by the constant growth of insight and knowledge, this intellectual life, like a slowly-forming work of art, will acquire a consistency, a permanent intensity, a unity which becomes ever more and more complete; compared with which, a life devoted to the attainment of personal comfort, a life that may broaden indeed, but can never be deepened, makes but a poor show: and yet, as i have said, people make this baser sort of existence an end in itself. the ordinary life of every day, so far as it is not moved by passion, is tedious and insipid; and if it is so moved, it soon becomes painful. those alone are happy whom nature has favored with some superfluity of intellect, something beyond what is just necessary to carry out the behests of their will; for it enables them to lead an intellectual life as well, a life unattended by pain and full of vivid interests. mere leisure, that is to say, intellect unoccupied in the service of the will, is not of itself sufficient: there must be a real superfluity of power, set free from the service of the will and devoted to that of the intellect; for, as seneca says, _otium sine litteris mors est et vivi hominis sepultura_--illiterate leisure is a form of death, a living tomb. varying with the amount of the superfluity, there will be countless developments in this second life, the life of the mind; it may be the mere collection and labelling of insects, birds, minerals, coins, or the highest achievements of poetry and philosophy. the life of the mind is not only a protection against boredom; it also wards off the pernicious effects of boredom; it keeps us from bad company, from the many dangers, misfortunes, losses and extravagances which the man who places his happiness entirely in the objective world is sure to encounter, my philosophy, for instance, has never brought me in a six-pence; but it has spared me many an expense. the ordinary man places his life's happiness in things external to him, in property, rank, wife and children, friends, society, and the like, so that when he loses them or finds them disappointing, the foundation of his happiness is destroyed. in other words, his centre of gravity is not in himself; it is constantly changing its place, with every wish and whim. if he is a man of means, one day it will be his house in the country, another buying horses, or entertaining friends, or traveling,--a life, in short, of general luxury, the reason being that he seeks his pleasure in things outside him. like one whose health and strength are gone, he tries to regain by the use of jellies and drugs, instead of by developing his own vital power, the true source of what he has lost. before proceeding to the opposite, let us compare with this common type the man who comes midway between the two, endowed, it may be, not exactly with distinguished powers of mind, but with somewhat more than the ordinary amount of intellect. he will take a dilettante interest in art, or devote his attention to some branch of science--botany, for example, or physics, astronomy, history, and find a great deal of pleasure in such studies, and amuse himself with them when external forces of happiness are exhausted or fail to satisfy him any more. of a man like this it may be said that his centre of gravity is partly in himself. but a dilettante interest in art is a very different thing from creative activity; and an amateur pursuit of science is apt to be superficial and not to penetrate to the heart of the matter. a man cannot entirely identify himself with such pursuits, or have his whole existence so completely filled and permeated with them that he loses all interest in everything else. it is only the highest intellectual power, what we call _genius_, that attains to this degree of intensity, making all time and existence its theme, and striving to express its peculiar conception of the world, whether it contemplates life as the subject of poetry or of philosophy. hence, undisturbed occupation with himself, his own thoughts and works, is a matter of urgent necessity to such a man; solitude is welcome, leisure is the highest good, and everything else is unnecessary, nay, even burdensome. this is the only type of man of whom it can be said that his centre of gravity is entirely in himself; which explains why it is that people of this sort--and they are very rare--no matter how excellent their character may be, do not show that warm and unlimited interest in friends, family, and the community in general, of which others are so often capable; for if they have only themselves they are not inconsolable for the loss of everything else. this gives an isolation to their character, which is all the more effective since other people never really quite satisfy them, as being, on the whole, of a different nature: nay more, since this difference is constantly forcing itself upon their notice they get accustomed to move about amongst mankind as alien beings, and in thinking of humanity in general, to say _they_ instead of _we_. so the conclusion we come to is that the man whom nature has endowed with intellectual wealth is the happiest; so true it is that the subjective concerns us more than the objective; for whatever the latter may be, it can work only indirectly, secondly, and through the medium of the former--a truth finely expressed by lucian:-- [greek: _aeloutos ho taes psychaes ploutus monos estin alaethaes talla dechei ataen pleiona ton kteanon_--][ ] [footnote : epigrammata, .] the wealth of the soul is the only true wealth, for with all other riches comes a bane even greater than they. the man of inner wealth wants nothing from outside but the negative gift of undisturbed leisure, to develop and mature his intellectual faculties, that is, to enjoy his wealth; in short, he wants permission to be himself, his whole life long, every day and every hour. if he is destined to impress the character of his mind upon a whole race, he has only one measure of happiness or unhappiness--to succeed or fail in perfecting his powers and completing his work. all else is of small consequence. accordingly, the greatest minds of all ages have set the highest value upon undisturbed leisure, as worth exactly as much as the man himself. _happiness appears to consist in leisure_, says aristotle;[ ] and diogenes laertius reports that _socrates praised leisure as the fairest of all possessions_. so, in the _nichomachean ethics_, aristotle concludes that a life devoted to philosophy is the happiest; or, as he says in the _politics,[ ] the free exercise of any power, whatever it may be, is happiness_. this again, tallies with what goethe says in _wilhelm meister: the man who is born with a talent which he is meant to use, finds his greatest happiness in using it_. [footnote : eth. nichom. x. .] [footnote : iv. .] but to be in possession of undisturbed leisure, is far from being the common lot; nay, it is something alien to human nature, for the ordinary man's destiny is to spend life in procuring what is necessary for the subsistence of himself and his family; he is a son of struggle and need, not a free intelligence. so people as a rule soon get tired of undisturbed leisure, and it becomes burdensome if there are no fictitious and forced aims to occupy it, play, pastime and hobbies of every kind. for this very reason it is full of possible danger, and _difficilis in otio quies_ is a true saying,--it is difficult to keep quiet if you have nothing to do. on the other hand, a measure of intellect far surpassing the ordinary, is as unnatural as it is abnormal. but if it exists, and the man endowed with it is to be happy, he will want precisely that undisturbed leisure which the others find burdensome or pernicious; for without it he is a pegasus in harness, and consequently unhappy. if these two unnatural circumstances, external, and internal, undisturbed leisure and great intellect, happen to coincide in the same person, it is a great piece of fortune; and if the fate is so far favorable, a man can lead the higher life, the life protected from the two opposite sources of human suffering, pain and boredom, from the painful struggle for existence, and the incapacity for enduring leisure (which is free existence itself)--evils which may be escaped only by being mutually neutralized. but there is something to be said in opposition to this view. great intellectual gifts mean an activity pre-eminently nervous in its character, and consequently a very high degree of susceptibility to pain in every form. further, such gifts imply an intense temperament, larger and more vivid ideas, which, as the inseparable accompaniment of great intellectual power, entail on its possessor a corresponding intensity of the emotions, making them incomparably more violent than those to which the ordinary man is a prey. now, there are more things in the world productive of pain than of pleasure. again, a large endowment of intellect tends to estrange the man who has it from other people and their doings; for the more a man has in himself, the less he will be able to find in them; and the hundred things in which they take delight, he will think shallow and insipid. here, then, perhaps, is another instance of that law of compensation which makes itself felt everywhere. how often one hears it said, and said, too, with some plausibility, that the narrow-minded man is at bottom the happiest, even though his fortune is unenviable. i shall make no attempt to forestall the reader's own judgment on this point; more especially as sophocles himself has given utterance to two diametrically opposite opinions:-- [greek: pollo to phronein eudaimonias proton uparchei.][ ] he says in one place--wisdom is the greatest part of happiness; and again, in another passage, he declares that the life of the thoughtless is the most pleasant of all-- [greek: en ta phronein gar maeden aedistos bios.][ ] the philosophers of the _old testament_ find themselves in a like contradiction. _the life of a fool is worse than death_[ ] and-- _in much wisdom is much grief; and he that increaseth knowledge increaseth sorrow_.[ ] [footnote : antigone, - .] [footnote : ajax, .] [footnote : ecclesiasticus, xxii. .] [footnote : ecclesiastes, i. .] i may remark, however, that a man who has no mental needs, because his intellect is of the narrow and normal amount, is, in the strict sense of the word, what is called a _philistine_--an expression at first peculiar to the german language, a kind of slang term at the universities, afterwards used, by analogy, in a higher sense, though still in its original meaning, as denoting one who is not _a son of the muses_. a philistine is and remains [greek: amousos anaer]. i should prefer to take a higher point of view, and apply the term _philistine_ to people who are always seriously occupied with realities which are no realities; but as such a definition would be a transcendental one, and therefore not generally intelligible, it would hardly be in place in the present treatise, which aims at being popular. the other definition can be more easily elucidated, indicating, as it does, satisfactorily enough, the essential nature of all those qualities which distinguish the philistine. he is defined to be _a man without mental needs_. from this is follows, firstly, _in relation to himself_, that he has _no intellectual pleasures_; for, as was remarked before, there are no real pleasures without real needs. the philistine's life is animated by no desire to gain knowledge and insight for their own sake, or to experience that true aeesthetic pleasure which is so nearly akin to them. if pleasures of this kind are fashionable, and the philistine finds himself compelled to pay attention to them, he will force himself to do so, but he will take as little interest in them as possible. his only real pleasures are of a sensual kind, and he thinks that these indemnify him for the loss of the others. to him oysters and champagne are the height of existence; the aim of his life is to procure what will contribute to his bodily welfare, and he is indeed in a happy way if this causes him some trouble. if the luxuries of life are heaped upon him, he will inevitably be bored, and against boredom he has a great many fancied remedies, balls, theatres, parties, cards, gambling, horses, women, drinking, traveling and so on; all of which can not protect a man from being bored, for where there are no intellectual needs, no intellectual pleasures are possible. the peculiar characteristic of the philistine is a dull, dry kind of gravity, akin to that of animals. nothing really pleases, or excites, or interests him, for sensual pleasure is quickly exhausted, and the society of philistines soon becomes burdensome, and one may even get tired of playing cards. true, the pleasures of vanity are left, pleasures which he enjoys in his own way, either by feeling himself superior in point of wealth, or rank, or influence and power to other people, who thereupon pay him honor; or, at any rate, by going about with those who have a superfluity of these blessings, sunning himself in the reflection of their splendor--what the english call a _snob_. from the essential nature of the philistine it follows, secondly, _in regard to others_, that, as he possesses no intellectual, but only physical need, he will seek the society of those who can satisfy the latter, but not the former. the last thing he will expect from his friends is the possession of any sort of intellectual capacity; nay, if he chances to meet with it, it will rouse his antipathy and even hatred; simply because in addition to an unpleasant sense of inferiority, he experiences, in his heart, a dull kind of envy, which has to be carefully concealed even from himself. nevertheless, it sometimes grows into a secret feeling of rancor. but for all that, it will never occur to him to make his own ideas of worth or value conform to the standard of such qualities; he will continue to give the preference to rank and riches, power and influence, which in his eyes seem to be the only genuine advantages in the world; and his wish will be to excel in them himself. all this is the consequence of his being a man _without intellectual needs_. the great affliction of all philistines is that they have no interest in _ideas_, and that, to escape being bored, they are in constant need of _realities_. but realities are either unsatisfactory or dangerous; when they lose their interest, they become fatiguing. but the ideal world is illimitable and calm, _something afar from the sphere of our sorrow_. note.--in these remarks on the personal qualities which go to make happiness, i have been mainly concerned with the physical and intellectual nature of man. for an account of the direct and immediate influence of _morality_ upon happiness, let me refer to my prize essay on _the foundation of morals_ (sec. .) chapter iii. property, or what a man has. epicurus divides the needs of mankind into three classes, and the division made by this great professor of happiness is a true and a fine one. first come natural and necessary needs, such as, when not satisfied, produce pain,--food and clothing, _victus et amictus_, needs which can easily be satisfied. secondly, there are those needs which, though natural, are not necessary, such as the gratification of certain of the senses. i may add, however, that in the report given by diogenes laertius, epicurus does not mention which of the senses he means; so that on this point my account of his doctrine is somewhat more definite and exact than the original. these are needs rather more difficult to satisfy. the third class consists of needs which are neither natural nor necessary, the need of luxury and prodigality, show and splendor, which never come to an end, and are very hard to satisfy.[ ] [footnote : cf. diogenes laertius, bk. x., ch. xxvii., pp. and ; also cicero _de finibus_, i., .] it is difficult, if not impossible, to define the limits which reason should impose on the desire for wealth; for there is no absolute or definite amount of wealth which will satisfy a man. the amount is always relative, that is to say, just so much as will maintain the proportion between what he wants and what he gets; for to measure a man's happiness only by what he gets, and not also by what he expects to get, is as futile as to try and express a fraction which shall have a numerator but no denominator. a man never feels the loss of things which it never occurs to him to ask for; he is just as happy without them; whilst another, who may have a hundred times as much, feels miserable because he has not got the one thing he wants. in fact, here too, every man has an horizon of his own, and he will expect as much as he thinks it is possible for him to get. if an object within his horizon looks as though he could confidently reckon on getting it, he is happy; but if difficulties come in the way, he is miserable. what lies beyond his horizon has no effect at all upon him. so it is that the vast possessions of the rich do not agitate the poor, and conversely, that a wealthy man is not consoled by all his wealth for the failure of his hopes. riches, one may say, are like sea-water; the more you drink the thirstier you become; and the same is true of fame. the loss of wealth and prosperity leaves a man, as soon as the first pangs of grief are over, in very much the same habitual temper as before; and the reason of this is, that as soon as fate diminishes the amount of his possessions, he himself immediately reduces the amount of his claims. but when misfortune comes upon us, to reduce the amount of our claims is just what is most painful; once that we have done so, the pain becomes less and less, and is felt no more; like an old wound which has healed. conversely, when a piece of good fortune befalls us, our claims mount higher and higher, as there is nothing to regulate them; it is in this feeling of expansion that the delight of it lies. but it lasts no longer than the process itself, and when the expansion is complete, the delight ceases; we have become accustomed to the increase in our claims, and consequently indifferent to the amount of wealth which satisfies them. there is a passage in the _odyssey_[ ] illustrating this truth, of which i may quote the last two lines: [greek: toios gar noos estin epichthonion anthropon oion eth aemar agei pataer andron te theou te] --the thoughts of man that dwells on the earth are as the day granted him by the father of gods and men. discontent springs from a constant endeavor to increase the amount of our claims, when we are powerless to increase the amount which will satisfy them. [footnote : xviii., - .] when we consider how full of needs the human race is, how its whole existence is based upon them, it is not a matter for surprise that _wealth_ is held in more sincere esteem, nay, in greater honor, than anything else in the world; nor ought we to wonder that gain is made the only good of life, and everything that does not lead to it pushed aside or thrown overboard--philosophy, for instance, by those who profess it. people are often reproached for wishing for money above all things, and for loving it more than anything else; but it is natural and even inevitable for people to love that which, like an unwearied proteus, is always ready to turn itself into whatever object their wandering wishes or manifold desires may for the moment fix upon. everything else can satisfy only _one_ wish, _one_ need: food is good only if you are hungry; wine, if you are able to enjoy it; drugs, if you are sick; fur for the winter; love for youth, and so on. these are all only relatively good, [greek: agatha pros ti]. money alone is absolutely good, because it is not only a concrete satisfaction of one need in particular; it is an abstract satisfaction of all. if a man has an independent fortune, he should regard it as a bulwark against the many evils and misfortunes which he may encounter; he should not look upon it as giving him leave to get what pleasure he can out of the world, or as rendering it incumbent upon him to spend it in this way. people who are not born with a fortune, but end by making a large one through the exercise of whatever talents they possess, almost always come to think that their talents are their capital, and that the money they have gained is merely the interest upon it; they do not lay by a part of their earnings to form a permanent capital, but spend their money much as they have earned it. accordingly, they often fall into poverty; their earnings decreased, or come to an end altogether, either because their talent is exhausted by becoming antiquated,--as, for instance, very often happens in the case of fine art; or else it was valid only under a special conjunction of circumstances which has now passed away. there is nothing to prevent those who live on the common labor of their hands from treating their earnings in that way if they like; because their kind of skill is not likely to disappear, or, if it does, it can be replaced by that of their fellow-workmen; morever, the kind of work they do is always in demand; so that what the proverb says is quite true, _a useful trade is a mine of gold_. but with artists and professionals of every kind the case is quite different, and that is the reason why they are well paid. they ought to build up a capital out of their earnings; but they recklessly look upon them as merely interest, and end in ruin. on the other hand, people who inherit money know, at least, how to distinguish between capital and interest, and most of them try to make their capital secure and not encroach upon it; nay, if they can, they put by at least an eighth of their interests in order to meet future contingencies. so most of them maintain their position. these few remarks about capital and interest are not applicable to commercial life, for merchants look upon money only as a means of further gain, just as a workman regards his tools; so even if their capital has been entirely the result of their own efforts, they try to preserve and increase it by using it. accordingly, wealth is nowhere so much at home as in the merchant class. it will generally be found that those who know what it is to have been in need and destitution are very much less afraid of it, and consequently more inclined to extravagance, than those who know poverty only by hearsay. people who have been born and bred in good circumstances are as a rule much more careful about the future, more economical, in fact, than those who, by a piece of good luck, have suddenly passed from poverty to wealth. this looks as if poverty were not really such a very wretched thing as it appears from a distance. the true reason, however, is rather the fact that the man who has been born into a position of wealth comes to look upon it as something without which he could no more live than he could live without air; he guards it as he does his very life; and so he is generally a lover of order, prudent and economical. but the man who has been born into a poor position looks upon it as the natural one, and if by any chance he comes in for a fortune, he regards it as a superfluity, something to be enjoyed or wasted, because, if it comes to an end, he can get on just as well as before, with one anxiety the less; or, as shakespeare says in henry vi.,[ ] .... _the adage must be verified that beggars mounted run their horse to death_. [footnote : part iii., act ., sc. .] but it should be said that people of this kind have a firm and excessive trust, partly in fate, partly in the peculiar means which have already raised them out of need and poverty,--a trust not only of the head, but of the heart also; and so they do not, like the man born rich, look upon the shallows of poverty as bottomless, but console themselves with the thought that once they have touched ground again, they can take another upward flight. it is this trait in human character which explains the fact that women who were poor before their marriage often make greater claims, and are more extravagant, than those who have brought their husbands a rich dowry; because, as a rule, rich girls bring with them, not only a fortune, but also more eagerness, nay, more of the inherited instinct, to preserve it, than poor girls do. if anyone doubts the truth of this, and thinks that it is just the opposite, he will find authority for his view in ariosto's first satire; but, on the other hand, dr. johnson agrees with my opinion. _a woman of fortune_, he says, _being used to the handling of money, spends it judiciously; but a woman who gets the command of money for the first time upon her marriage, has such a gusto in spending it, that she throws it away with great profusion_.[ ] and in any case let me advise anyone who marries a poor girl not to leave her the capital but only the interest, and to take especial care that she has not the management of the children's fortune. [footnote : boswell's life of johnson: ann: , aetat: .] i do not by any means think that i am touching upon a subject which is not worth my while to mention when i recommend people to be careful to preserve what they have earned or inherited. for to start life with just as much as will make one independent, that is, allow one to live comfortably without having to work--even if one has only just enough for oneself, not to speak of a family--is an advantage which cannot be over-estimated; for it means exemption and immunity from that chronic disease of penury, which fastens on the life of man like a plague; it is emancipation from that forced labor which is the natural lot of every mortal. only under a favorable fate like this can a man be said to be born free, to be, in the proper sense of the word, _sui juris_, master of his own time and powers, and able to say every morning, _this day is my own_. and just for the same reason the difference between the man who has a hundred a year and the man who has a thousand, is infinitely smaller than the difference between the former and a man who has nothing at all. but inherited wealth reaches its utmost value when it falls to the individual endowed with mental powers of a high order, who is resolved to pursue a line of life not compatible with the making of money; for he is then doubly endowed by fate and can live for his genius; and he will pay his debt to mankind a hundred times, by achieving what no other could achieve, by producing some work which contributes to the general good, and redounds to the honor of humanity at large. another, again, may use his wealth to further philanthropic schemes, and make himself well-deserving of his fellowmen. but a man who does none of these things, who does not even try to do them, who never attempts to learn the rudiments of any branch of knowledge so that he may at least do what he can towards promoting it--such a one, born as he is into riches, is a mere idler and thief of time, a contemptible fellow. he will not even be happy, because, in his case, exemption from need delivers him up to the other extreme of human suffering, boredom, which is such martyrdom to him, that he would have been better off if poverty had given him something to do. and as he is bored he is apt to be extravagant, and so lose the advantage of which he showed himself unworthy. countless numbers of people find themselves in want, simply because, when they had money, they spent it only to get momentary relief from the feeling of boredom which oppressed them. it is quite another matter if one's object is success in political life, where favor, friends and connections are all-important, in order to mount by their aid step by step on the ladder of promotion, and perhaps gain the topmost rung. in this kind of life, it is much better to be cast upon the world without a penny; and if the aspirant is not of noble family, but is a man of some talent, it will redound to his advantage to be an absolute pauper. for what every one most aims at in ordinary contact with his fellows is to prove them inferior to himself; and how much more is this the case in politics. now, it is only an absolute pauper who has such a thorough conviction of his own complete, profound and positive inferiority from every point of view, of his own utter insignificance and worthlessness, that he can take his place quietly in the political machine.[ ] he is the only one who can keep on bowing low enough, and even go right down upon his face if necessary; he alone can submit to everything and laugh at it; he alone knows the entire worthlessness of merit; he alone uses his loudest voice and his boldest type whenever he has to speak or write of those who are placed over his head, or occupy any position of influence; and if they do a little scribbling, he is ready to applaud it as a masterwork. he alone understands how to beg, and so betimes, when he is hardly out of his boyhood, he becomes a high priest of that hidden mystery which goethe brings to light. _uber's niederträchtige niemand sich beklage: denn es ist das machtige was man dir auch sage_: --it is no use to complain of low aims; for, whatever people may say, they rule the world. [footnote : _translator's note_.--schopenhauer is probably here making one of his most virulent attacks upon hegel; in this case on account of what he thought to be the philosopher's abject servility to the government of his day. though the hegelian system has been the fruitful mother of many liberal ideas, there can be no doubt that hegel's influence, in his own lifetime, was an effective support of prussian bureaucracy.] on the other hand, the man who is born with enough to live upon is generally of a somewhat independent turn of mind; he is accustomed to keep his head up; he has not learned all the arts of the beggar; perhaps he even presumes a little upon the possession of talents which, as he ought to know, can never compete with cringing mediocrity; in the long run he comes to recognize the inferiority of those who are placed over his head, and when they try to put insults upon him, he becomes refractory and shy. this is not the way to get on in the world. nay, such a man may at least incline to the opinion freely expressed by voltaire: _we have only two days to live; it is not worth our while to spend them_ in cringing to contemptible rascals. but alas! let me observe by the way, that _contemptible rascal_ is an attribute which may be predicated of an abominable number of people. what juvenal says--it is difficult to rise if your poverty is greater than your talent-- _haud facile emergunt quorum virtutibus obstat res angusta domi_-- is more applicable to a career of art and literature than to a political and social ambition. wife and children i have not reckoned amongst a man's possessions: he is rather in their possession. it would be easier to include friends under that head; but a man's friends belong to him not a whit more than he belongs to them. chapter iv. position, or a man's place in the estimation of others. _section .--reputation_. by a peculiar weakness of human nature, people generally think too much about the opinion which others form of them; although the slightest reflection will show that this opinion, whatever it may be, is not in itself essential to happiness. therefore it is hard to understand why everybody feels so very pleased when he sees that other people have a good opinion of him, or say anything flattering to his vanity. if you stroke a cat, it will purr; and, as inevitably, if you praise a man, a sweet expression of delight will appear on his face; and even though the praise is a palpable lie, it will be welcome, if the matter is one on which he prides himself. if only other people will applaud him, a man may console himself for downright misfortune or for the pittance he gets from the two sources of human happiness already discussed: and conversely, it is astonishing how infallibly a man will be annoyed, and in some cases deeply pained, by any wrong done to his feeling of self-importance, whatever be the nature, degree, or circumstances of the injury, or by any depreciation, slight, or disregard. if the feeling of honor rests upon this peculiarity of human nature, it may have a very salutary effect upon the welfare of a great many people, as a substitute for morality; but upon their happiness, more especially upon that peace of mind and independence which are so essential to happiness, its effect will be disturbing and prejudicial rather than salutary. therefore it is advisable, from our point of view, to set limits to this weakness, and duly to consider and rightly to estimate the relative value of advantages, and thus temper, as far as possible, this great susceptibility to other people's opinion, whether the opinion be one flattering to our vanity, or whether it causes us pain; for in either case it is the same feeling which is touched. otherwise, a man is the slave of what other people are pleased to think,--and how little it requires to disconcert or soothe the mind that is greedy of praise: _sic leve, sic parvum est, animum quod laudis avarum subruit ac reficit_.[ ] [footnote : horace, epist: ii., , .] therefore it will very much conduce to our happiness if we duly compare the value of what a man is in and for himself with what he is in the eyes of others. under the former conies everything that fills up the span of our existence and makes it what it is, in short, all the advantages already considered and summed up under the heads of personality and property; and the sphere in which all this takes place is the man's own consciousness. on the other hand, the sphere of what we are for other people is their consciousness, not ours; it is the kind of figure we make in their eyes, together with the thoughts which this arouses.[ ] but this is something which has no direct and immediate existence for us, but can affect us only mediately and indirectly, so far, that is, as other people's behavior towards us is directed by it; and even then it ought to affect us only in so far as it can move us to modify _what we are in and for ourselves_. apart from this, what goes on in other people's consciousness is, as such, a matter of indifference to us; and in time we get really indifferent to it, when we come to see how superficial and futile are most people's thoughts, how narrow their ideas, how mean their sentiments, how perverse their opinions, and how much of error there is in most of them; when we learn by experience with what depreciation a man will speak of his fellow, when he is not obliged to fear him, or thinks that what he says will not come to his ears. and if ever we have had an opportunity of seeing how the greatest of men will meet with nothing but slight from half-a-dozen blockheads, we shall understand that to lay great value upon what other people say is to pay them too much honor. [footnote : let me remark that people in the highest positions in life, with all their brilliance, pomp, display, magnificence and general show, may well say:--our happiness lies entirely outside us; for it exists only in the heads of others.] at all events, a man is in a very bad way, who finds no source of happiness in the first two classes of blessings already treated of, but has to seek it in the third, in other words, not in what he is in himself, but in what he is in the opinion of others. for, after all, the foundation of our whole nature, and, therefore, of our happiness, is our physique, and the most essential factor in happiness is health, and, next in importance after health, the ability to maintain ourselves in independence and freedom from care. there can be no competition or compensation between these essential factors on the one side, and honor, pomp, rank and reputation on the other, however much value we may set upon the latter. no one would hesitate to sacrifice the latter for the former, if it were necessary. we should add very much to our happiness by a timely recognition of the simple truth that every man's chief and real existence is in his own skin, and not in other people's opinions; and, consequently, that the actual conditions of our personal life,--health, temperament, capacity, income, wife, children, friends, home, are a hundred times more important for our happiness than what other people are pleased to think of us: otherwise we shall be miserable. and if people insist that honor is dearer than life itself, what they really mean is that existence and well-being are as nothing compared with other people's opinions. of course, this may be only an exaggerated way of stating the prosaic truth that reputation, that is, the opinion others have of us, is indispensable if we are to make any progress in the world; but i shall come back to that presently. when we see that almost everything men devote their lives to attain, sparing no effort and encountering a thousand toils and dangers in the process, has, in the end, no further object than to raise themselves in the estimation of others; when we see that not only offices, titles, decorations, but also wealth, nay, even knowledge[ ] and art, are striven for only to obtain, as the ultimate goal of all effort, greater respect from one's fellowmen,--is not this a lamentable proof of the extent to which human folly can go? to set much too high a value on other people's opinion is a common error everywhere; an error, it may be, rooted in human nature itself, or the result of civilization, and social arrangements generally; but, whatever its source, it exercises a very immoderate influence on all we do, and is very prejudicial to our happiness. we can trace it from a timorous and slavish regard for what other people will say, up to the feeling which made virginius plunge the dagger into his daughter's heart, or induces many a man to sacrifice quiet, riches, health and even life itself, for posthumous glory. undoubtedly this feeling is a very convenient instrument in the hands of those who have the control or direction of their fellowmen; and accordingly we find that in every scheme for training up humanity in the way it should go, the maintenance and strengthening of the feeling of honor occupies an important place. but it is quite a different matter in its effect on human happiness, of which it is here our object to treat; and we should rather be careful to dissuade people from setting too much store by what others think of them. daily experience shows us, however, that this is just the mistake people persist in making; most men set the utmost value precisely on what other people think, and are more concerned about it than about what goes on in their own consciousness, which is the thing most immediately and directly present to them. they reverse the natural order,--regarding the opinions of others as real existence and their own consciousness as something shadowy; making the derivative and secondary into the principal, and considering the picture they present to the world of more importance than their own selves. by thus trying to get a direct and immediate result out of what has no really direct or immediate existence, they fall into the kind of folly which is called _vanity_--the appropriate term for that which has no solid or instrinsic value. like a miser, such people forget the end in their eagerness to obtain the means. [footnote : _scire tuum nihil est nisi te scire hoc sciat alter_, (persins i, )--knowledge is no use unless others know that you have it.] the truth is that the value we set upon the opinion of others, and our constant endeavor in respect of it, are each quite out of proportion to any result we may reasonably hope to attain; so that this attention to other people's attitude may be regarded as a kind of universal mania which every one inherits. in all we do, almost the first thing we think about is, what will people say; and nearly half the troubles and bothers of life may be traced to our anxiety on this score; it is the anxiety which is at the bottom of all that feeling of self-importance, which is so often mortified because it is so very morbidly sensitive. it is solicitude about what others will say that underlies all our vanity and pretension, yes, and all our show and swagger too. without it, there would not be a tenth part of the luxury which exists. pride in every form, _point d'honneur_ and _punctilio_, however varied their kind or sphere, are at bottom nothing but this--anxiety about what others will say--and what sacrifices it costs! one can see it even in a child; and though it exists at every period of life, it is strongest in age; because, when the capacity for sensual pleasure fails, vanity and pride have only avarice to share their dominion. frenchmen, perhaps, afford the best example of this feeling, and amongst them it is a regular epidemic, appearing sometimes in the most absurd ambition, or in a ridiculous kind of national vanity and the most shameless boasting. however, they frustrate their own gains, for other people make fun of them and call them _la grande nation_. by way of specially illustrating this perverse and exuberant respect for other people's opinion, let me take passage from the _times_ of march st, , giving a detailed account of the execution of one thomas wix, an apprentice who, from motives of vengeance, had murdered his master. here we have very unusual circumstances and an extraordinary character, though one very suitable for our purpose; and these combine to give a striking picture of this folly, which is so deeply rooted in human nature, and allow us to form an accurate notion of the extent to which it will go. on the morning of the execution, says the report, _the rev. ordinary was early in attendance upon him, but wix, beyond a quiet demeanor, betrayed no interest in his ministrations, appearing to feel anxious only to acquit himself "bravely" before the spectators of his ignomininous end.... in the procession wix fell into his proper place with alacrity, and, as he entered the chapel-yard, remarked, sufficiently loud to be heard by several persons near him, "now, then, as dr. dodd said, i shall soon know the grand secret." on reaching the scaffold, the miserable wretch mounted the drop without the slightest assistance, and when he got to the centre, he bowed to the spectators twice, a proceeding which called forth a tremendous cheer from the degraded crowd beneath_. this is an admirable example of the way in which a man, with death in the most dreadful form before his very eyes, and eternity beyond it, will care for nothing but the impression he makes upon a crowd of gapers, and the opinion he leaves behind him in their heads. there was much the same kind of thing in the case of lecompte, who was executed at frankfurt, also in , for an attempt on the king's life. at the trial he was very much annoyed that he was not allowed to appear, in decent attire, before the upper house; and on the day of the execution it was a special grief to him that he was not permitted to shave. it is not only in recent times that this kind of thing has been known to happen. mateo aleman tells us, in the introduction to his celebrated romance, _juzman de alfarache_, that many infatuated criminals, instead of devoting their last hours to the welfare of their souls, as they ought to have done, neglect this duty for the purpose of preparing and committing to memory a speech to be made from the scaffold. i take these extreme cases as being the best illustrations to what i mean; for they give us a magnified reflection of our own nature. the anxieties of all of us, our worries, vexations, bothers, troubles, uneasy apprehensions and strenuous efforts are due, in perhaps the large majority of instances, to what other people will say; and we are just as foolish in this respect as those miserable criminals. envy and hatred are very often traceable to a similar source. now, it is obvious that happiness, which consists for the most part in peace of mind and contentment, would be served by nothing so much as by reducing this impulse of human nature within reasonable limits,--which would perhaps make it one fiftieth part of what it is now. by doing so, we should get rid of a thorn in the flesh which is always causing us pain. but it is a very difficult task, because the impulse in question is a natural and innate perversity of human nature. tacitus says, _the lust of fame is the last that a wise man shakes off_[ ] the only way of putting an end to this universal folly is to see clearly that it is a folly; and this may be done by recognizing the fact that most of the opinions in men's heads are apt to be false, perverse, erroneous and absurd, and so in themselves unworthy of attention; further, that other people's opinions can have very little real and positive influence upon us in most of the circumstances and affairs of life. again, this opinion is generally of such an unfavorable character that it would worry a man to death to hear everything that was said of him, or the tone in which he was spoken of. and finally, among other things, we should be clear about the fact that honor itself has no really direct, but only an indirect, value. if people were generally converted from this universal folly, the result would be such an addition to our piece of mind and cheerfulness as at present seems inconceivable; people would present a firmer and more confident front to the world, and generally behave with less embarrassment and restraint. it is observable that a retired mode of life has an exceedingly beneficial influence on our peace of mind, and this is mainly because we thus escape having to live constantly in the sight of others, and pay everlasting regard to their casual opinions; in a word, we are able to return upon ourselves. at the same time a good deal of positive misfortune might be avoided, which we are now drawn into by striving after shadows, or, to speak more correctly, by indulging a mischievous piece of folly; and we should consequently have more attention to give to solid realities and enjoy them with less interruption that at present. but [greek: chalepa ga kala]--what is worth doing is hard to do. [footnote : hist., iv., .] _section .--pride_. the folly of our nature which we are discussing puts forth three shoots, ambition, vanity and pride. the difference between the last two is this: _pride_ is an established conviction of one's own paramount worth in some particular respect; while _vanity_ is the desire of rousing such a conviction in others, and it is generally accompanied by the secret hope of ultimately coming to the same conviction oneself. pride works _from within_; it is the direct appreciation of oneself. vanity is the desire to arrive at this appreciation indirectly, _from without_. so we find that vain people are talkative, proud, and taciturn. but the vain person ought to be aware that the good opinion of others, which he strives for, may be obtained much more easily and certainly by persistent silence than by speech, even though he has very good things to say. anyone who wishes to affect pride is not therefore a proud man; but he will soon have to drop this, as every other, assumed character. it is only a firm, unshakeable conviction of pre-eminent worth and special value which makes a man proud in the true sense of the word,--a conviction which may, no doubt, be a mistaken one or rest on advantages which are of an adventitious and conventional character: still pride is not the less pride for all that, so long as it be present in real earnest. and since pride is thus rooted in conviction, it resembles every other form of knowledge in not being within our own arbitrament. pride's worst foe,--i mean its greatest obstacle,--is vanity, which courts the applause of the world in order to gain the necessary foundation for a high opinion of one's own worth, whilst pride is based upon a pre-existing conviction of it. it is quite true that pride is something which is generally found fault with, and cried down; but usually, i imagine, by those who have nothing upon which they can pride themselves. in view of the impudence and foolhardiness of most people, anyone who possesses any kind of superiority or merit will do well to keep his eyes fixed on it, if he does not want it to be entirely forgotten; for if a man is good-natured enough to ignore his own privileges, and hob-nob with the generality of other people, as if he were quite on their level, they will be sure to treat him, frankly and candidly, as one of themselves. this is a piece of advice i would specially offer to those whose superiority is of the highest kind--real superiority, i mean, of a purely personal nature--which cannot, like orders and titles, appeal to the eye or ear at every moment; as, otherwise, they will find that familiarity breeds contempt, or, as the romans used to say, _sus minervam. joke with a slave, and he'll soon show his heels_, is an excellent arabian proverb; nor ought we to despise what horace says, _sume superbiam quaesitam meritis_. --usurp the fame you have deserved. no doubt, when modesty was made a virtue, it was a very advantageous thing for the fools; for everybody is expected to speak of himself as if he were one. this is leveling down indeed; for it comes to look as if there were nothing but fools in the world. the cheapest sort of pride is national pride; for if a man is proud of his own nation, it argues that he has no qualities of his own of which he can be proud; otherwise he would not have recourse to those which he shares with so many millions of his fellowmen. the man who is endowed with important personal qualities will be only too ready to see clearly in what respects his own nation falls short, since their failings will be constantly before his eyes. but every miserable fool who has nothing at all of which he can be proud adopts, as a last resource, pride in the nation to which he belongs; he is ready and glad to defend all its faults and follies tooth and nail, thus reimbursing himself for his own inferiority. for example, if you speak of the stupid and degrading bigotry of the english nation with the contempt it deserves, you will hardly find one englishman in fifty to agree with you; but if there should be one, he will generally happen to be an intelligent man. the germans have no national pride, which shows how honest they are, as everybody knows! and how dishonest are those who, by a piece of ridiculous affectation, pretend that they are proud of their country--the _deutsche bruder_ and the demagogues who flatter the mob in order to mislead it. i have heard it said that gunpowder was invented by a german. i doubt it. lichtenberg asks, _why is it that a man who is not a german does not care about pretending that he is one; and that if he makes any pretence at all, it is to be a frenchman or an englishman_?[ ] [footnote : _translator's note_.--it should be remembered that these remarks were written in the earlier part of the present century, and that a german philosopher now-a-days, even though he were as apt to say bitter things as schopenhauer, could hardly write in a similar strain.] however that may be, individuality is a far more important thing than nationality, and in any given man deserves a thousand-fold more consideration. and since you cannot speak of national character without referring to large masses of people, it is impossible to be loud in your praises and at the same time honest. national character is only another name for the particular form which the littleness, perversity and baseness of mankind take in every country. if we become disgusted with one, we praise another, until we get disgusted with this too. every nation mocks at other nations, and all are right. the contents of this chapter, which treats, as i have said, of what we represent in the world, or what we are in the eyes of others, may be further distributed under three heads: honor rank and fame. _section .--rank_. let us take rank first, as it may be dismissed in a few words, although it plays an important part in the eyes of the masses and of the philistines, and is a most useful wheel in the machinery of the state. it has a purely conventional value. strictly speaking, it is a sham; its method is to exact an artificial respect, and, as a matter of fact, the whole thing is a mere farce. orders, it may be said, are bills of exchange drawn on public opinion, and the measure of their value is the credit of the drawer. of course, as a substitute for pensions, they save the state a good deal of money; and, besides, they serve a very useful purpose, if they are distributed with discrimination and judgment. for people in general have eyes and ears, it is true; but not much else, very little judgment indeed, or even memory. there are many services of the state quite beyond the range of their understanding; others, again, are appreciated and made much of for a time, and then soon forgotten. it seems to me, therefore, very proper, that a cross or a star should proclaim to the mass of people always and everywhere, _this man is not like you; he has done something_. but orders lose their value when they are distributed unjustly, or without due selection, or in too great numbers: a prince should be as careful in conferring them as a man of business is in signing a bill. it is a pleonasm to inscribe on any order _for distinguished service_; for every order ought to be for distinguished service. that stands to reason. _section .--honor_. honor is a much larger question than rank, and more difficult to discuss. let us begin by trying to define it. if i were to say _honor is external conscience, and conscience is inward honor_, no doubt a good many people would assent; but there would be more show than reality about such a definition, and it would hardly go to the root of the matter. i prefer to say, _honor is, on its objective side, other people's opinion of what we are worth; on its subjective side, it is the respect we pay to this opinion_. from the latter point of view, to be _a man of honor_ is to exercise what is often a very wholesome, but by no means a purely moral, influence. the feelings of honor and shame exist in every man who is not utterly depraved, and honor is everywhere recognized as something particularly valuable. the reason of this is as follows. by and in himself a man can accomplish very little; he is like robinson crusoe on a desert island. it is only in society that a man's powers can be called into full activity. he very soon finds this out when his consciousness begins to develop, and there arises in him the desire to be looked upon as a useful member of society, as one, that is, who is capable of playing his part as a man--_pro parte virili_--thereby acquiring a right to the benefits of social life. now, to be a useful member of society, one must do two things: firstly, what everyone is expected to do everywhere; and, secondly, what one's own particular position in the world demands and requires. but a man soon discovers that everything depends upon his being useful, not in his own opinion, but in the opinion of others; and so he tries his best to make that favorable impression upon the world, to which he attaches such a high value. hence, this primitive and innate characteristic of human nature, which is called the feeling of honor, or, under another aspect, the feeling of shame--_verecundia_. it is this which brings a blush to his cheeks at the thought of having suddenly to fall in the estimation of others, even when he knows that he is innocent, nay, even if his remissness extends to no absolute obligation, but only to one which he has taken upon himself of his own free will. conversely, nothing in life gives a man so much courage as the attainment or renewal of the conviction that other people regard him with favor; because it means that everyone joins to give him help and protection, which is an infinitely stronger bulwark against the ills of life than anything he can do himself. the variety of relations in which a man can stand to other people so as to obtain their confidence, that is, their good opinion, gives rise to a distinction between several kinds of honor, resting chiefly on the different bearings that _meum_ may take to _tuum_; or, again, on the performance of various pledges; or finally, on the relation of the sexes. hence, there are three main kinds of honor, each of which takes various forms--civic honor, official honor, and sexual honor. _civic honor_ has the widest sphere of all. it consists in the assumption that we shall pay unconditional respect to the rights of others, and, therefore, never use any unjust or unlawful means of getting what we want. it is the condition of all peaceable intercourse between man and man; and it is destroyed by anything that openly and manifestly militates against this peaceable intercourse, anything, accordingly, which entails punishment at the hands of the law, always supposing that the punishment is a just one. the ultimate foundation of honor is the conviction that moral character is unalterable: a single bad action implies that future actions of the same kind will, under similar circumstances, also be bad. this is well expressed by the english use of the word _character_ as meaning credit, reputation, honor. hence honor, once lost, can never be recovered; unless the loss rested on some mistake, such as may occur if a man is slandered or his actions viewed in a false light. so the law provides remedies against slander, libel, and even insult; for insult though it amounts to no more than mere abuse, is a kind of summary slander with a suppression of the reasons. what i mean may be well put in the greek phrase--not quoted from any author--[greek: estin hae loidoria diabolae]. it is true that if a man abuses another, he is simply showing that he has no real or true causes of complaint against him; as, otherwise, he would bring these forward as the premises, and rely upon his hearers to draw the conclusion themselves: instead of which, he gives the conclusion and leaves out the premises, trusting that people will suppose that he has done so only for the sake of being brief. civic honor draws its existence and name from the middle classes; but it applies equally to all, not excepting the highest. no man can disregard it, and it is a very serious thing, of which every one should be careful not to make light. the man who breaks confidence has for ever forfeited confidence, whatever he may do, and whoever he may be; and the bitter consequences of the loss of confidence can never be averted. there is a sense in which honor may be said to have a _negative_ character in opposition to the _positive_ character of fame. for honor is not the opinion people have of particular qualities which a man may happen to possess exclusively: it is rather the opinion they have of the qualities which a man may be expected to exhibit, and to which he should not prove false. honor, therefore, means that a man is not exceptional; fame, that he is. fame is something which must be won; honor, only something which must not be lost. the absence of fame is obscurity, which is only a negative; but loss of honor is shame, which is a positive quality. this negative character of honor must not be confused with anything _passive_; for honor is above all things active in its working. it is the only quality which proceeds _directly_ from the man who exhibits it; it is concerned entirely with what he does and leaves undone, and has nothing to do with the actions of others or the obstacles they place in his way. it is something entirely in our own power--[greek: ton ephaemon]. this distinction, as we shall see presently, marks off true honor from the sham honor of chivalry. slander is the only weapon by which honor can be attacked from without; and the only way to repel the attack is to confute the slander with the proper amount of publicity, and a due unmasking of him who utters it. the reason why respect is paid to age is that old people have necessarily shown in the course of their lives whether or not they have been able to maintain their honor unblemished; while that of young people has not been put to the proof, though they are credited with the possession of it. for neither length of years,--equalled, as it is, and even excelled, in the case of the lower animals,--nor, again, experience, which is only a closer knowledge of the world's ways, can be any sufficient reason for the respect which the young are everywhere required to show towards the old: for if it were merely a matter of years, the weakness which attends on age would call rather for consideration than for respect. it is, however, a remarkable fact that white hair always commands reverence--a reverence really innate and instinctive. wrinkles--a much surer sign of old age--command no reverence at all; you never hear any one speak of _venerable wrinkles_; but _venerable white hair_ is a common expression. honor has only an indirect value. for, as i explained at the beginning of this chapter, what other people think of us, if it affects us at all, can affect us only in so far as it governs their behavior towards us, and only just so long as we live with, or have to do with, them. but it is to society alone that we owe that safety which we and our possessions enjoy in a state of civilization; in all we do we need the help of others, and they, in their turn, must have confidence in us before they can have anything to do with us. accordingly, their opinion of us is, indirectly, a matter of great importance; though i cannot see how it can have a direct or immediate value. this is an opinion also held by cicero. i _quite agree_, he writes, _with what chrysippus and diogenes used to say, that a good reputation is not worth raising a finger to obtain, if it were not that it is so useful_.[ ] this truth has been insisted upon at great length by helvetius in his chief work _de l'esprit_,[ ] the conclusion of which is that _we love esteem not for its own sake, but solely for the advantages which it brings_. and as the means can never be more than the end, that saying, of which so much is made, _honor is dearer than life itself_, is, as i have remarked, a very exaggerated statement. so much then, for civic honor. [footnote : _de finilus_ iii., .] [footnote : _disc_: iii. .] _official honor_ is the general opinion of other people that a man who fills any office really has the necessary qualities for the proper discharge of all the duties which appertain to it. the greater and more important the duties a man has to discharge in the state, and the higher and more influential the office which he fills, the stronger must be the opinion which people have of the moral and intellectual qualities which render him fit for his post. therefore, the higher his position, the greater must be the degree of honor paid to him, expressed, as it is, in titles, orders and the generally subservient behavior of others towards him. as a rule, a man's official rank implies the particular degree of honor which ought to be paid to him, however much this degree may be modified by the capacity of the masses to form any notion of its importance. still, as a matter of fact, greater honor is paid to a man who fulfills special duties than to the common citizen, whose honor mainly consists in keeping clear of dishonor. official honor demands, further, that the man who occupies an office must maintain respect for it, for the sake both of his colleagues and of those who will come after him. this respect an official can maintain by a proper observance of his duties, and by repelling any attack that may be made upon the office itself or upon its occupant: he must not, for instance, pass over unheeded any statement to the effect that the duties of the office are not properly discharged, or that the office itself does not conduce to the public welfare. he must prove the unwarrantable nature of such attacks by enforcing the legal penalty for them. subordinate to the honor of official personages comes that of those who serve the state in any other capacity, as doctors, lawyers, teachers, anyone, in short, who, by graduating in any subject, or by any other public declaration that he is qualified to exercise some special skill, claims to practice it; in a word, the honor of all those who take any public pledges whatever. under this head comes military honor, in the true sense of the word, the opinion that people who have bound themselves to defend their country really possess the requisite qualities which will enable them to do so, especially courage, personal bravery and strength, and that they are perfectly ready to defend their country to the death, and never and under any circumstances desert the flag to which they have once sworn allegiance. i have here taken official honor in a wider sense than that in which it is generally used, namely, the respect due by citizens to an office itself. in treating of _sexual honor_ and the principles on which it rests, a little more attention and analysis are necessary; and what i shall say will support my contention that all honor really rests upon a utilitarian basis. there are two natural divisions of the subject--the honor of women and the honor of men, in either side issuing in a well-understood _esprit de corps_. the former is by far the more important of the two, because the most essential feature in woman's life is her relation to man. female honor is the general opinion in regard to a girl that she is pure, and in regard to a wife that she is faithful. the importance of this opinion rests upon the following considerations. women depend upon men in all the relations of life; men upon women, it might be said, in one only. so an arrangement is made for mutual interdependence--man undertaking responsibility for all woman's needs and also for the children that spring from their union--an arrangement on which is based the welfare of the whole female race. to carry out this plan, women have to band together with a show of _esprit de corps_, and present one undivided front to their common enemy, man,--who possesses all the good things of the earth, in virtue of his superior physical and intellectual power,--in order to lay siege to and conquer him, and so get possession of him and a share of those good things. to this end the honor of all women depends upon the enforcement of the rule that no woman should give herself to a man except in marriage, in order that every man may be forced, as it were, to surrender and ally himself with a woman; by this arrangement provision is made for the whole of the female race. this is a result, however, which can be obtained only by a strict observance of the rule; and, accordingly, women everywhere show true _esprit de corps_ in carefully insisting upon its maintenance. any girl who commits a breach of the rule betrays the whole female race, because its welfare would be destroyed if every woman were to do likewise; so she is cast out with shame as one who has lost her honor. no woman will have anything more to do with her; she is avoided like the plague. the same doom is awarded to a woman who breaks the marriage tie; for in so doing she is false to the terms upon which the man capitulated; and as her conduct is such as to frighten other men from making a similar surrender, it imperils the welfare of all her sisters. nay, more; this deception and coarse breach of troth is a crime punishable by the loss, not only of personal, but also of civic honor. this is why we minimize the shame of a girl, but not of a wife; because, in the former case, marriage can restore honor, while in the latter, no atonement can be made for the breach of contract. once this _esprit de corps_ is acknowledged to be the foundation of female honor, and is seen to be a wholesome, nay, a necessary arrangement, as at bottom a matter of prudence and interest, its extreme importance for the welfare of women will be recognized. but it does not possess anything more than a relative value. it is no absolute end, lying beyond all other aims of existence and valued above life itself. in this view, there will be nothing to applaud in the forced and extravagant conduct of a lucretia or a virginius--conduct which can easily degenerate into tragic farce, and produce a terrible feeling of revulsion. the conclusion of _emilia galotti_, for instance, makes one leave the theatre completely ill at ease; and, on the other hand, all the rules of female honor cannot prevent a certain sympathy with clara in _egmont_. to carry this principle of female honor too far is to forget the end in thinking of the means--and this is just what people often do; for such exaggeration suggests that the value of sexual honor is absolute; while the truth is that it is more relative than any other kind. one might go so far as to say that its value is purely conventional, when one sees from thomasius how in all ages and countries, up to the time of the reformation, irregularities were permitted and recognized by law, with no derogation to female honor,--not to speak of the temple of mylitta at babylon.[ ] [footnote : heroditus, i. .] there are also of course certain circumstances in civil life which make external forms of marriage impossible, especially in catholic countries, where there is no such thing as divorce. ruling princes everywhere, would, in my opinion, do much better, from a moral point of view, to dispense with forms altogether rather than contract a morganatic marriage, the descendants of which might raise claims to the throne if the legitimate stock happened to die out; so that there is a possibility, though, perhaps, a remote one, that a morganatic marriage might produce a civil war. and, besides, such a marriage, concluded in defiance of all outward ceremony, is a concession made to women and priests--two classes of persons to whom one should be most careful to give as little tether as possible. it is further to be remarked that every man in a country can marry the woman of his choice, except one poor individual, namely, the prince. his hand belongs to his country, and can be given in marriage only for reasons of state, that is, for the good of the country. still, for all that, he is a man; and, as a man, he likes to follow whither his heart leads. it is an unjust, ungrateful and priggish thing to forbid, or to desire to forbid, a prince from following his inclinations in this matter; of course, as long as the lady has no influence upon the government of the country. from her point of view she occupies an exceptional position, and does not come under the ordinary rules of sexual honor; for she has merely given herself to a man who loves her, and whom she loves but cannot marry. and in general, the fact that the principle of female honor has no origin in nature, is shown by the many bloody sacrifices which have been offered to it,--the murder of children and the mother's suicide. no doubt a girl who contravenes the code commits a breach of faith against her whole sex; but this faith is one which is only secretly taken for granted, and not sworn to. and since, in most cases, her own prospects suffer most immediately, her folly is infinitely greater than her crime. the corresponding virtue in men is a product of the one i have been discussing. it is their _esprit de corps_, which demands that, once a man has made that surrender of himself in marriage which is so advantageous to his conqueror, he shall take care that the terms of the treaty are maintained; both in order that the agreement itself may lose none of its force by the permission of any laxity in its observance, and that men, having given up everything, may, at least, be assured of their bargain, namely, exclusive possession. accordingly, it is part of a man's honor to resent a breach of the marriage tie on the part of his wife, and to punish it, at the very least by separating from her. if he condones the offence, his fellowmen cry shame upon him; but the shame in this case is not nearly so foul as that of the woman who has lost her honor; the stain is by no means of so deep a dye--_levioris notae macula_;--because a man's relation to woman is subordinate to many other and more important affairs in his life. the two great dramatic poets of modern times have each taken man's honor as the theme of two plays; shakespeare in _othello_ and _the winter's tale_, and calderon in _el medico de su honra_, (the physician of his honor), and _a secreto agravio secreta venganza_, (for secret insult secret vengeance). it should be said, however, that honor demands the punishment of the wife only; to punish her paramour too, is a work of supererogation. this confirms the view i have taken, that a man's honor originates in _esprit de corps_. the kind of honor which i have been discussing hitherto has always existed in its various forms and principles amongst all nations and at all times; although the history of female honor shows that its principles have undergone certain local modifications at different periods. but there is another species of honor which differs from this entirely, a species of honor of which the greeks and romans had no conception, and up to this day it is perfectly unknown amongst chinese, hindoos or mohammedans. it is a kind of honor which arose only in the middle age, and is indigenous only to christian europe, nay, only to an extremely small portion of the population, that is to say, the higher classes of society and those who ape them. it is _knightly honor_, or _point d'honneur_. its principles are quite different from those which underlie the kind of honor i have been treating until now, and in some respects are even opposed to them. the sort i am referring to produces the _cavalier_; while the other kind creates the _man of honor_. as this is so, i shall proceed to give an explanation of its principles, as a kind of code or mirror of knightly courtesy. ( .) to begin with, honor of this sort consists, not in other people's opinion of what we are worth, but wholly and entirely in whether they express it or not, no matter whether they really have any opinion at all, let alone whether they know of reasons for having one. other people may entertain the worst opinion of us in consequence of what we do, and may despise us as much as they like; so long as no one dares to give expression to his opinion, our honor remains untarnished. so if our actions and qualities compel the highest respect from other people, and they have no option but to give this respect,--as soon as anyone, no matter how wicked or foolish he may be, utters something depreciatory of us, our honor is offended, nay, gone for ever, unless we can manage to restore it. a superfluous proof of what i say, namely, that knightly honor depends, not upon what people think, but upon what they say, is furnished by the fact that insults can be withdrawn, or, if necessary, form the subject of an apology, which makes them as though they had never been uttered. whether the opinion which underlays the expression has also been rectified, and why the expression should ever have been used, are questions which are perfectly unimportant: so long as the statement is withdrawn, all is well. the truth is that conduct of this kind aims, not at earning respect, but at extorting it. ( .) in the second place, this sort of honor rests, not on what a man does, but on what he suffers, the obstacles he encounters; differing from the honor which prevails in all else, in consisting, not in what he says or does himself, but in what another man says or does. his honor is thus at the mercy of every man who can talk it away on the tip of his tongue; and if he attacks it, in a moment it is gone for ever,--unless the man who is attacked manages to wrest it back again by a process which i shall mention presently, a process which involves danger to his life, health, freedom, property and peace of mind. a man's whole conduct may be in accordance with the most righteous and noble principles, his spirit may be the purest that ever breathed, his intellect of the very highest order; and yet his honor may disappear the moment that anyone is pleased to insult him, anyone at all who has not offended against this code of honor himself, let him be the most worthless rascal or the most stupid beast, an idler, gambler, debtor, a man, in short, of no account at all. it is usually this sort of fellow who likes to insult people; for, as seneca[ ] rightly remarks, _ut quisque contemtissimus et ludibrio est, ita solutissimae est_, the more contemptible and ridiculous a man is,--the readier he is with his tongue. his insults are most likely to be directed against the very kind of man i have described, because people of different tastes can never be friends, and the sight of pre-eminent merit is apt to raise the secret ire of a ne'er-do-well. what goethe says in the _westöstlicher divan_ is quite true, that it is useless to complain against your enemies; for they can never become your friends, if your whole being is a standing reproach to them:-- _was klagst du über feinde? sollten solche je warden freunde denen das wesen, wie du bist, im stillen ein ewiger vorwurf ist_? [footnote : _de constantia_, .] it is obvious that people of this worthless description have good cause to be thankful to the principle of honor, because it puts them on a level with people who in every other respect stand far above them. if a fellow likes to insult any one, attribute to him, for example, some bad quality, this is taken _prima facie_ as a well-founded opinion, true in fact; a decree, as it were, with all the force of law; nay, if it is not at once wiped out in blood, it is a judgment which holds good and valid to all time. in other words, the man who is insulted remains--in the eyes of all _honorable people_--what the man who uttered the insult--even though he were the greatest wretch on earth--was pleased to call him; for he has _put up with_ the insult--the technical term, i believe. accordingly, all _honorable people_ will have nothing more to do with him, and treat him like a leper, and, it may be, refuse to go into any company where he may be found, and so on. this wise proceeding may, i think, be traced back to the fact that in the middle age, up to the fifteenth century, it was not the accuser in any criminal process who had to prove the guilt of the accused, but the accused who had to prove his innocence.[ ] this he could do by swearing he was not guilty; and his backers--_consacramentales_--had to come and swear that in their opinion he was incapable of perjury. if he could find no one to help him in this way, or the accuser took objection to his backers, recourse was had to trial by _the judgment of god_, which generally meant a duel. for the accused was now _in disgrace_,[ ] and had to clear himself. here, then, is the origin of the notion of disgrace, and of that whole system which prevails now-a-days amongst _honorable people_--only that the oath is omitted. this is also the explanation of that deep feeling of indignation which _honorable people_ are called upon to show if they are given the lie; it is a reproach which they say must be wiped out in blood. it seldom comes to this pass, however, though lies are of common occurrence; but in england, more than elsewhere, it is a superstition which has taken very deep root. as a matter of order, a man who threatens to kill another for telling a lie should never have told one himself. the fact is, that the criminal trial of the middle age also admitted of a shorter form. in reply to the charge, the accused answered: _that is a lie_; whereupon it was left to be decided by _the judgment of god_. hence, the code of knightly honor prescribes that, when the lie is given, an appeal to arms follows as a matter of course. so much, then, for the theory of insult. [footnote : see c.g. von waehter's _beiträge zur deutschen geschichte_, especially the chapter on criminal law.] [footnote : _translator's note_.--it is true that this expression has another special meaning in the technical terminology of chivalry, but it is the nearest english equivalent which i can find for the german--_ein bescholtener_] but there is something even worse than insult, something so dreadful that i must beg pardon of all _honorable people_ for so much as mentioning it in this code of knightly honor; for i know they will shiver, and their hair will stand on end, at the very thought of it--the _summum malum_, the greatest evil on earth, worse than death and damnation. a man may give another--_horrible dictu_!--a slap or a blow. this is such an awful thing, and so utterly fatal to all honor, that, while any other species of insult may be healed by blood-letting, this can be cured only by the _coup-de-grace_. ( .) in the third place, this kind of honor has absolutely nothing to do with what a man may be in and for himself; or, again, with the question whether his moral character can ever become better or worse, and all such pedantic inquiries. if your honor happens to be attacked, or to all appearances gone, it can very soon be restored in its entirety if you are only quick enough in having recourse to the one universal remedy--_a duel_. but if the aggressor does not belong to the classes which recognize the code of knightly honor, or has himself once offended against it, there is a safer way of meeting any attack upon your honor, whether it consists in blows, or merely in words. if you are armed, you can strike down your opponent on the spot, or perhaps an hour later. this will restore your honor. but if you wish to avoid such an extreme step, from fear of any unpleasant consequences arising therefrom, or from uncertainty as to whether the aggressor is subject to the laws of knightly honor or not, there is another means of making your position good, namely, the _avantage_. this consists in returning rudeness with still greater rudeness; and if insults are no use, you can try a blow, which forms a sort of climax in the redemption of your honor; for instance, a box on the ear may be cured by a blow with a stick, and a blow with a stick by a thrashing with a horsewhip; and, as the approved remedy for this last, some people recommend you to spit at your opponent.[ ] if all these means are of no avail, you must not shrink from drawing blood. and the reason for these methods of wiping out insult is, in this code, as follows: [footnote : _translator's note_. it must be remembered that schopenhauer is here describing, or perhaps caricaturing the manners and customs of the german aristocracy of half a century ago. now, of course, _nous avons change tout cela_!] ( .) to receive an insult is disgraceful; to give one, honorable. let me take an example. my opponent has truth, right and reason on his side. very well. i insult him. thereupon right and honor leave him and come to me, and, for the time being, he has lost them--until he gets them back, not by the exercise of right or reason, but by shooting and sticking me. accordingly, rudeness is a quality which, in point of honor, is a substitute for any other and outweighs them all. the rudest is always right. what more do you want? however stupid, bad or wicked a man may have been, if he is only rude into the bargain, he condones and legitimizes all his faults. if in any discussion or conversation, another man shows more knowledge, greater love of truth, a sounder judgment, better understanding than we, or generally exhibits intellectual qualities which cast ours into the shade, we can at once annul his superiority and our own shallowness, and in our turn be superior to him, by being insulting and offensive. for rudeness is better than any argument; it totally eclipses intellect. if our opponent does not care for our mode of attack, and will not answer still more rudely, so as to plunge us into the ignoble rivalry of the _avantage_, we are the victors and honor is on our side. truth, knowledge, understanding, intellect, wit, must beat a retreat and leave the field to this almighty insolence. _honorable people_ immediately make a show of mounting their war-horse, if anyone utters an opinion adverse to theirs, or shows more intelligence than they can muster; and if in any controversy they are at a loss for a reply, they look about for some weapon of rudeness, which will serve as well and come readier to hand; so they retire masters of the position. it must now be obvious that people are quite right in applauding this principle of honor as having ennobled the tone of society. this principle springs from another, which forms the heart and soul of the entire code. ( .) fifthly, the code implies that the highest court to which a man can appeal in any differences he may have with another on a point of honor is the court of physical force, that is, of brutality. every piece of rudeness is, strictly speaking, an appeal to brutality; for it is a declaration that intellectual strength and moral insight are incompetent to decide, and that the battle must be fought out by physical force--a struggle which, in the case of man, whom franklin defines as _a tool-making animal_, is decided by the weapons peculiar to the species; and the decision is irrevocable. this is the well-known principle of _right of might_--irony, of course, like _the wit of a fool_, a parallel phrase. the honor of a knight may be called the glory of might. ( .) lastly, if, as we saw above, civic honor is very scrupulous in the matter of _meum_ and _tuum_, paying great respect to obligations and a promise once made, the code we are here discussing displays, on the other hand, the noblest liberality. there is only one word which may not be broken, _the word of honor_--upon my _honor_, as people say--the presumption being, of course, that every other form of promise may be broken. nay, if the worst comes to the worst, it is easy to break even one's word of honor, and still remain honorable--again by adopting that universal remedy, the duel, and fighting with those who maintain that we pledged our word. further, there is one debt, and one alone, that under no circumstances must be left unpaid--a gambling debt, which has accordingly been called _a debt of honor_. in all other kinds of debt you may cheat jews and christians as much as you like; and your knightly honor remains without a stain. the unprejudiced reader will see at once that such a strange, savage and ridiculous code of honor as this has no foundation in human nature, nor any warrant in a healthy view of human affairs. the extremely narrow sphere of its operation serves only to intensify the feeling, which is exclusively confined to europe since the middle age, and then only to the upper classes, officers and soldiers, and people who imitate them. neither greeks nor romans knew anything of this code of honor or of its principles; nor the highly civilized nations of asia, ancient or modern. amongst them no other kind of honor is recognized but that which i discussed first, in virtue of which a man is what he shows himself to be by his actions, not what any wagging tongue is pleased to say of him. they thought that what a man said or did might perhaps affect his own honor, but not any other man's. to them, a blow was but a blow--and any horse or donkey could give a harder one--a blow which under certain circumstances might make a man angry and demand immediate vengeance; but it had nothing to do with honor. no one kept account of blows or insulting words, or of the _satisfaction_ which was demanded or omitted to be demanded. yet in personal bravery and contempt of death, the ancients were certainly not inferior to the nations of christian europe. the greeks and romans were thorough heroes, if you like; but they knew nothing about _point d'honneur_. if _they_ had any idea of a duel, it was totally unconnected with the life of the nobles; it was merely the exhibition of mercenary gladiators, slaves devoted to slaughter, condemned criminals, who, alternately with wild beasts, were set to butcher one another to make a roman holiday. when christianity was introduced, gladiatorial shows were done away with, and their place taken, in christian times, by the duel, which was a way of settling difficulties by _the judgment of god_. if the gladiatorial fight was a cruel sacrifice to the prevailing desire for great spectacles, dueling is a cruel sacrifice to existing prejudices--a sacrifice, not of criminals, slaves and prisoners, but of the noble and the free.[ ] [footnote : _translator's note_. these and other remarks on dueling will no doubt wear a belated look to english readers; but they are hardly yet antiquated for most parts of the continent.] there are a great many traits in the character of the ancients which show that they were entirely free from these prejudices. when, for instance, marius was summoned to a duel by a teutonic chief, he returned answer to the effect that, if the chief were tired of his life, he might go and hang himself; at the same time he offered him a veteran gladiator for a round or two. plutarch relates in his life of themistocles that eurybiades, who was in command of the fleet, once raised his stick to strike him; whereupon themistocles, instead of drawing his sword, simply said: _strike, but hear me_. how sorry the reader must be, if he is an _honorable_ man, to find that we have no information that the athenian officers refused in a body to serve any longer under themistocles, if he acted like that! there is a modern french writer who declares that if anyone considers demosthenes a man of honor, his ignorance will excite a smile of pity; and that cicero was not a man of honor either![ ] in a certain passage in plato's _laws_[ ] the philosopher speaks at length of [greek: aikia] or _assault_, showing us clearly enough that the ancients had no notion of any feeling of honor in connection with such matters. socrates' frequent discussions were often followed by his being severely handled, and he bore it all mildly. once, for instance, when somebody kicked him, the patience with which he took the insult surprised one of his friends. _do you think_, said socrates, _that if an ass happened to kick me, i should resent it_?[ ] on another occasion, when he was asked, _has not that fellow abused and insulted you? no_, was his answer, _what he says is not addressed to me_[ ] stobaeus has preserved a long passage from musonius, from which we can see how the ancients treated insults. they knew no other form of satisfaction than that which the law provided, and wise people despised even this. if a greek received a box on the ear, he could get satisfaction by the aid of the law; as is evident from plato's _gorgias_, where socrates' opinion may be found. the same thing may be seen in the account given by gellius of one lucius veratius, who had the audacity to give some roman citizens whom he met on the road a box on the ear, without any provocation whatever; but to avoid any ulterior consequences, he told a slave to bring a bag of small money, and on the spot paid the trivial legal penalty to the men whom he had astonished by his conduct. [footnote :_litteraires_: par c. durand. rouen, .] [footnote : bk. ix.]. [footnote : diogenes laertius, ii., .] [footnote : _ibid_ .] crates, the celebrated cynic philosopher, got such a box on the ear from nicodromus, the musician, that his face swelled up and became black and blue; whereupon he put a label on his forehead, with the inscription, _nicodromus fecit_, which brought much disgrace to the fluteplayer who had committed such a piece of brutality upon the man whom all athens honored as a household god.[ ] and in a letter to melesippus, diogenes of sinope tells us that he got a beating from the drunken sons of the athenians; but he adds that it was a matter of no importance.[ ] and seneca devotes the last few chapters of his _de constantia_ to a lengthy discussion on insult--_contumelia_; in order to show that a wise man will take no notice of it. in chapter xiv, he says, _what shall a wise man do, if he is given a blow? what cato did, when some one struck him on the mouth;--not fire up or avenge the insult, or even return the blow, but simply ignore it_. [footnote : diogenes laertius, vi. , and apul: flor: p. .] [footnote : cf. casaubon's note, diog. laert., vi. .] _yes_, you say, _but these men were philosophers_.--and you are fools, eh? precisely. it is clear that the whole code of knightly honor was utterly unknown to the ancients; for the simple reason that they always took a natural and unprejudiced view of human affairs, and did not allow themselves to be influenced by any such vicious and abominable folly. a blow in the face was to them a blow and nothing more, a trivial physical injury; whereas the moderns make a catastrophe out of it, a theme for a tragedy; as, for instance, in the _cid_ of corneille, or in a recent german comedy of middle-class life, called _the power of circumstance_, which should have been entitled _the power of prejudice_. if a member of the national assembly at paris got a blow on the ear, it would resound from one end of europe to the other. the examples which i have given of the way in which such an occurrence would have been treated in classic times may not suit the ideas of _honorable people_; so let me recommend to their notice, as a kind of antidote, the story of monsieur desglands in diderot's masterpiece, _jacques le fataliste_. it is an excellent specimen of modern knightly honor, which, no doubt, they will find enjoyable and edifying.[ ] [footnote: : _translator's note_. the story to which schopenhauer here refers is briefly as follows: two gentlemen, one of whom was named desglands, were paying court to the same lady. as they sat at table side by side, with the lady opposite, desglands did his best to charm her with his conversation; but she pretended not to hear him, and kept looking at his rival. in the agony of jealousy, desglands, as he was holding a fresh egg in his hand, involuntarily crushed it; the shell broke, and its contents bespattered his rival's face. seeing him raise his hand, desglands seized it and whispered: _sir, i take it as given_. the next day desglands appeared with a large piece of black sticking-plaster upon his right cheek. in the duel which followed, desglands severely wounded his rival; upon which he reduced the size of the plaster. when his rival recovered, they had another duel; desglands drew blood again, and again made his plaster a little smaller; and so on for five or six times. after every duel desglands' plaster grew less and less, until at last his rival.] from what i have said it must be quite evident that the principle of knightly honor has no essential and spontaneous origin in human nature. it is an artificial product, and its source is not hard to find. its existence obviously dates from the time when people used their fists more than their heads, when priestcraft had enchained the human intellect, the much bepraised middle age, with its system of chivalry. that was the time when people let the almighty not only care for them but judge for them too; when difficult cases were decided by an ordeal, a _judgment of god_; which, with few exceptions, meant a duel, not only where nobles were concerned, but in the case of ordinary citizens as well. there is a neat illustration of this in shakespeare's henry vi.[ ] every judicial sentence was subject to an appeal to arms--a court, as it were, of higher instance, namely, _the judgment of god_: and this really meant that physical strength and activity, that is, our animal nature, usurped the place of reason on the judgment seat, deciding in matters of right and wrong, not by what a man had done, but by the force with which he was opposed, the same system, in fact, as prevails to-day under the principles of knightly honor. if any one doubts that such is really the origin of our modern duel, let him read an excellent work by j.b. millingen, _the history of dueling_.[ ] nay, you may still find amongst the supporters of the system,--who, by the way are not usually the most educated or thoughtful of men,--some who look upon the result of a duel as really constituting a divine judgment in the matter in dispute; no doubt in consequence of the traditional feeling on the subject. but leaving aside the question of origin, it must now be clear to us that the main tendency of the principle is to use physical menace for the purpose of extorting an appearance of respect which is deemed too difficult or superfluous to acquire in reality; a proceeding which comes to much the same thing as if you were to prove the warmth of your room by holding your hand on the thermometer and so make it rise. in fact, the kernel of the matter is this: whereas civic honor aims at peaceable intercourse, and consists in the opinion of other people that _we deserve full confidence_, because we pay unconditional respect to their rights; knightly honor, on the other hand, lays down that _we are to be feared_, as being determined at all costs to maintain our own. as not much reliance can be placed upon human integrity, the principle that it is more essential to arouse fear than to invite confidence would not, perhaps, be a false one, if we were living in a state of nature, where every man would have to protect himself and directly maintain his own rights. but in civilized life, where the state undertakes the protection of our person and property, the principle is no longer applicable: it stands, like the castles and watch-towers of the age when might was right, a useless and forlorn object, amidst well-tilled fields and frequented roads, or even railways. accordingly, the application of knightly honor, which still recognizes this principle, is confined to those small cases of personal assault which meet with but slight punishment at the hands of the law, or even none at all, for _de minimis non_,--mere trivial wrongs, committed sometimes only in jest. the consequence of this limited application of the principle is that it has forced itself into an exaggerated respect for the value of the person,--a respect utterly alien to the nature, constitution or destiny of man--which it has elated into a species of sanctity: and as it considers that the state has imposed a very insufficient penalty on the commission of such trivial injuries, it takes upon itself to punish them by attacking the aggressor in life or limb. the whole thing manifestly rests upon an excessive degree of arrogant pride, which, completely forgetting what man really is, claims that he shall be absolutely free from all attack or even censure. those who determine to carry out this principle by main force, and announce, as their rule of action, _whoever insults or strikes me shall die_! ought for their pains to be banished the country.[ ] [footnote : knightly honor is the child of pride and folly, and it is _needy_ not pride, which is the heritage of the human race. it is a very remarkable fact that this extreme form of pride should be found exclusively amongst the adherents of the religion which teaches the deepest humility. still, this pride must not be put down to religion, but, rather, to the feudal system, which made every nobleman a petty sovereign who recognized no human judge, and learned to regard his person as sacred and inviolable, and any attack upon it, or any blow or insulting word, as an offence punishable with death. the principle of knightly honor and of the duel were at first confined to the nobles, and, later on, also to officers in the army, who, enjoying a kind of off-and-on relationship with the upper classes, though they were never incorporated with them, were anxious not to be behind them. it is true that duels were the product of the old ordeals; but the latter are not the foundation, but rather the consequence and application of the principle of honor: the man who recognized no human judge appealed to the divine. ordeals, however, are not peculiar to christendom: they may be found in great force among the hindoos, especially of ancient times; and there are traces of them even now.] as a palliative to this rash arrogance, people are in the habit of giving way on everything. if two intrepid persons meet, and neither will give way, the slightest difference may cause a shower of abuse, then fisticuffs, and, finally, a fatal blow: so that it would really be a more decorous proceeding to omit the intermediate steps and appeal to arms at once. an appeal to arms has its own special formalities; and these have developed into a rigid and precise system of laws and regulations, together forming the most solemn farce there is--a regular temple of honor dedicated to folly! for if two intrepid persons dispute over some trivial matter, (more important affairs are dealt with by law), one of them, the cleverer of the two, will of course yield; and they will agree to differ. that this is so is proved by the fact that common people,--or, rather, the numerous classes of the community who do not acknowledge the principle of knightly honor, let any dispute run its natural course. amongst these classes homicide is a hundredfold rarer than amongst those--and they amount, perhaps, in all, to hardly one in a thousand,--who pay homage to the principle: and even blows are of no very frequent occurrence. then it has been said that the manners and tone of good society are ultimately based upon this principle of honor, which, with its system of duels, is made out to be a bulwark against the assaults of savagery and rudeness. but athens, corinth and rome could assuredly boast of good, nay, excellent society, and manners and tone of a high order, without any support from the bogey of knightly honor. it is true that women did not occupy that prominent place in ancient society which they hold now, when conversation has taken on a frivolous and trifling character, to the exclusion of that weighty discourse which distinguished the ancients. this change has certainly contributed a great deal to bring about the tendency, which is observable in good society now-a-days, to prefer personal courage to the possession of any other quality. the fact is that personal courage is really a very subordinate virtue,--merely the distinguishing mark of a subaltern,--a virtue, indeed, in which we are surpassed by the lower animals; or else you would not hear people say, _as brave as a lion_. far from being the pillar of society, knightly honor affords a sure asylum, in general for dishonesty and wickedness, and also for small incivilities, want of consideration and unmannerliness. rude behavior is often passed over in silence because no one cares to risk his neck in correcting it. after what i have said, it will not appear strange that the dueling system is carried to the highest pitch of sanguinary zeal precisely in that nation whose political and financial records show that they are not too honorable. what that nation is like in its private and domestic life, is a question which may be best put to those who are experienced in the matter. their urbanity and social culture have long been conspicuous by their absence. there is no truth, then, in such pretexts. it can be urged with more justice that as, when you snarl at a dog, he snarls in return, and when you pet him, he fawns; so it lies in the nature of men to return hostility by hostility, and to be embittered and irritated at any signs of depreciatory treatment or hatred: and, as cicero says, _there is something so penetrating in the shaft of envy that even men of wisdom and worth find its wound a painful one_; and nowhere in the world, except, perhaps, in a few religious sects, is an insult or a blow taken with equanimity. and yet a natural view of either would in no case demand anything more than a requital proportionate to the offence, and would never go to the length of assigning _death_ as the proper penalty for anyone who accuses another of lying or stupidity or cowardice. the old german theory of _blood for a blow_ is a revolting superstition of the age of chivalry. and in any case the return or requital of an insult is dictated by anger, and not by any such obligation of honor and duty as the advocates of chivalry seek to attach to it. the fact is that, the greater the truth, the greater the slander; and it is clear that the slightest hint of some real delinquency will give much greater offence than a most terrible accusation which is perfectly baseless: so that a man who is quite sure that he has done nothing to deserve a reproach may treat it with contempt, and will be safe in doing so. the theory of honor demands that he shall show a susceptibility which he does not possess, and take bloody vengeance for insults which he cannot feel. a man must himself have but a poor opinion of his own worth who hastens to prevent the utterance of an unfavorable opinion by giving his enemy a black eye. true appreciation of his own value will make a man really indifferent to insult; but if he cannot help resenting it, a little shrewdness and culture will enable him to save appearances and dissemble his anger. if he could only get rid of this superstition about honor--the idea, i mean, that it disappears when you are insulted, and can be restored by returning the insult; if we could only stop people from thinking that wrong, brutality and insolence can be legalized by expressing readiness to give satisfaction, that is, to fight in defence of it, we should all soon come to the general opinion that insult and depreciation are like a battle in which the loser wins; and that, as vincenzo monti says, abuse resembles a church-procession, because it always returns to the point from which it set out. if we could only get people to look upon insult in this light, we should no longer have to say something rude in order to prove that we are in the right. now, unfortunately, if we want to take a serious view of any question, we have first of all to consider whether it will not give offence in some way or other to the dullard, who generally shows alarm and resentment at the merest sign of intelligence; and it may easily happen that the head which contains the intelligent view has to be pitted against the noodle which is empty of everything but narrowness and stupidity. if all this were done away with, intellectual superiority could take the leading place in society which is its due--a place now occupied, though people do not like to confess it, by excellence of physique, mere fighting pluck, in fact; and the natural effect of such a change would be that the best kind of people would have one reason the less for withdrawing from society. this would pave the way for the introduction of real courtesy and genuinely good society, such as undoubtedly existed in athens, corinth and rome. if anyone wants to see a good example of what i mean, i should like him to read xenophon's _banquet_. the last argument in defence of knightly honor no doubt is, that, but for its existence, the world--awful thought!--would be a regular bear-garden. to which i may briefly reply that nine hundred and ninety-nine people out of a thousand who do not recognize the code, have often given and received a blow without any fatal consequences: whereas amongst the adherents of the code a blow usually means death to one of the parties. but let me examine this argument more closely. i have often tried to find some tenable, or at any rate, plausible basis--other than a merely conventional one--some positive reasons, that is to say, for the rooted conviction which a portion of mankind entertains, that a blow is a very dreadful thing; but i have looked for it in vain, either in the animal or in the rational side of human nature. a blow is, and always will be, a trivial physical injury which one man can do to another; proving, thereby, nothing more than his superiority in strength or skill, or that his enemy was off his guard. analysis will carry us no further. the same knight who regards a blow from the human hand as the greatest of evils, if he gets a ten times harder blow from his horse, will give you the assurance, as he limps away in suppressed pain, that it is a matter of no consequence whatever. so i have come to think that it is the human hand which is at the bottom of the mischief. and yet in a battle the knight may get cuts and thrusts from the same hand, and still assure you that his wounds are not worth mentioning. now, i hear that a blow from the flat of a sword is not by any means so bad as a blow from a stick; and that, a short time ago, cadets were liable to be punished by the one but not the other, and that the very greatest honor of all is the _accolade_. this is all the psychological or moral basis that i can find; and so there is nothing left me but to pronounce the whole thing an antiquated superstition that has taken deep root, and one more of the many examples which show the force of tradition. my view is confirmed by the well-known fact that in china a beating with a bamboo is a very frequent punishment for the common people, and even for officials of every class; which shows that human nature, even in a highly civilized state, does not run in the same groove here and in china. on the contrary, an unprejudiced view of human nature shows that it is just as natural for a man to beat as it is for savage animals to bite and rend in pieces, or for horned beasts to butt or push. man may be said to be the animal that beats. hence it is revolting to our sense of the fitness of things to hear, as we sometimes do, that one man bitten another; on the other hand, it is a natural and everyday occurrence for him to get blows or give them. it is intelligible enough that, as we become educated, we are glad to dispense with blows by a system of mutual restraint. but it is a cruel thing to compel a nation or a single class to regard a blow as an awful misfortune which must have death and murder for its consequences. there are too many genuine evils in the world to allow of our increasing them by imaginary misfortunes, which brings real ones in their train: and yet this is the precise effect of the superstition, which thus proves itself at once stupid and malign. it does not seem to me wise of governments and legislative bodies to promote any such folly by attempting to do away with flogging as a punishment in civil or military life. their idea is that they are acting in the interests of humanity; but, in point of fact, they are doing just the opposite; for the abolition of flogging will serve only to strengthen this inhuman and abominable superstition, to which so many sacrifices have already been made. for all offences, except the worst, a beating is the obvious, and therefore the natural penalty; and a man who will not listen to reason will yield to blows. it seems to me right and proper to administer corporal punishment to the man who possesses nothing and therefore cannot be fined, or cannot be put in prison because his master's interests would suffer by the loss of his service. there are really no arguments against it: only mere talk about _the dignity of man_--talk which proceeds, not from any clear notions on the subject, but from the pernicious superstition i have been describing. that it is a superstition which lies at the bottom of the whole business is proved by an almost laughable example. not long ago, in the military discipline of many countries, the cat was replaced by the stick. in either case the object was to produce physical pain; but the latter method involved no disgrace, and was not derogatory to honor. by promoting this superstition, the state is playing into the hands of the principle of knightly honor, and therefore of the duel; while at the same time it is trying, or at any rate it pretends it is trying, to abolish the duel by legislative enactment. as a natural consequence we find that this fragment of the theory that _might is right_, which has come down to us from the most savage days of the middle age, has still in this nineteenth century a good deal of life left in it--more shame to us! it is high time for the principle to be driven out bag and baggage. now-a-days no one is allowed to set dogs or cocks to fight each other,--at any rate, in england it is a penal offence,--but men are plunged into deadly strife, against their will, by the operation of this ridiculous, superstitious and absurd principle, which imposes upon us the obligation, as its narrow-minded supporters and advocates declare, of fighting with one another like gladiators, for any little trifle. let me recommend our purists to adopt the expression _baiting_[ ] instead of _duel_, which probably comes to us, not from the latin _duellum_, but from the spanish _duelo_,--meaning suffering, nuisance, annoyance. [footnote : _ritterhetze_] in any case, we may well laugh at the pedantic excess to which this foolish system has been carried. it is really revolting that this principle, with its absurd code, can form a power within the state--_imperium in imperio_--a power too easily put in motion, which, recognizing no right but might, tyrannizes over the classes which come within its range, by keeping up a sort of inquisition, before which any one may be haled on the most flimsy pretext, and there and then be tried on an issue of life and death between himself and his opponent. this is the lurking place from which every rascal, if he only belongs to the classes in question, may menace and even exterminate the noblest and best of men, who, as such, must of course be an object of hatred to him. our system of justice and police-protection has made it impossible in these days for any scoundrel in the street to attack us with--_your money or your life_! an end should be put to the burden which weighs upon the higher classes--the burden, i mean, of having to be ready every moment to expose life and limb to the mercy of anyone who takes it into his rascally head to be coarse, rude, foolish or malicious. it is perfectly atrocious that a pair of silly, passionate boys should be wounded, maimed or even killed, simply because they have had a few words. the strength of this tyrannical power within the state, and the force of the superstition, may be measured by the fact that people who are prevented from restoring their knightly honor by the superior or inferior rank of their aggressor, or anything else that puts the persons on a different level, often come to a tragic-comic end by committing suicide in sheer despair. you may generally know a thing to be false and ridiculous by finding that, if it is carried to its logical conclusion, it results in a contradiction; and here, too, we have a very glaring absurdity. for an officer is forbidden to take part in a duel; but if he is challenged and declines to come out, he is punished by being dismissed the service. as i am on the matter, let me be more frank still. the important distinction, which is often insisted upon, between killing your enemy in a fair fight with equal weapons, and lying in ambush for him, is entirely a corollary of the fact that the power within the state, of which i have spoken, recognizes no other right than might, that is, the right of the stronger, and appeals to a _judgment of god_ as the basis of the whole code. for to kill a man in a fair fight, is to prove that you are superior to him in strength or skill; and to justify the deed, _you must assume that the right of the stronger is really a right_. but the truth is that, if my opponent is unable to defend himself, it gives me the possibility, but not by any means the right, of killing him. the _right_, the _moral justification_, must depend entirely upon the _motives_ which i have for taking his life. even supposing that i have sufficient motive for taking a man's life, there is no reason why i should make his death depend upon whether i can shoot or fence better than he. in such a case, it is immaterial in what way i kill him, whether i attack him from the front or the rear. from a moral point of view, the right of the stronger is no more convincing than the right of the more skillful; and it is skill which is employed if you murder a a man treacherously. might and skill are in this case equally right; in a duel, for instance, both the one and the other come into play; for a feint is only another name for treachery. if i consider myself morally justified in taking a man's life, it is stupid of me to try first of all whether he can shoot or fence better than i; as, if he can, he will not only have wronged me, but have taken my life into the bargain. it is rousseau's opinion that the proper way to avenge an insult is, not to fight a duel with your aggressor, but to assassinate him,--an opinion, however, which he is cautious enough only to barely indicate in a mysterious note to one of the books of his _emile_. this shows the philosopher so completely under the influence of the mediaeval superstition of knightly honor that he considers it justifiable to murder a man who accuses you of lying: whilst he must have known that every man, and himself especially, has deserved to have the lie given him times without number. the prejudice which justifies the killing of your adversary, so long as it is done in an open contest and with equal weapons, obviously looks upon might as really right, and a duel as the interference of god. the italian who, in a fit of rage, falls upon his aggressor wherever he finds him, and despatches him without any ceremony, acts, at any rate, consistently and naturally: he may be cleverer, but he is not worse, than the duelist. if you say, i am justified in killing my adversary in a duel, because he is at the moment doing his best to kill me; i can reply that it is your challenge which has placed him under the necessity of defending himself; and that by mutually putting it on the ground of self-defence, the combatants are seeking a plausible pretext for committing murder. i should rather justify the deed by the legal maxim _volenti non fit injuria_; because the parties mutually agree to set their life upon the issue. this argument may, however, be rebutted by showing that the injured party is not injured _volens_; because it is this tyrannical principle of knightly honor, with its absurd code, which forcibly drags one at least of the combatants before a bloody inquisition. i have been rather prolix on the subject of knightly honor, but i had good reason for being so, because the augean stable of moral and intellectual enormity in this world can be cleaned out only with the besom of philosophy. there are two things which more than all else serve to make the social arrangements of modern life compare unfavorably with those of antiquity, by giving our age a gloomy, dark and sinister aspect, from which antiquity, fresh, natural and, as it were, in the morning of life, is completely free; i mean modern honor and modern disease,--_par nobile fratrum_!--which have combined to poison all the relations of life, whether public or private. the second of this noble pair extends its influence much farther than at first appears to be the case, as being not merely a physical, but also a moral disease. from the time that poisoned arrows have been found in cupid's quiver, an estranging, hostile, nay, devilish element has entered into the relations of men and women, like a sinister thread of fear and mistrust in the warp and woof of their intercourse; indirectly shaking the foundations of human fellowship, and so more or less affecting the whole tenor of existence. but it would be beside my present purpose to pursue the subject further. an influence analogous to this, though working on other lines, is exerted by the principle of knightly honor,--that solemn farce, unknown to the ancient world, which makes modern society stiff, gloomy and timid, forcing us to keep the strictest watch on every word that falls. nor is this all. the principle is a universal minotaur; and the goodly company of the sons of noble houses which it demands in yearly tribute, comes, not from one country alone, as of old, but from every land in europe. it is high time to make a regular attack upon this foolish system; and this is what i am trying to do now. would that these two monsters of the modern world might disappear before the end of the century! let us hope that medicine may be able to find some means of preventing the one, and that, by clearing our ideals, philosophy may put an end to the other: for it is only by clearing our ideas that the evil can be eradicated. governments have tried to do so by legislation, and failed. still, if they are really concerned to stop the dueling system; and if the small success that has attended their efforts is really due only to their inability to cope with the evil, i do not mind proposing a law the success of which i am prepared to guarantee. it will involve no sanguinary measures, and can be put into operation without recourse either to the scaffold or the gallows, or to imprisonment for life. it is a small homeopathic pilule, with no serious after effects. if any man send or accept a challenge, let the corporal take him before the guard house, and there give him, in broad daylight, twelve strokes with a stick _a la chinoise_; a non-commissioned officer or a private to receive six. if a duel has actually taken place, the usual criminal proceedings should be instituted. a person with knightly notions might, perhaps, object that, if such a punishment were carried out, a man of honor would possibly shoot himself; to which i should answer that it is better for a fool like that to shoot himself rather than other people. however, i know very well that governments are not really in earnest about putting down dueling. civil officials, and much more so, officers in the army, (except those in the highest positions), are paid most inadequately for the services they perform; and the deficiency is made up by honor, which is represented by titles and orders, and, in general, by the system of rank and distinction. the duel is, so to speak, a very serviceable extra-horse for people of rank: so they are trained in the knowledge of it at the universities. the accidents which happen to those who use it make up in blood for the deficiency of the pay. just to complete the discussion, let me here mention the subject of _national honor_. it is the honor of a nation as a unit in the aggregate of nations. and as there is no court to appeal to but the court of force; and as every nation must be prepared to defend its own interests, the honor of a nation consists in establishing the opinion, not only that it may be trusted (its credit), but also that it is to be feared. an attack upon its rights must never be allowed to pass unheeded. it is a combination of civic and knightly honor. _section .--fame_. under the heading of place in the estimation of the world we have put _fame_; and this we must now proceed to consider. fame and honor are twins; and twins, too, like castor and pollux, of whom the one was mortal and the other was not. fame is the undying brother of ephemeral honor. i speak, of course, of the highest kind of fame, that is, of fame in the true and genuine sense of the word; for, to be sure, there are many sorts of fame, some of which last but a day. honor is concerned merely with such qualities as everyone may be expected to show under similar circumstances; fame only of those which cannot be required of any man. honor is of qualities which everyone has a right to attribute to himself; fame only of those which should be left to others to attribute. whilst our honor extends as far as people have knowledge of us; fame runs in advance, and makes us known wherever it finds its way. everyone can make a claim to honor; very few to fame, as being attainable only in virtue of extraordinary achievements. these achievements may be of two kinds, either _actions_ or _works_; and so to fame there are two paths open. on the path of actions, a great heart is the chief recommendation; on that of works, a great head. each of the two paths has its own peculiar advantages and detriments; and the chief difference between them is that actions are fleeting, while works remain. the influence of an action, be it never so noble, can last but a short time; but a work of genius is a living influence, beneficial and ennobling throughout the ages. all that can remain of actions is a memory, and that becomes weak and disfigured by time--a matter of indifference to us, until at last it is extinguished altogether; unless, indeed, history takes it up, and presents it, fossilized, to posterity. works are immortal in themselves, and once committed to writing, may live for ever. of alexander the great we have but the name and the record; but plato and aristotle, homer and horace are alive, and as directly at work to-day as they were in their own lifetime. the _vedas_, and their _upanishads_, are still with us: but of all contemporaneous actions not a trace has come down to us.[ ] [footnote : accordingly it is a poor compliment, though sometimes a fashionable one, to try to pay honor to a work by calling it an action. for a work is something essentially higher in its nature. an action is always something based on motive, and, therefore, fragmentary and fleeting--a part, in fact, of that will which is the universal and original element in the constitution of the world. but a great and beautiful work has a permanent character, as being of universal significance, and sprung from the intellect, which rises, like a perfume, above the faults and follies of the world of will. the fame of a great action has this advantage, that it generally starts with a loud explosion; so loud, indeed, as to be heard all over europe: whereas the fame of a great work is slow and gradual in its beginnings; the noise it makes is at first slight, but it goes on growing greater, until at last, after a hundred years perhaps, it attains its full force; but then it remains, because the works remain, for thousands of years. but in the other case, when the first explosion is over, the noise it makes grows less and less, and is heard by fewer and fewer persons; until it ends by the action having only a shadowy existence in the pages of history.] another disadvantage under which actions labor is that they depend upon chance for the possibility of coming into existence; and hence, the fame they win does not flow entirely from their intrinsic value, but also from the circumstances which happened to lend them importance and lustre. again, the fame of actions, if, as in war, they are purely personal, depends upon the testimony of fewer witnesses; and these are not always present, and even if present, are not always just or unbiased observers. this disadvantage, however, is counterbalanced by the fact that actions have the advantage of being of a practical character, and, therefore, within the range of general human intelligence; so that once the facts have been correctly reported, justice is immediately done; unless, indeed, the motive underlying the action is not at first properly understood or appreciated. no action can be really understood apart from the motive which prompted it. it is just the contrary with works. their inception does not depend upon chance, but wholly and entirely upon their author; and whoever they are in and for themselves, that they remain as long as they live. further, there is a difficulty in properly judging them, which becomes all the harder, the higher their character; often there are no persons competent to understand the work, and often no unbiased or honest critics. their fame, however, does not depend upon one judge only; they can enter an appeal to another. in the case of actions, as i have said, it is only their memory which comes down to posterity, and then only in the traditional form; but works are handed down themselves, and, except when parts of them have been lost, in the form in which they first appeared. in this case there is no room for any disfigurement of the facts; and any circumstance which may have prejudiced them in their origin, fall away with the lapse of time. nay, it is often only after the lapse of time that the persons really competent to judge them appear--exceptional critics sitting in judgment on exceptional works, and giving their weighty verdicts in succession. these collectively form a perfectly just appreciation; and though there are cases where it has taken some hundreds of years to form it, no further lapse of time is able to reverse the verdict;--so secure and inevitable is the fame of a great work. whether authors ever live to see the dawn of their fame depends upon the chance of circumstance; and the higher and more important their works are, the less likelihood there is of their doing so. that was an incomparable fine saying of seneca's, that fame follows merit as surely as the body casts a shadow; sometimes falling in front, and sometimes behind. and he goes on to remark that _though the envy of contemporaries be shown by universal silence, there will come those who will judge without enmity or favor_. from this remark it is manifest that even in seneca's age there were rascals who understood the art of suppressing merit by maliciously ignoring its existence, and of concealing good work from the public in order to favor the bad: it is an art well understood in our day, too, manifesting itself, both then and now, in _an envious conspiracy of silence_. as a general rule, the longer a man's fame is likely to last, the later it will be in coming; for all excellent products require time for their development. the fame which lasts to posterity is like an oak, of very slow growth; and that which endures but a little while, like plants which spring up in a year and then die; whilst false fame is like a fungus, shooting up in a night and perishing as soon. and why? for this reason; the more a man belongs to posterity, in other words, to humanity in general, the more of an alien he is to his contemporaries; since his work is not meant for them as such, but only for them in so far as they form part of mankind at large; there is none of that familiar local color about his productions which would appeal to them; and so what he does, fails of recognition because it is strange. people are more likely to appreciate the man who serves the circumstances of his own brief hour, or the temper of the moment,--belonging to it, living and dying with it. the general history of art and literature shows that the highest achievements of the human mind are, as a rule, not favorably received at first; but remain in obscurity until they win notice from intelligence of a high order, by whose influence they are brought into a position which they then maintain, in virtue of the authority thus given them. if the reason of this should be asked, it will be found that ultimately, a man can really understand and appreciate those things only which are of like nature with himself. the dull person will like what is dull, and the common person what is common; a man whose ideas are mixed will be attracted by confusion of thought; and folly will appeal to him who has no brains at all; but best of all, a man will like his own works, as being of a character thoroughly at one with himself. this is a truth as old as epicharmus of fabulous memory-- [greek: thaumaston ouden esti me tauth outo legein kal andanein autoisin autous kal dokein kalos pethukenai kal gar ho kuon kuni kalloton eimen phainetai koi bous boi onos dono kalliston [estin], us dut.] the sense of this passage--for it should not be lost--is that we should not be surprised if people are pleased with themselves, and fancy that they are in good case; for to a dog the best thing in the world is a dog; to an ox, an ox; to an ass, an ass; and to a sow, a sow. the strongest arm is unavailing to give impetus to a featherweight; for, instead of speeding on its way and hitting its mark with effect, it will soon fall to the ground, having expended what little energy was given to it, and possessing no mass of its own to be the vehicle of momentum. so it is with great and noble thoughts, nay, with the very masterpieces of genius, when there are none but little, weak, and perverse minds to appreciate them,--a fact which has been deplored by a chorus of the wise in all ages. jesus, the son of sirach, for instance, declares that _he that telleth a tale to a fool speaketh to one in slumber: when he hath told his tale, he will say, what is the matter_?[ ] and hamlet says, _a knavish speech sleeps in a fool's ear_.[ ] and goethe is of the same opinion, that a dull ear mocks at the wisest word, _das glücktichste wort es wird verhöhnt, wenn der hörer ein schiefohr ist_: and again, that we should not be discouraged if people are stupid, for you can make no rings if you throw your stone into a marsh. _du iwirkest nicht, alles bleibt so stumpf: sei guter dinge! der stein in sumpf macht keine ringe_. [footnote : ecclesiasticus, xxii., .] [footnote : act iv., sc. .] lichtenberg asks: _when a head and a book come into collision, and one sounds hollow, is it always the book_? and in another place: _works like this are as a mirror; if an ass looks in, you cannot expect an apostle to look out_. we should do well to remember old gellert's fine and touching lament, that the best gifts of all find the fewest admirers, and that most men mistake the bad for the good,--a daily evil that nothing can prevent, like a plague which no remedy can cure. there is but one thing to be done, though how difficult!--the foolish must become wise,--and that they can never be. the value of life they never know; they see with the outer eye but never with the mind, and praise the trivial because the good is strange to them:-- _nie kennen sie den werth der dinge, ihr auge schliesst, nicht ihr verstand; sie loben ewig das geringe weil sie das gute nie gekannt_. to the intellectual incapacity which, as goethe says, fails to recognize and appreciate the good which exists, must be added something which comes into play everywhere, the moral baseness of mankind, here taking the form of envy. the new fame that a man wins raises him afresh over the heads of his fellows, who are thus degraded in proportion. all conspicuous merit is obtained at the cost of those who possess none; or, as goethe has it in the _westöstlicher divan_, another's praise is one's own depreciation-- _wenn wir andern ehre geben müssen wir uns selbst entadeln_. we see, then, how it is that, whatever be the form which excellence takes, mediocrity, the common lot of by far the greatest number, is leagued against it in a conspiracy to resist, and if possible, to suppress it. the pass-word of this league is _à bas le mérite_. nay more; those who have done something themselves, and enjoy a certain amount of fame, do not care about the appearance of a new reputation, because its success is apt to throw theirs into the shade. hence, goethe declares that if we had to depend for our life upon the favor of others, we should never have lived at all; from their desire to appear important themselves, people gladly ignore our very existence:-- _hätte ich gezaudert zu werden, bis man mir's leben geögnut, ich wäre noch nicht auf erden, wie ihr begreifen könnt, wenn ihr seht, wie sie sich geberden, die, um etwas zu scheinen, mich gerne mochten verneinen_. honor, on the contrary, generally meets with fair appreciation, and is not exposed to the onslaught of envy; nay, every man is credited with the possession of it until the contrary is proved. but fame has to be won in despite of envy, and the tribunal which awards the laurel is composed of judges biased against the applicant from the very first. honor is something which we are able and ready to share with everyone; fame suffers encroachment and is rendered more unattainable in proportion as more people come by it. further, the difficulty of winning fame by any given work stands in reverse ratio to the number of people who are likely to read it; and hence it is so much harder to become famous as the author of a learned work than as a writer who aspires only to amuse. it is hardest of all in the case of philosophical works, because the result at which they aim is rather vague, and, at the same time, useless from a material point of view; they appeal chiefly to readers who are working on the same lines themselves. it is clear, then, from what i have said as to the difficulty of winning fame, that those who labor, not out of love for their subject, nor from pleasure in pursuing it, but under the stimulus of ambition, rarely or never leave mankind a legacy of immortal works. the man who seeks to do what is good and genuine, must avoid what is bad, and be ready to defy the opinions of the mob, nay, even to despise it and its misleaders. hence the truth of the remark, (especially insisted upon by osorius _de gloria_), that fame shuns those who seek it, and seeks those who shun it; for the one adapt themselves to the taste of their contemporaries, and the others work in defiance of it. but, difficult though it be to acquire fame, it is an easy thing to keep when once acquired. here, again, fame is in direct opposition to honor, with which everyone is presumably to be accredited. honor has not to be won; it must only not be lost. but there lies the difficulty! for by a single unworthy action, it is gone irretrievably. but fame, in the proper sense of the word, can never disappear; for the action or work by which it was acquired can never be undone; and fame attaches to its author, even though he does nothing to deserve it anew. the fame which vanishes, or is outlived, proves itself thereby to be spurious, in other words, unmerited, and due to a momentary overestimate of a man's work; not to speak of the kind of fame which hegel enjoyed, and which lichtenberg describes as _trumpeted forth by a clique of admiring undergraduates_--_the resounding echo of empty heads_;--_such a fame as will make posterity smile when it lights upon a grotesque architecture of words, a fine nest with the birds long ago flown; it will knock at the door of this decayed structure of conventionalities and find it utterly empty_!--_not even a trace of thought there to invite the passer-by_. the truth is that fame means nothing but what a man is in comparison with others. it is essentially relative in character, and therefore only indirectly valuable; for it vanishes the moment other people become what the famous man is. absolute value can be predicated only of what a man possesses under any and all circumstances,--here, what a man is directly and in himself. it is the possession of a great heart or a great head, and not the mere fame of it, which is worth having, and conducive to happiness. not fame, but that which deserves to be famous, is what a man should hold in esteem. this is, as it were, the true underlying substance, and fame is only an accident, affecting its subject chiefly as a kind of external symptom, which serves to confirm his own opinion of himself. light is not visible unless it meets with something to reflect it; and talent is sure of itself only when its fame is noised abroad. but fame is not a certain symptom of merit; because you can have the one without the other; or, as lessing nicely puts it, _some people obtain fame, and others deserve it_. it would be a miserable existence which should make its value or want of value depend upon what other people think; but such would be the life of a hero or a genius if its worth consisted in fame, that is, in the applause of the world. every man lives and exists on his own account, and, therefore, mainly in and for himself; and what he is and the whole manner of his being concern himself more than anyone else; so if he is not worth much in this respect, he cannot be worth much otherwise. the idea which other people form of his existence is something secondary, derivative, exposed to all the chances of fate, and in the end affecting him but very indirectly. besides, other people's heads are a wretched place to be the home of a man's true happiness--a fanciful happiness perhaps, but not a real one. and what a mixed company inhabits the temple of universal fame!--generals, ministers, charlatans, jugglers, dancers, singers, millionaires and jews! it is a temple in which more sincere recognition, more genuine esteem, is given to the several excellencies of such folk, than to superiority of mind, even of a high order, which obtains from the great majority only a verbal acknowledgment. from the point of view of human happiness, fame is, surely, nothing but a very rare and delicate morsel for the appetite that feeds on pride and vanity--an appetite which, however carefully concealed, exists to an immoderate degree in every man, and is, perhaps strongest of all in those who set their hearts on becoming famous at any cost. such people generally have to wait some time in uncertainty as to their own value, before the opportunity comes which will put it to the proof and let other people see what they are made of; but until then, they feel as if they were suffering secret injustice.[ ] [footnote : our greatest pleasure consists in being admired; but those who admire us, even if they have every reason to do so, are slow to express their sentiments. hence he is the happiest man who, no matter how, manages sincerely to admire himself--so long as other people leave him alone.] but, as i explained at the beginning of this chapter, an unreasonable value is set upon other people's opinion, and one quite disproportionate to its real worth. hobbes has some strong remarks on this subject; and no doubt he is quite right. _mental pleasure_, he writes, _and ecstacy of any kind, arise when, on comparing ourselves with others, we come to the conclusion that we may think well of ourselves_. so we can easily understand the great value which is always attached to fame, as worth any sacrifices if there is the slightest hope of attaining it. _fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise_ _(that hath infirmity of noble mind)_ _to scorn delights and live laborious days_[ ] and again: _how hard it is to climb the heights where fame's proud temple shines afar_! [footnote : milton. _lycidas_.] we can thus understand how it is that the vainest people in the world are always talking about _la gloire_, with the most implicit faith in it as a stimulus to great actions and great works. but there can he no doubt that fame is something secondary in its character, a mere echo or reflection--as it were, a shadow or symptom--of merit: and, in any case, what excites admiration must be of more value than the admiration itself. the truth is that a man is made happy, not by fame, but by that which brings him fame, by his merits, or to speak more correctly, by the disposition and capacity from which his merits proceed, whether they be moral or intellectual. the best side of a man's nature must of necessity be more important for him than for anyone else: the reflection of it, the opinion which exists in the heads of others, is a matter that can affect him only in a very subordinate degree. he who deserves fame without getting it possesses by far the more important element of happiness, which should console him for the loss of the other. it is not that a man is thought to be great by masses of incompetent and often infatuated people, but that he really is great, which should move us to envy his position; and his happiness lies, not in the fact that posterity will hear of him, but that he is the creator of thoughts worthy to be treasured up and studied for hundreds of years. besides, if a man has done this, he possesses something which cannot be wrested from him; and, unlike fame, it is a possession dependent entirely upon himself. if admiration were his chief aim, there would be nothing in him to admire. this is just what happens in the case of false, that is, unmerited, fame; for its recipient lives upon it without actually possessing the solid substratum of which fame is the outward and visible sign. false fame must often put its possessor out of conceit with himself; for the time may come when, in spite of the illusions borne of self-love, he will feel giddy on the heights which he was never meant to climb, or look upon himself as spurious coin; and in the anguish of threatened discovery and well-merited degradation, he will read the sentence of posterity on the foreheads of the wise--like a man who owes his property to a forged will. the truest fame, the fame that comes after death, is never heard of by its recipient; and yet he is called a happy man. his happiness lay both in the possession of those great qualities which won him fame, and in the opportunity that was granted him of developing them--the leisure he had to act as he pleased, to dedicate himself to his favorite pursuits. it is only work done from the heart that ever gains the laurel. greatness of soul, or wealth of intellect, is what makes a man happy--intellect, such as, when stamped on its productions, will receive the admiration of centuries to come,--thoughts which make him happy at the time, and will in their turn be a source of study and delight to the noblest minds of the most remote posterity. the value of posthumous fame lies in deserving it; and this is its own reward. whether works destined to fame attain it in the lifetime of their author is a chance affair, of no very great importance. for the average man has no critical power of his own, and is absolutely incapable of appreciating the difficulty of a great work. people are always swayed by authority; and where fame is widespread, it means that ninety-nine out of a hundred take it on faith alone. if a man is famed far and wide in his own lifetime, he will, if he is wise, not set too much value upon it, because it is no more than the echo of a few voices, which the chance of a day has touched in his favor. would a musician feel flattered by the loud applause of an audience if he knew that they were nearly all deaf, and that, to conceal their infirmity, they set to work to clap vigorously as soon as ever they saw one or two persons applauding? and what would he say if he got to know that those one or two persons had often taken bribes to secure the loudest applause for the poorest player! it is easy to see why contemporary praise so seldom develops into posthumous fame. d'alembert, in an extremely fine description of the temple of literary fame, remarks that the sanctuary of the temple is inhabited by the great dead, who during their life had no place there, and by a very few living persons, who are nearly all ejected on their death. let me remark, in passing, that to erect a monument to a man in his lifetime is as much as declaring that posterity is not to be trusted in its judgment of him. if a man does happen to see his own true fame, it can very rarely be before he is old, though there have been artists and musicians who have been exceptions to this rule, but very few philosophers. this is confirmed by the portraits of people celebrated by their works; for most of them are taken only after their subjects have attained celebrity, generally depicting them as old and grey; more especially if philosophy has been the work of their lives. from the eudaemonistic standpoint, this is a very proper arrangement; as fame and youth are too much for a mortal at one and the same time. life is such a poor business that the strictest economy must be exercised in its good things. youth has enough and to spare in itself, and must rest content with what it has. but when the delights and joys of life fall away in old age, as the leaves from a tree in autumn, fame buds forth opportunely, like a plant that is green in winter. fame is, as it were, the fruit that must grow all the summer before it can be enjoyed at yule. there is no greater consolation in age than the feeling of having put the whole force of one's youth into works which still remain young. finally, let us examine a little more closely the kinds of fame which attach to various intellectual pursuits; for it is with fame of this sort that my remarks are more immediately concerned. i think it may be said broadly that the intellectual superiority it denotes consists in forming theories, that is, new combinations of certain facts. these facts may be of very different kinds; but the better they are known, and the more they come within everyday experience, the greater and wider will be the fame which is to be won by theorizing about them. for instance, if the facts in question are numbers or lines or special branches of science, such as physics, zoology, botany, anatomy, or corrupt passages in ancient authors, or undecipherable inscriptions, written, it may be, in some unknown alphabet, or obscure points in history; the kind of fame that may be obtained by correctly manipulating such facts will not extend much beyond those who make a study of them--a small number of persons, most of whom live retired lives and are envious of others who become famous in their special branch of knowledge. but if the facts be such as are known to everyone, for example, the fundamental characteristics of the human mind or the human heart, which are shared by all alike; or the great physical agencies which are constantly in operation before our eyes, or the general course of natural laws; the kind of fame which is to be won by spreading the light of a new and manifestly true theory in regard to them, is such as in time will extend almost all over the civilized world: for if the facts be such as everyone can grasp, the theory also will be generally intelligible. but the extent of the fame will depend upon the difficulties overcome; and the more generally known the facts are, the harder it will be to form a theory that shall be both new and true: because a great many heads will have been occupied with them, and there will be little or no possibility of saying anything that has not been said before. on the other hand, facts which are not accessible to everybody, and can be got at only after much difficulty and labor, nearly always admit of new combinations and theories; so that, if sound understanding and judgment are brought to bear upon them--qualities which do not involve very high intellectual power--a man may easily be so fortunate as to light upon some new theory in regard to them which shall be also true. but fame won on such paths does not extend much beyond those who possess a knowledge of the facts in question. to solve problems of this sort requires, no doubt, a great ideal of study and labor, if only to get at the facts; whilst on the path where the greatest and most widespread fame is to be won, the facts may be grasped without any labor at all. but just in proportion as less labor is necessary, more talent or genius is required; and between such qualities and the drudgery of research no comparison is possible, in respect either of their intrinsic value, or of the estimation in which they are held. and so people who feel that they possess solid intellectual capacity and a sound judgment, and yet cannot claim the highest mental powers, should not be afraid of laborious study; for by its aid they may work themselves above the great mob of humanity who have the facts constantly before their eyes, and reach those secluded spots which are accessible to learned toil. for this is a sphere where there are infinitely fewer rivals, and a man of only moderate capacity may soon find an opportunity of proclaiming a theory which shall be both new and true; nay, the merit of his discovery will partly rest upon the difficulty of coming at the facts. but applause from one's fellow-students, who are the only persons with a knowledge of the subject, sounds very faint to the far-off multitude. and if we follow up this sort of fame far enough, we shall at last come to a point where facts very difficult to get at are in themselves sufficient to lay a foundation of fame, without any necessity for forming a theory;--travels, for instance, in remote and little-known countries, which make a man famous by what he has seen, not by what he has thought. the great advantage of this kind of fame is that to relate what one has seen, is much easier than to impart one's thoughts, and people are apt to understand descriptions better than ideas, reading the one more readily than the other: for, as asmus says, _when one goes forth a-voyaging he has a tale to tell_. and yet for all that, a personal acquaintance with celebrated travelers often remind us of a line from horace--new scenes do not always mean new ideas-- _caelum non animum mutant qui trans mare currunt_.[ ] [footnote : epist. i. ii.] but if a man finds himself in possession of great mental faculties, such as alone should venture on the solution of the hardest of all problems--those which concern nature as a whole and humanity in its widest range, he will do well to extend his view equally in all directions, without ever straying too far amid the intricacies of various by-paths, or invading regions little known; in other words, without occupying himself with special branches of knowledge, to say nothing of their petty details. there is no necessity for him to seek out subjects difficult of access, in order to escape a crowd of rivals; the common objects of life will give him material for new theories at once serious and true; and the service he renders will be appreciated by all those--and they form a great part of mankind--who know the facts of which he treats. what a vast distinction there is between students of physics, chemistry, anatomy, mineralogy, zoology, philology, history, and the men who deal with the great facts of human life, the poet and the philosopher! a series of lessons in gnani yoga (the yoga of wisdom.) by yogi ramacharaka. this book gives the highest yogi teachings regarding the absolute and its manifestations. index. lesson page i. the one ii. omnipresent life iii. the creative will iv. the unity of life v. the one and the many vi. within the mind of the one vii. cosmic evolution viii. the ascent of man ix. metempsychosis x. spiritual evolution xi. the law of karma xii. occult miscellany the first lesson the one. the yogi philosophy may be divided into several great branches, or fields. what is known as "hatha yoga" deals with the physical body and its control; its welfare; its health; its preservation; its laws, etc. what is known as "raja yoga" deals with the mind; its control; its development; its unfoldment, etc. what is known as "bhakti yoga" deals with the love of the absolute--god. what is known as "gnani yoga" deals with the scientific and intellectual knowing of the great questions regarding life and what lies back of life--the riddle of the universe. each branch of yoga is but a path leading toward the one end--unfoldment, development, and growth. he who wishes first to develop, control and strengthen his physical body so as to render it a fit instrument of the higher self, follows the path of "hatha yoga." he who would develop his will-power and mental faculties, unfolding the inner senses, and latent powers, follows the path of "raja yoga." he who wishes to develop by "knowing"--by studying the fundamental principles, and the wonderful truths underlying life, follows the path of "gnani yoga." and he who wishes to grow into a union with the one life by the influence of love, he follows the path of "bhakti yoga." but it must not be supposed that the student must ally himself to only a single one of these paths to power. in fact, very few do. the majority prefer to gain a rounded knowledge, and acquaint themselves with the principles of the several branches, learning something of each, giving preference of course to those branches that appeal to them more strongly, this attraction being the indication of _need_, or requirement, and, therefore, being the hand pointing out the path. it is well for every one to know something of "hatha yoga," in order that the body may be purified, strengthened, and kept in health in order to become a more fitting instrument of the higher self. it is well that each one should know something of "raja yoga," that he may understand the training and control of the mind, and the use of the will. it is well that every one should learn the wisdom of "gnani yoga," that he may realize the wonderful truths underlying life--the science of being. and, most assuredly every one should know something of bhakti yogi, that he may understand the great teachings regarding the love underlying all life. we have written a work on "hatha yoga," and a course on "raja yoga" which is now in book form. we have told you something regarding "gnani yoga" in our fourteen lessons, and also in our advanced course. we have written something regarding "bhakti yoga" in our advanced course, and, we hope, have taught it also all through our other lessons, for we fail to see how one can teach or study any of the branches of yoga without being filled with a sense of love and union with the source of all life. to know the giver of life, is to love him, and the more we know of him, the more love will we manifest. in this course of lessons, of which this is the first, we shall take up the subject of "gnani yoga"--the yoga of wisdom, and will endeavor to make plain some of its most important and highest teachings. and, we trust that in so doing, we shall be able to awaken in you a still higher realization of your relationship with the one, and a corresponding love for that in which you live, and move and have your being. we ask for your loving sympathy and cooperation in our task. let us begin by a consideration of what has been called the "questions of questions"--the question: "what is reality?" to understand the question we have but to take a look around us and view the visible world. we see great masses of something that science has called "matter." we see in operation a wonderful something called "force" or "energy" in its countless forms of manifestations. we see things that we call "forms of life," varying in manifestation from the tiny speck of slime that we call the moneron, up to that form that we call man. but study this world of manifestations by means of science and research--and such study is of greatest value--still we must find ourselves brought to a point where we cannot progress further. matter melts into mystery--force resolves itself into something else--the secret of living-forms subtly elude us--and mind is seen as but the manifestation of something even finer. but in losing these things of appearance and manifestation, we find ourselves brought up face to face with a something else that we see must underlie all these varying forms, shapes and manifestations. and that something else, we call reality, because it is real, permanent, enduring. and although men may differ, dispute, wrangle, and quarrel about this reality, still there is one point upon which they must agree, and that is that _reality is one_--that underlying all forms and manifestations there must be a _one_ reality from which all things flow. and this inquiry into this one reality is indeed the question of questions of the universe. the highest reason of man--as well as his deepest intuition--has always recognized that this reality or underlying being must be but one, of which all nature is but varying degrees of manifestation, emanation, or expression. all have recognized that life is a stream flowing from one great fount, the nature and name of which is unknown--some have said unknowable. differ as men do about theories regarding the nature of this one, they all agree that it can be but one. it is only when men begin to name and analyze this one, that confusion results. let us see what men have thought and said about this one--it _may_ help us to understand the nature of the problem. the materialist claims that this one is a something called matter--self-existent--eternal--infinite--containing within itself the potentiality of matter, energy and mind. another school, closely allied to the materialists, claim that this one is a something called energy, of which matter and mind are but modes of motion. the idealists claim that the one is a something called mind, and that matter and force are but ideas in that one mind. theologians claim that this one is a something called a personal god, to whom they attribute certain qualities, characteristics, etc., the same varying with their creeds and dogmas. the naturistic school claims that this one is a something called nature, which is constantly manifesting itself in countless forms. the occultists, in their varying schools, oriental and occidental, have taught that the one was a being whose life constituted the life of all living forms. all philosophies, all science, all religions, inform us that this world of shapes, forms and names is but a phenomenal or shadow world--a show-world--back of which rests reality, called by some name of the teacher. but remember this, _all philosophy that counts_ is based upon some form of monism--oneness--whether the concept be a known or unknown god; an unknown or unknowable principle; a substance; an energy, or spirit. there is but one--there can be but one--such is the inevitable conclusion of the highest human reason, intuition or faith. and, likewise, the same reason informs us that this one life must permeate all apparent forms of life, and that all apparent material forms, forces, energies, and principles must be emanations from that one, and, consequently "of" it. it may be objected to, that the creeds teaching a personal god do not so hold, for they teach that their god is the creator of the universe, which he has set aside from himself as a workman sets aside his workmanship. but this objection avails naught, for where could such a creator obtain the material for his universe, except from himself; and where the energy, except from the same source; and where the life, unless from his one life. so in the end, it is seen that there must be but one--not two, even if we prefer the terms god _and_ his universe, for even in this case the universe must have proceeded from god, and can only live, and move and act, and think, by virtue of his essence permeating it. in passing by the conceptions of the various thinkers, we are struck by the fact that the various schools seem to manifest a one-sidedness in their theories, seeing only that which fits in with their theories, and ignoring the rest. the materialist talks about infinite and eternal matter, although the latest scientific investigations have shown us matter fading into nothingness--the eternal atom being split into countless particles called corpuscles or electrons, which at the last seem to be nothing but a unit of electricity, tied up in a "knot in the ether"--although just what the ether is, science does not dare to guess. and energy, also seems to be unthinkable except as operating through matter, and always seems to be acting under the operation of laws--and laws without a law giver, and a law giver without mind or something higher than mind, is unthinkable. and mind, as we know it, seems to be bound up with matter and energy in a wonderful combination, and is seen to be subject to laws outside of itself, and to be varying, inconstant, and changeable, which attributes cannot be conceived of as belonging to the absolute. mind as we know it, as well as matter and energy, is held by the highest occult teachers to be but an appearance and a relativity of something far more fundamental and enduring, and we are compelled to fall back upon that old term which wise men have used in order to describe that something else that lies back of, and under, matter, energy and mind--and that word is "spirit." we cannot tell just what is meant by the word "spirit," for we have nothing with which to describe it. but we can think of it as meaning the "essence" of life and being--the reality underlying universal life. of course no name can be given to this one, that will fitly describe it. but we have used the term "the absolute" in our previous lessons, and consider it advisable to continue its use, although the student may substitute any other name that appeals to him more strongly. we do not use the word god (except occasionally in order to bring out a shade of meaning) not because we object to it, but because by doing so we would run the risk of identifying the absolute with some idea of a personal god with certain theological attributes. nor does the word "principle" appeal to us, for it seems to imply a cold, unfeeling, abstract thing, while we conceive the absolute spirit or being to be a warm, vital, living, acting, feeling reality. we do not use the word nature, which many prefer, because of its materialistic meaning to the minds of many, although the word is very dear to us when referring to the outward manifestation of the absolute life. of the real nature of the absolute, of course, we can know practically nothing, because it transcends all human experience and man has nothing with which he can measure the infinite. spinoza was right when he said that "to define god is to deny him," for any attempt to define, is, of course an attempt to limit or make finite the infinite. to define a thing is to identify it with something else--and where is the something else with which to identify the infinite? the absolute cannot be described in terms of the relative. it is not something, although it contains within itself the reality underlying everything. it cannot be said to have the qualities of any of its apparently separated parts, for it is the all. it is all that really is. it is beyond matter, force, or mind as we know it, and yet these things emanate from it, and must be within its nature. for what is in the manifested must be in the manifestor--no stream can rise higher than its source--the effect cannot be greater than the cause--you cannot get something out of nothing. but it is hard for the human mind to take hold of that which is beyond its experience--many philosophers consider it impossible--and so we must think of the absolute in the concepts and terms of its highest manifestation. we find mind higher in the scale than matter or energy, and so we are justified in using the terms of mind in speaking of the absolute, rather than the terms of matter or energy--so let us try to think of an infinite mind, whose powers and capacities are raised to an infinite degree--a mind of which herbert spencer said that it was "a mode of being as much transcending intelligence and will, as these transcend mere mechanical motion." while it is true (as all occultists know) that the best information regarding the absolute come from regions of the self higher than intellect, yet we are in duty bound to examine the reports of the intellect concerning its information regarding the one. the intellect has been developed in us for use--for the purpose of examining, considering, thinking--and it behooves us to employ it. by turning it to this purpose, we not only strengthen and unfold it, but we also get certain information that can reach us by no other channel. and moreover, by such use of the intellect we are able to discover many fallacies and errors that have crept into our minds from the opinions and dogmas of others--as kant said: "the chief, and perhaps the only, use of a philosophy of pure reason is a negative one. it is not an organon for extending, but a discipline for limiting! instead of discovering truth, its modest function is to guard against error." let us then listen to the report of the intellect, as well as of the higher fields of mentation. one of the first reports of the intellect, concerning the absolute, is that it must have existed forever, and must continue to exist forever. there is no escape from this conclusion, whether one view the matter from the viewpoint of the materialist, philosopher, occultist, or theologian. the absolute could not have sprung from nothing, and there was no other cause outside of itself from which it could have emanated. and there can be no cause outside of itself which can terminate its being. and we cannot conceive of infinite life, or absolute life, dying. so the absolute must be eternal--such is the report of the intellect. this idea of the eternal is practically unthinkable to the human mind, although it is forced to believe that it must be a quality of the absolute. the trouble arises from the fact that the intellect is compelled to see everything through the veil of time, and cause and effect. now, cause and effect, and time, are merely phenomena or appearances of the relative world, and have no place in the absolute and real. let us see if we can understand this. reflection will show you that the only reason that you are unable to think of or picture a causeless cause, is because everything that you have experienced in this relative world of the senses has had a cause--something from which it sprung. you have seen cause and effect in full operation all about you, and quite naturally your intellect has taken it for granted that there can be nothing uncaused--nothing without a preceding cause. and the intellect is perfectly right, so far as things are concerned, for all things are relative and are therefore caused. but back of the caused things must lie that which is the great causer of things, and which, not being a thing itself, cannot have been caused--cannot be the effect of a cause. your minds reel when you try to form a mental image of that which has had no cause, because you have had no experience in the sense world of such a thing, and there fail to form the image. it is out of your experience, and you cannot form the mental picture. but yet your mind is compelled to believe that there must have been an original one, that can have had no cause. this is a hard task for the intellect, but in time it comes to see just where the trouble lies, and ceases to interpose objections to the voice of the higher regions of the self. and, the intellect experiences a similar difficulty when it tries to think of an eternal--a that which is above and outside of time. we see time in operation everywhere, and take it for granted that time is a reality--an actual thing. but this is a mistake of the senses. there is no such thing as time, in reality. time exists solely in our minds. it is merely a form of perception by which we express our consciousness of the change in things. we cannot think of time except in connection with a succession of changes of things in our consciousness--either things of the outer world, or the passing of thought-things through our mind. a day is merely the consciousness of the passing of the sun--an hour or minute merely the subdivision of the day, or else the consciousness of the movement of the hands of the clock--merely the consciousness of the movement of things--the symbols of changes in things. in a world without changes in things, there would be no such thing as time. time is but a mental invention. such is the report of the intellect. and, besides the conclusions of pure abstract reasoning about time, we may see many instances of the relativity of time in our everyday experiences. we all know that when we are interested time seems to pass rapidly, and when we are bored it drags along in a shameful manner. we know that when we are happy, time develops the speed of a meteor, while when we are unhappy it crawls like a tortoise. when we are interested or happy our attention is largely diverted from the changes occurring in things--because we do not notice the things so closely. and while we are miserable or bored, we notice the details in things, and their changes, until the length of time seems interminable. a tiny insect mite may, and does, live a lifetime of birth, growth, marriage, reproduction, old age, and death, in a few minutes, and no doubt its life seems as full as does that of the elephant with his hundred years. why? _because so many things haze happened!_ when we are conscious of many things happening, we get the impression and sensation of the length of time. the greater the consciousness of things, the greater the sensation of time. when we are so interested in talking to a loved one that we forget all that is occurring about us, then the hours fly by unheeded, while the same hours seem like days to one in the same place who is not interested or occupied with some task. men have nodded, and in the second before awakening they have dreamed of events that seemed to have required the passage of years. many of you have had experiences of this kind, and many such cases have been recorded by science. on the other hand, one may fall asleep and remain unconscious, but without dreams, for hours, and upon awakening will insist that he has merely nodded. time belongs to the relative mind, and has no place in the eternal or absolute. next, the intellect informs us that it must think of the absolute as infinite in space--present everywhere--omnipresent. it cannot be limited, for there is nothing outside of itself to limit it. there is no such place as nowhere. every place is in the everywhere. and everywhere is filled with the all--the infinite reality--the absolute. and, just as was the case with the idea of time, we find it most difficult--if not indeed impossible--to form an idea of an omnipresent--of that which occupies infinite space. this because everything that our minds have experienced has had dimensions and limits. the secret lies in the fact that space, like time, has no real existence outside of our perception of consciousness of the relative position of things--material objects. we see this thing here, and that thing there. between them is nothingness. we take another object, say a yard-stick, and measure off this nothingness between the two objects, and we call this measure of nothingness by the term distance. and yet we cannot have measured nothingness--that is impossible. what have we really done? simply this, determined how many lengths of yard-stick could be laid between the other two objects. we call this process measuring space, but space is nothing, and we have merely determined the relative position of objects. to "measure space" we must have three things or objects, _i.e._, (l) the object from which we start the measure; ( ) the object with which we measure; and ( ) the object with which we end our measurement. we are unable to conceive of infinite space, because we lack the third object in the measuring process--the ending object. we may use ourselves as a starting point, and the mental yard-stick is always at hand, but where is the object at the other side of infinity of space by which the measurement may be ended? it is not there, and we cannot think of the end without it. let us start with ourselves, and try to imagine a million million miles, and then multiply them by another million million miles, a million million times. what have we done? simply extended our mental yard-stick a certain number of times to an imaginary point in the nothingness that we call space. so far so good, but the mind intuitively recognizes that beyond that imaginary point at the end of the last yard-stick, there is a capacity for an infinite extension of yard-sticks--an infinite capacity for such extension. extension of what? space? no! yard-sticks! objects! things! without material objects space is unthinkable. it has no existence outside of our consciousness of things. there is no such thing as real space. space is merely an infinite capacity for extending objects. space itself is merely a name for nothingness. if you can form an idea of an object swept out of existence, and nothing to take its place, that nothing would be called space, the term implying the possibility of placing something there without displacing anything else. size, of course, is but another form of speaking of distance. and in this connection let us not forget that just as one may think of space being infinite in the direction of largeness, so may we think of it as being infinite in the sense of smallness. no matter how small may be an object thought of, we are still able to think of it as being capable of subdivision, and so on infinitely. there is no limit in this direction either. as jakob has said: "the conception of the infinitely minute is as little capable of being grasped by us, as is that of the infinitely great. despite this, the admission of the reality of the infinitude, both in the direction of greatness and of minuteness, is inevitable." and, as radenhausen has said: "the idea of space is only an unavoidable illusion of our consciousness, or of our finite nature, and does not exist outside of ourselves; the universe is infinitely small and infinitely great." the telescope has opened to us ideas of magnificent vastness and greatness, and the perfected microscope has opened to us a world of magnificent smallness and minuteness. the latter has shown us that a drop of water is a world of minute living forms who live, eat, fight, reproduce, and die. the mind is capable of imagining a universe occupying no more space than one million-millionth of the tiniest speck visible under the strongest microscope--and then imagining such a universe containing millions of suns and worlds similar to our own, and inhabited by living forms akin to ours--living, thinking men and women, identical in every respect to ourselves. indeed, as some philosophers have said, if our universe were suddenly reduced to such a size--the relative proportions of everything being preserved, of course--then we would not be conscious of any change, and life would go on the same, and we would be of the same importance to ourselves and to the absolute as we are this moment. and the same would be true were the universe suddenly enlarged a million-million times. these changes would make no difference in reality. compared with each other, the tiniest speck and the largest sun are practically the same size when viewed from the absolute. we have dwelt upon these things so that you would be able to better realize the relativity of space and time, and perceive that they are merely symbols of things used by the mind in dealing with finite objects, and have no place in reality. when this is realized, then the idea of infinity in time and space is more readily grasped. as radenhausen says: "beyond the range of human reason there is neither space nor time; they are arbitrary conceptions of man, at which he has arrived by the comparison and arrangement of different impressions which he has received from the outside world. the conception of space arises from the sequence of the various forms which fill space, by which the external world appears to the individual man. the conception of time arises from the sequence of the various forms which change in space (motion), by which the external world acts on the individual man, and so on. but externally to ourselves, the distinction between repletion of space and mutation of space does not exist, for each is in constant transmutation, whatever is is filling and changing at the same time--nothing is at a standstill," and to quote ruckert: "the world has neither beginning nor end, in space nor in time. everywhere is center and turning-point, and in a moment is eternity." next, the intellect informs us that we must think of the absolute as containing within itself all the power there is, because there can be no other source or reservoir of power, and there can be no power outside of the all-power. there can be no power outside of the absolute to limit, confine, or conflict with it. any laws of the universe must have been imposed by it, for there is no other law-giver, and every manifestation of energy, force, or power, perceived or evident in nature must be a part of the power of the absolute working along lines laid down by it. in the third lesson, which will be entitled the will-to-live, we shall see this power manifesting along the lines of life as we know it. next, the intellect informs us that it is compelled to think of the absolute as containing within itself all possible knowledge or wisdom, because there can be no knowledge or wisdom outside of it, and therefore all the wisdom and knowledge possible must be within it. we see mind, wisdom, and knowledge manifested by relative forms of life, and such must emanate from the absolute in accordance with certain laws laid down by it, for otherwise there would be no such wisdom, etc., for there is nowhere outside of the all from whence it could come. the effect cannot be greater than the cause. if there is anything unknown to the absolute, then it will never be known to finite minds. so, therefore, all knowledge that is, has been, or can be, must be now vested in the one--the absolute. this does not mean that the absolute _thinks_, in any such sense as does man. the absolute must know, without thinking. it does not have to gather knowledge by the process of thinking, as does man--such an idea would be ridiculous, for from whence could the knowledge come outside of itself. when man thinks he draws to himself knowledge from the universal source by the action of the mind, but the absolute has only itself to draw on. so we cannot imagine the absolute compelled to think as we do. but, lest we be misunderstood regarding this phase of the subject, we may say here that the highest occult teachings inform us that the absolute _does_ manifest a quality somewhat akin to what we would call constructive thought, and that such "thoughts" manifest into objectivity and manifestation, and become creation. created things, according to the occult teachings are "thoughts of god." do not let this idea disturb you, and cause you to feel that you are nothing, because you have been called into being by a thought of the infinite one. even a thought of that one would be intensely real in the relative world--actually real to all except the absolute itself--and even the absolute knows that the _real_ part of its creations must be a part of itself manifested through its thought, for the thought of the infinite must be real, and a part of itself, for it cannot be anything else, and to call it nothing is merely to juggle with words. the faintest thought of the infinite one would be far more real than anything man could create--as solid as the mountain--as hard as steel--as durable as the diamond--for, verily, even these are emanations of the mind of the infinite, and are things of but a day, while the higher thoughts--the soul of man--contains within itself a spark from the divine flame itself--the spirit of the infinite. but these things will appear in their own place, as we proceed with this series. we have merely given you a little food for thought at this point, in connection with the mind of the absolute. so you see, good friends and students, that the intellect in its highest efforts, informs us that it finds itself compelled to report that the one--the absolute--that which it is compelled to admit really exists--must be a one possessed of a nature so far transcending human experience that the human mind finds itself without the proper concepts, symbols, and words with which to think of it. but none the less, the intellect finds itself bound by its own laws to postulate the existence of such an one. it is the veriest folly to try to think of the one as it is "in itself"--for we have nothing but human attributes with which to measure it, and it so far transcends such measurements that the mental yard-sticks run out into infinity and are lost sight of. the highest minds of the race inform us that the most exalted efforts of their reason compels them to report that the one--in itself--cannot be spoken of as possessing attributes or qualities capable of being expressed in human words employed to describe the things of the relative world--and all of our words are such. all of our words originate from such ideas, and all of our ideas arise from our experience, directly or indirectly. so we are not equipped with words with which to think of or speak of that which transcends experience, although our intellect informs us that reality lies back of our experience. philosophy finds itself unable to do anything better than to bring us face to face with high paradoxes. science in its pursuit of truth finds it cunningly avoiding it, and ever escaping its net. and we believe that the absolute purposely causes this to be, that in the end man may be compelled to look for the spirit within himself--the only place where he can come in touch with it. this, we think, is the answer to the riddle of the sphinx--"look within for that which thou needest." but while the spirit may be discerned only by looking within ourselves, we find that once the mind realizes that the absolute is, it will be able to see countless evidences of its action and presence by observing manifested life without. all life is filled with the life power and will of the absolute. to us life is but one--the universe is a living unity, throbbing, thrilling and pulsating with the will-to-live of the absolute. back of all apparent shapes, forms, names, forces, elements, principles and substances, there is but one--one life, present everywhere, and manifesting in an infinitude of shapes, forms, and forces all individual lives are but centers of consciousness in the one life underlying, depending upon it for degree of unfoldment, expression and manifestation. this may sound like pantheism to some, but it is very different from the pantheism of the schools and cults. pantheism is defined as "the doctrine that god consists in the combined forces and laws manifested in the existing universe," or that "the universe taken or conceived as a whole is god." these definitions do not fit the conception of the absolute, of the yogi philosophy--they seem to breathe but a refined materialism. the absolute is not "the combined forces and laws manifested in the universe," nor "the universe conceived as a whole." instead, the universe, its forces and laws, even conceived as a whole, have no existence in themselves, but are mere manifestations of the absolute. surely this is different from pantheism. we teach that the absolute is immanent in, and abiding in all forms of life in the universe, as well as in its forces and laws--all being but manifestations of the will of the one. and we teach that this one is superior to all forms of manifestations, and that its existence and being does not depend upon the manifestations, which are but effects of the cause. the pantheistic universe--god is but a thing of phenomenal appearance, but the absolute is the very spirit of life--a living, existing reality, and would be so even if every manifestation were withdrawn from appearance and expression--drawn back into the source from which it emanated. the absolute is more than mountain or ocean--electricity or gravitation--monad or man--it is spirit--life--being--reality--the one that is. omnipotent, omnipresent; omniscient; eternal; infinite; absolute; these are man's greatest words, and yet they but feebly portray a shadow thrown by the one itself. the absolute is not a far-away being directing our affairs at long range--not an absentee deity--but an immanent life in and about us all--manifesting in us and creating us into individual centers of consciousness, in pursuance with some great law of being. and, more than this, the absolute instead of being an indifferent and unmoved spectator to its own creation, is a thriving, longing, active, suffering, rejoicing, feeling spirit, partaking of the feelings of its manifestations, rather than callously witnessing them. it lives in us--with us--through us. back of all the pain in the world may be found a great feeling and suffering love. the pain of the world is not punishment or evidence of divine wrath, but the incidents of the working out of some cosmic plan, in which the absolute is the actor, through the forms of its manifestations. the message of the absolute to some of the illumined has been, "all is being done in the best and only possible way--i am doing the best i can--all is well--and in the end will so appear." the absolute is no personal deity--yet in itself it contains all that goes to make up all personality and all human relations. father, mother, child, friend, is in it. all forms of human love and craving for sympathy, understanding and companionship may find refuge in loving the absolute. the absolute is constantly in evidence in our lives, and yet we have been seeking it here and there in the outer world, asking it to show itself and prove its existence. well may it say to us: "hast thou been so long time with me, and hast thou not known me?" this is the great tragedy of life, that the spirit comes to us--its own--and we know it not. we fail to hear its words: "oh, ye who mourn, i suffer with you and through you. yea, it is i who grieve in you. your pain is mine--to the last pang. i suffer all pain through you--and yet i rejoice beyond you, for i know that through you, and with you, i shall conquer." and this is a faint idea of what we believe the absolute to be. in the following lessons we shall see it in operation in all forms of life, and in ourselves. we shall get close to the workings of its mighty will--close to its heart of love. carry with you the central thought of the lesson: central thought. there is but one life in the universe. and underlying that one life--its real self--its essence--its spirit--is the absolute, living, feeling, suffering, rejoicing, longing, striving, in and through us. the absolute is all that really is, and all the visible universe and forms of life is its expression, through its will. we lack words adequate to describe the nature of the absolute, but we will use two words describing its inmost nature as best we see it. these two words are life and love, the one describing the outer, the other the inner nature. let us manifest both life and love as a token of our origin and inner nature. peace be with you. the second lesson omnipresent life. in our first lesson of this series, we brought out the idea that the human mind was compelled to report the fact that it could not think of the absolute except as possessing the quality of omnipresence--present-everywhere. and, likewise, the human mind is compelled to think that all there is must be the absolute, or _of_ the absolute. and if a thing is _of_ the absolute, then the absolute must be _in_ it, in some way--must be the _essence_ of it. granting this, we must then think that everything must be filled with the essence of life, for life must be one of the qualities of the absolute, or rather what we call life must be the outward expression of the essential being of the absolute. and if this be so, then it would follow that _everything in the universe must be alive_. the mind cannot escape this conclusion. and if the facts do not bear out this conclusion then we must be forced to admit that the entire basic theory of the absolute and its emanations must fall, and be considered as an error. no chain is stronger than its weakest link, and if this link be too weak to bear the weight of the facts of the universe, then must the chain be discarded as imperfect and useless, and another substituted. this fact is not generally mentioned by those speaking and writing of all being one, or an emanation of the one, but it must be considered and met. if there is a single thing in the universe that is "dead"--non-living--lifeless--then the theory must fall. if a thing is non-living, then the essence of the absolute cannot be in it--it must be alien and foreign to the absolute, and in that case the absolute cannot be absolute for there is something outside of itself. and so it becomes of the greatest importance to examine into the evidences of the presence of life in all things, organic or inorganic. the evidence is at hand--let us examine it. the ancient occultists of all peoples always taught that the universe was alive--that there was life in everything--that there was nothing dead in nature--that death meant simply a change in form in the material of the dead bodies. they taught that life, in varying degrees of manifestation and expression, was present in everything and object, even down to the hardest mineral form, and the atoms composing that form. modern science is now rapidly advancing to the same position, and each months investigations and discoveries serve only to emphasize the teachings. burbank, that wonderful moulder of plant life, has well expressed this thought, when he says: "all my investigations have led me away from the idea of a dead material universe tossed about by various forces, to that of a universe which is absolutely all force, life, soul, thought, or whatever name we may choose to call it. every atom, molecule, plant, animal or planet, is only an aggregation of organized unit forces, held in place by stronger forces, thus holding them for a time latent, though teeming with inconceivable power. all life on our planet is, so to speak, just on the outer fringe of this infinite ocean of force. the universe is not half dead, but all alive." science today is gazing upon a living universe. she has not yet realized the full significance of what she has discovered, and her hands are raised as if to shade her eyes from the unaccustomed glare that is bursting upon her. from the dark cavern of universal dead matter, she has stepped out into the glare of the noon-day sun of a universe all-alive even to its smallest and apparently most inert particle. beginning at man, the highest form of life known to us, we may pass rapidly down the scale of animal life, seeing life in full operation at each descending step. passing from the animal to the vegetable kingdom, we still see life in full operation, although in lessened degrees of expression. we shall not stop here to review the many manifestations of life among the forms of plant-life, for we shall have occasion to mention them in our next lesson, but it must be apparent to all that life is constantly manifesting in the sprouting of seeds; the putting forth of stalk, leaves, blossoms, fruit, etc., and in the enormous manifestation of force and energy in such growth and development. one may see the life force in the plant pressing forth for expression and manifestation, from the first sprouting of the seed, until the last vital action on the part of the mature plant or tree. besides the vital action observable in the growth and development of plants, we know, of course, that plants sicken and die, and manifest all other attributes of living forms. there is no room for argument about the presence of life in the plant kingdom. but there are other forms of life far below the scale of the plants. there is the world of the bacteria, microbes, infusoria--the groups of cells with a common life--the single cell creatures, down to the monera, the creatures lower than the single cells--the things of the slime of the ocean bed. these tiny things--living things--present to the sight merely a tiny speck of jelly, without organs of any kind. and yet they exercise all the functions of life--movement, nutrition, reproduction, sensation, and dissolution. some of these elementary forms are all stomach, that is they are all one organ capable of performing all the functions necessary for the life of the animal. the creature has no mouth, but when it wishes to devour an object it simply envelopes it--wraps itself around it like a bit of glue around a gnat, and then absorbs the substance of its prey through its whole body. scientists have turned some of these tiny creatures inside out, and yet they have gone on with their life functions undisturbed and untroubled. they have cut them up into still tinier bits, and yet each bit lived on as a separate animal, performing all of its functions undisturbed. they are all the same all over, and all the way through. they reproduce themselves by growing to a certain size, and then separating into two, and so on. the rapidity of the increase is most remarkable. haekel says of the monera: "the monera are the simplest permanent cytods. their entire body consists of merely soft, structureless plasm. however thoroughly we may examine them with the help of the most delicate reagents and the strongest optical instruments, we yet find that all the parts are completely homogeneous. these monera are therefore, in the strictest sense of the word, 'organisms without organs,' or even in a strict philosophical sense they might not even be called organisms, since they possess no organs and since they are not composed of various particles. they can only be called organisms in so far as they are capable of exercising the organic phenomena of life, of nutrition, reproduction, sensation and movement." verworn records an interesting instance of life and mind among the _rhizopods_, a very low form of living thing. he relates that the _difflugia ampula_, a creature occupying a tiny shell formed of minute particles of sand, has a long projection of its substance, like a feeler or tendril, with which it searches on the bottom of the sea for sandy material with which to build the shell or outer covering for its offspring, which are born by division from the parent body. it grasps the particle of sand by the feeler, and passes it into its body by enclosing it. verworn removed the sand from the bottom of the tank, replacing it by very minute particles of highly colored glass. shortly afterward he noticed a collection of these particles of glass in the body of the creature, and a little later he saw a tiny speck of protoplasm emitted from the parent by separation. at the same time he noticed that the bits of glass collected by the mother creature were passed out and placed around the body of the new creature, and cemented together by a substance secreted by the body of the parent, thus forming a shell and covering for the offspring. this proceeding showed the presence of a mental something sufficient to cause the creature to prepare a shell for the offspring previous to its birth--or rather to gather the material for such shell, to be afterward used; to distinguish the proper material; to mould it into shape, and cement it. the scientist reported that a creature always gathered just exactly enough sand for its purpose--never too little, and never an excess. and this in a creature that is little more than a tiny drop of glue! we may consider the life actions of the moneron a little further, for it is the lowest form of so-called "living matter"--the point at which living forms pass off into non-living forms (so-called). this tiny speck of glue--an organism without organs--is endowed with the faculty called sensation. it draws away from that which is likely to injure it, and toward that which it desires--all in response to an elementary sensation. it has the instinct of self-preservation and self-protection. it seeks and finds its prey, and then eats, digests and assimilates it. it is able to move about by "false-feet," or bits of its body which it pushes forth at will from any part of its substance. it reproduces itself, as we have seen, by separation and self-division. the life of the bacteria and germs--the yeasty forms of life--are familiar to many of us. and yet there are forms of life still below these. the line between living forms and non-living forms is being set back further and further by science. living creatures are now known that resemble the non-living so closely that the line cannot be definitely drawn. living creatures are known that are capable of being dried and laid away for several years, and then may be revived by the application of moisture. they resemble dust, but are full of life and function. certain forms of bacilli are known to science that have been subjected to degrees of heat and cold that are but terms to any but the scientific mind. low forms of life called diatoms or "living crystals" are known. they are tiny geometrical forms. they are composed of a tiny drop of plasm, resembling glue, covered by a thin shell of siliceous or sandy material. they are visible only through the microscope, and are so small that thousands of them might be gathered together on the head of a pin. they are so like chemical crystals that it requires a shrewd and careful observer to distinguish them. and yet they are alive, and perform all the functions of life. leaving these creatures, we enter the kingdom of the crystals, in our search for life. yes, the crystals manifest life, as strange as this statement may appear to those who have not followed the march of science. the crystals are born, grow, live, and may be killed by chemicals or electricity. science has added a new department called "plasmology," the purpose of which is the study of crystal life. some investigators have progressed so far as to claim that they have discovered signs of rudimentary sex functioning among crystals. at any rate, crystals are born and grow like living things. as a recent scientific writer has said: "crystallization, as we are to learn now, is not a mere mechanical grouping of dead atoms. it is a birth." the crystal forms from the mother liquor, and its body is built up systematically, regularly, and according to a well defined plan or pattern, just as are the body and bones of the animal form, and the wood and bark of the tree. there is life at work in the growth of the crystal. and not only does the crystal grow, but it also reproduces itself by separation or splitting-off, just as is the case with the lower forms of life, just mentioned. the principal point of difference between the growth and development of the crystals and that of the lower forms of life referred to is that the crystal takes its nourishment from the outside, and builds up from its outer surface, while the monera absorbs its nourishment from within, and grows outwardly from within. if the crystal had a soft center, and took its nourishment in that way, it would be almost identical with the diatom, or, if the diatom grew from the outside, it would be but a crystal. a very fine dividing line. crystals, like living forms, may be sterilized and rendered incapable of reproduction by chemical process, or electrical discharges. they may also be "killed" and future growth prevented in this manner. surely this looks like "life," does it not? to realize the importance of this idea of life among the crystals, we must remember that our hardest rocks and metals are composed of crystals, and that the dirt and earth upon which we grow and live are but crumbled rock and miniature crystals. therefore the very dust under our feet is alive. _there is nothing dead._ there is no transformation of "dead matter" into live plant matter, and then into live animal matter. the chemicals are alive, and from chemical to man's body there is but a continuous change of shape and form of living matter. any man's body, decomposing, is again resolved into chemicals, and the chain begins over again. merely changes in living forms--that's all, so far as the bodies are concerned. nature furnishes us with many examples of this presence of life in the inorganic world. we have but to look around to see the truth of the statement that all is alive. there is that which is known as the "fatigue of elasticity" in metals. razors get tired, and require a rest. tuning forks lose their powers of vibration, to a degree, and have to be given a vacation. 'machinery in mills and manufactories needs an occasional day off. metals are subject to disease and infection, and have been poisoned and restored by antidotes. window glass, especially stained glass, is subject to a disease spreading from pane to pane. men accustomed to handling and using tools and machinery naturally drop into the habit of speaking of these things as if they were alive. they seem to recognize the presence of "feeling" in tools or machine, and to perceive in each a sort of "character" or personality, which must be respected, humored, or coaxed in order to get the best results. perhaps the most valuable testimony along these lines, and which goes very far toward proving the centuries-old theories of the yogis regarding omnipresent life, comes from prof. j. chunder bose, of the calcutta university, a hindu educated in the english universities, under the best teachers, and who is now a leading scientific authority in the western world, tie has given to the world some very valuable scientific information along these lines in his book entitled "_response in the living and non-living_," which has caused the widest comment and created the greatest interest among the highest scientific authorities. his experiments along the lines of the gathering of evidence of life in the inorganic forms have revolutionized the theories of modern science, and have done much to further the idea that life is present everywhere, and that there is no such thing as dead matter. he bases his work upon the theory that the best and only true test for the presence of life in matter is the response of matter to external stimulus. proceeding from this fundamental theory he has proven by in-numerable experiments that so-called inorganic matter, minerals, metals, etc., give a response to such stimulus, which response is similar, if not identical, to the response of the matter composing the bodies of plants, animals, men. he devised delicate apparatus for the measurement of the response to the outside stimulus, the degree, and other evidence being recorded in traces on a revolving cylinder. the tracings or curves obtained from tin and other metals, when compared with those obtained from living muscle, were found to be identical. he used a galvanometer, a very delicate and accurate scientific instrument, in his experiments. this instrument is so finely adjusted that the faintest current will cause a deflection of the registering needle, which is delicately swung on a tiny pivot. if the galvanometer be attached to a human nerve, and the end of the nerve be irritated, the needle will register. prof. bose found that when he attached the galvanometer to bars of various metals they gave a similar response when struck or twisted. the greater the irritation applied to the metal, the greater the response registered by the instrument. the analogy between the response of the metal and that of the living muscle was startling. for instance, just as in the case of the living animal muscle or nerve matter, the response becomes fatigued, so in the case of the metal the curve registered by the needle became fainter and still fainter, as the bar became more and more fatigued by the continued irritation. and again, just after such fatigue the muscle would become rested, and would again respond actively, so would the metal when given a chance to recuperate. tetanus due to shocks constantly repeated, was caused and recovered. metals recorded evidences of fatigue. drugs caused identical effects on metals and animals--some exciting; some depressing; some killing. some poisonous chemicals killed pieces of metal, rendering them immobile and therefore incapable of registering records on the apparatus. in some cases antidotes were promptly administered, and saved the life of the metal. prof. bose also conducted experiments on plants in the same way. pieces of vegetable matter were found to be capable of stimulation, fatigue, excitement, depression, poison. mrs. annie besant, who witnessed some of these experiments in calcutta, has written as follows regarding the experiments on plant life: "there is something rather pathetic in seeing the way in which the tiny spot of light which records the pulses in the plant, travels in ever weaker and weaker curves, when the plant is under the influence of poison, then falls into a final despairing straight line, and--stops. one feels as though a murder has been committed--as indeed it has." in one of prof. bose's public experiments he clearly demonstrated that a bar of iron was fully as sensitive as the human body, and that it could be irritated and stimulated in the same way, and finally could be poisoned and killed. "among such phenomena," he asks, "how can we draw the line of demarkation, and say, 'here the physical ends, and there the physiological begins'? no such barrier exists." according to his theory, which agrees with the oldest occult theories, by the way, life is present in every object and form of nature, and all forms respond to external stimulus, which response is a proof of the presence of life in the form. prof. bose's great book is full of the most startling results of experiments. he proves that the metals manifest something like sleep; can be killed; exhibit torpor and sluggishness; get tired or lazy; wake up; can be roused into activity; may be stimulated, strengthened, weakened; suffer from extreme cold and heat; may be drugged or intoxicated, the different metals manifesting a different response to certain drugs, just as different men and animals manifest a varying degree of similar resistance. the response of a piece of steel subjected to the influence of a chemical poison shows a gradual fluttering and weakening until it finally dies away, just as animal matter does when similarly poisoned. when revived in time by an antidote, the recovery was similarly gradual in both metal and muscle. a remarkable fact is noted by the scientist when he tells us that the very poisons that kill the metals are themselves alive and may be killed, drugged, stimulated, etc., showing the same response as in the case of the metals, proving the existence in them of the same life that is in the metals and animal matter that they influence. of course when these metals are "killed" there is merely a killing of the metal as metal--the atoms and principles of which the metal is composed remaining fully alive and active, just as is the case with the atom of the human body after the soul passes out--the body is as much alive after death as during the life of the person, the activity of the parts being along the lines of dissolution instead of construction in that case. we hear much of the claims of scientists who announce that they are on the eve of "_creating_ life" from non-living matter. this is all nonsense--life can come only from life. life from non-life is an absurdity. and all life comes from the one life underlying all. but it is true that science has done, is doing, and will do, something very much like "creating life," but of course this is merely changing the form of life into other forms--the lesser form into the higher--just as one produces a plant from a seed, or a fruit from a plant. the life is always there, and responds to the proper stimulus and conditions. a number of scientists are working on the problem of generating living forms from inorganic matter. the old idea of "spontaneous generation," for many years relegated to the scrap-pile of science, is again coming to the front. although the theory of evolution compels its adherents to accept the idea that at one time in the past living forms sprung from the non-living (so-called), yet it has been generally believed that the conditions which brought about this stage of evolution has forever passed. but the indications now all point to the other view that this stage of evolution is, and always has been, in operation, and that new forms of life are constantly evolving from the inorganic forms. "creation," so-called (although the word is an absurdity from the yogi point of view), is constantly being performed. dr. charlton bastian, of london, eng., has long been a prominent advocate of this theory of continuous spontaneous generation. laughed down and considered defeated by the leading scientific minds of a generation ago, he still pluckily kept at work, and his recent books were like bombshells in the orthodox scientific camp. he has taken more than five thousand photo-micrographs, all showing most startling facts in connection with the origin of living forms from the inorganic. he claims that the microscope reveals the development in a previously clear liquid of very minute black spots, which gradually enlarge and transform into bacteria--living forms of a very low order. prof. burke, of cambridge, eng., has demonstrated that he may produce in sterilized boullion, subjected to the action of sterilized radium chloride, minute living bodies which manifest growth and subdivision. science is being gradually forced to the conclusion that living forms are still arising in the world by natural processes, which is not at all remarkable when one remembers that natural law is uniform and continuous. these recent discoveries go to swell the already large list of modern scientific ideas which correspond with the centuries-old yogi teachings. when the occult explanation that there is life in everything, _inorganic as well as organic_, and that evolution is constant, is heard, then may we see that these experiments simply prove that the forms of life may be changed and developed--not that life may be "created." the chemical and mineral world furnish us with many instances of the growth and development of forms closely resembling the forms of the vegetable world. what is known as "metallic vegetation," as shown in the "lead tree," gives us an interesting example of this phenomenon. the experiment is performed by placing in a wide-necked bottle a clear acidulated solution of acetate of lead. the bottle is corked, a piece of copper wire being fastened to the cork, from which wire is suspended a piece of zinc, the latter hanging as nearly as possible in the center of the lead solution. when the bottle is corked the copper wire immediately begins to surround itself with a growth of metallic lead resembling fine moss. from this moss spring branches and limbs, which in turn manifest a growth similar to foliage, until at last a miniature bush or tree is formed. similar "metallic vegetation" may be produced by other metallic solutions. all of you have noticed how crystals of frost form on window panes in shapes of leaves, branches, foliage, flowers, blossoms, etc. saltpeter when subjected to the effect of polarized light assumes forms closely resembling the forms of the orchid. nature is full of these resemblances. a german scientist recently performed a remarkable experiment with certain metallic salts. he subjected the salts to the action of a galvanic current, when to his surprise the particles of the salts grouped themselves around the negative pole of the battery, and then grew into a shape closely resembling a miniature mushroom, with tiny stem and umbrella top. these metallic mushrooms at first presented a transparent appearance, but gradually developed color, the top of the umbrella being a bright red, with a faint rose shade on the under surface. the stems showed a pale straw color. this was most interesting, but the important fact of the experiment consists in the discovery that these mushrooms have fine veins or tubes running along the stems, through which the nourishment, or additional material for growth, is transported, so that the growth is actually from the inside, just as is the case with fungus life. to all intents and purposes, these inorganic metallic growths were low forms of vegetable his. but the search for life does not end with the forms of the mineral world as we know them. science has separated the material forms into smaller forms, and again still smaller. and if there is life in the form composed of countless particles, then must there be life in the particles themselves. for life cannot come from non-life, and if there be not life in the particles, the theory of omnipresent life must fan. so we must look beyond the form and shape of the mineral--mist separate it into its constituent parts, and then examine the parts for indications of life. science teaches us that all forms of matter are compiled of minute particles called molecules. a molecule is the smallest particle of matter that is possible, unless the chemical atoms composing the matter fly apart and the matter be resolved into its original elements. for instance, let us take the familiar instance of a drop of water. let us divide and subdivide the drop, until at last we get to the smallest possible particle of water. that smallest possible particle would be a "molecule" of water. we cannot subdivide this molecule without causing its atoms of hydrogen and oxygen to fly apart--and then there would be no _water_ at all. well, these molecules manifest a something called attraction for each other. they attract other molecules of the same kind, and are likewise attracted. the operation of this law of attraction results in the formation of masses of matter, whether those masses be mountains of solid rock, or a drop of water, or a volume of gas. all masses of matter are composed of aggregations of molecules, held together by the law of attraction. this law of attraction is called cohesion. this cohesive attraction is not a mere mechanical force, as many suppose, but is an exhibition of life action, manifesting in the presence of the molecule of a "like" or "love" for the similar molecule. and when the life energies begin to manifest on a certain plane, and proceed to mould the molecules into crystals, so that we may see the actual process under way, we begin to realize very clearly that there is "something at work" in this building up. but wonderful as this may seem to those unfamiliar with the idea, the manifestation of life among the atoms is still more so. the atom, you will remember, is the chemical unit which, uniting with other atoms, makes up the molecule. for instance, if we take two atoms of the gas called hydrogen and one atom of the gas called oxygen, and place them near each other, they will at once rush toward each other and form a partnership, which is called a molecule of water. and so it is with all atoms--they are continually forming partnerships, or dissolving them. marriage and divorce is a part of the life of the atoms. these evidences of attraction and repulsion among the atoms are receiving much attention from careful thinkers, and some of the most advanced minds of the age see in this phenomena the corroboration of the old yogi idea that there is life and vital action in the smallest particles of matter. the atoms manifest vital characteristics in their attractions and repulsions. they move along the lines of their attractions and form marriages, and thus combining they form the substances with which we are familiar. when they combine, remember, they do not lose their individuality and melt into a permanent substance, but merely unite and yet remain distinct. if the combination be destroyed by chemical action, electrical discharge, etc., the atoms fly apart, and again live their own separate lives, until they come in contact with other atoms with which they have affinities, and form a new union or partnership. in many chemical changes the atoms divorce themselves, each forsaking its mate or mates, and seeking some newer affinity in the shape of a more congenial atom. the atoms manifest a fickleness and will always desert a lesser attraction for a greater one. this is no mere bit of imagery, or scientific poetry. it is a scientific statement of the action of atoms along the lines of vital manifestation. the great german scientist, haekel, has said: "i cannot imagine the simplest chemical and physical processes without attributing the movement of the material particles to unconscious sensation. the idea of chemical affinity consists in the fact that the various chemical elements perceive differences in the qualities of other elements, and experience pleasure or revulsion at contact with them, and execute their respective movements on this ground." he also says: "we may ascribe the feeling of pleasure or pain (satisfaction or dissatisfaction) to all atoms, and thereby ascribe the elective affinities of chemistry to the attraction between living atoms and repulsion between hating atoms." he also says that "the sensations in animal and plant life are connected by a long series of evolutionary stages with the simpler forms of sensation that we find in the inorganic elements, and that reveal themselves in chemical affinity." naegli says: "if the molecules possess something that is related, however distantly, to sensation, it must be comfortable for them to be able to follow their attractions and repulsions, and uncomfortable for them when they are forced to do otherwise." we might fill page after page with quotations from eminent thinkers going to prove the correctness of the old yogi teachings that life is omnipresent. modern science is rapidly advancing to this position, leaving behind her the old idea of "dead matter." even the new theories of the electron--the little particles of electrical energy which are now believed to constitute the base of the atom--does not change this idea, for the electrons manifest attraction, and response thereto, and form themselves into groups composing the atom. and even if we pass beyond matter into the mystical ether which science assumes to be the material base of things, we must believe that there is life there too, and that as prof. dolbear says: "the ether has besides the function of energy and motion, other inherent properties, out of which could emerge, under proper circumstances, other phenomena, such as life, mind, or whatever may be in the substratum," and, that as prof. cope has hinted, that the basis of life lies back of the atoms and may be found in the universal ether. some scientists go even further, and assert that not only is life present in everything, but that mind is present where life is. verily, the dreams of the yogi fathers are coming true, and from the ranks of the materialists are coming the material proofs of the spiritual teachings. listen to these words from dr. saleeby, in his recent valuable scientific work, "_evolution, the master key_." he says: "life is potential in matter; life-energy is not a thing unique and created at a particular time in the past. if evolution be true, living matter has been evolved by natural processes from matter which is, apparently, not alive. but if life is potential in matter, it is a thousand times more evident that mind is potential in life. the evolutionist is impelled to believe that mind is potential in matter. (i adopt that form of words for the moment, but not without future criticism.) the microscopic cell, a minute speck of matter that is to become man, has in it the promise and the germ of mind. may we not then draw the inference that the elements of mind are present in those chemical elements--carbon, oxygen, hydrogen, nitrogen, sulphur, phosphorus, sodium, potassium, chlorine--that are found in the cell. not only must we do so, but we must go further, since we know that each of these elements, and every other, is built up out of one invariable unit, the electron, and we must therefore assert that mind is potential in the unit of matter--the electron itself... it is to assert the sublime truth first perceived by spinoza, that mind and matter are the warp and woof of what goethe called 'the living garment of god.' both are complementary expressions of the unknowable reality which underlies both." there is no such thing as non-vital attraction or repulsion. all inclinations for or against another object, or thing, is an evidence of life. each thing has sufficient life energy to enable it to carry on its work. and as each form advances by evolution into a higher form, it is able to have more of the life energy manifest through it. as its material machinery is built up, it becomes able to manifest a greater and higher degree of life. it is not that one thing has a low life, or another a high life--this cannot be, for there is but one life. it is like the current of electricity that is able to run the most delicate machinery or manifest a light in the incandescent lamp. give it the organ or machinery of manifestation, and it manifests--give it a low form, and it will manifest a low degree--give it a high form, and it will manifest a high degree. the same steam power runs the clumsy engine, or the perfect apparatus which drives the most delicate mechanism. and so it is with the one life--its manifestations may seem low and clumsy, or high and perfect--but it all depends upon the material or mental machinery through which it works. there is but one life, manifesting in countless forms and shapes, and degrees. one life underlying all--in all. from the highest forms of life down through the animal, vegetable and mineral kingdoms, we see life everywhere present--death an illusion. back of all visible forms of material life there is still the beginnings of manifested life pressing forward for expression and manifestation. and underneath all is the spirit of life--longing, striving, feeling, acting. in the mountain and the ocean--the flower and the tree--the sunset--the dawn--the suns--the stars--all is life--manifestations of the one life. everything is alive, quick with living force, power, action; thrilling with vitality; throbbing with feeling; filled with activity. all is from the one life--and all that is from the one life is alive. there is no dead substance in the universe--there can be none--for life cannot die. all is alive. and life is in all. carry with you this central thought of the lesson: central thought: _there is but one life, and its manifestations comprise all the forms and shapes of the universe. from life comes but life--and life can come only from life. therefore we have the right to expect that all manifestations of the one life should be alive. and we are not mocked in such belief. not only do the highest occult teachings inform us that everything is alive, but modern science has proven to us that life is present everywhere--even in that which was formerly considered dead matter. it now sees that even the atom, and what lies back of the atom, is charged with life energy and action. forms and shapes may change, and do change--but life remains eternal and infinite. it cannot die--for it is life._ peace be with thee. the third lesson the creative will. in our first lesson of this series, we stated that among the other qualities and attributes that we were compelled, by the laws of our reason, to think that the absolute possessed, was that of omnipotence or all-power. in other words we are compelled to think of the one as being the source and fount of all the power there is, ever has been, or ever can be in the universe. not only, as is generally supposed, that the power of the one is greater than any other power,--but more than this, that there can be no other power, and that, therefore, each and every, any and all manifestations or forms of power, force or energy must be a part of the great one energy which emanates from the one. there is no escape from this conclusion, as startling as it may appear to the mind unaccustomed to it. if there is any power not from and of the one, from whence comes such power, for there is nothing else outside of the one? who or what exists outside of the one that can manifest even the faintest degree of power of any kind? all power must come from the absolute, and must in its nature be but one. modern science has recognized this truth, and one of its fundamental principles is the unity of energy--the theory that all forms of energy are, at the last, one. science holds that all forms of energy are interchangeable, and from this idea comes the theory of the conservation of energy or correlation of force. science teaches that every manifestation of energy, power, or force, from the operation of the law of gravitation, up to the highest form of mental force is but the operation of the one energy of the universe. just what this energy is, in its inner nature, science does not know. it has many theories, but does not advance any of them as a law. it speaks of the infinite and eternal energy from which all things proceed, but pronounces its nature to be unknowable. but some of the latter-day scientists are veering around to the teachings of the occultists, and are now hinting that it is something more than a mere mechanical energy. they are speaking of it in terms of mind. wundt, the german scientist, whose school of thought is called voluntarism, considers the motive-force of energy to be something that may be called will. crusius, as far back as said: "will is the dominating force of the world." and schopenhauer based his fascinating but gloomy philosophy and metaphysics upon the underlying principle of an active form of energy which he called the will-to-live, which he considered to be the thing-in-itself, or the absolute. balzac, the novelist, considered a something akin to will, to be the moving force of the universe. bulwer advanced a similar theory, and made mention of it in several of his novels this idea of an active, creative will, at work in the universe, building up; tearing down; replacing; repairing; changing--always at work--ever active--has been entertained by numerous philosophers and thinkers, under different names and styles. some, like schopenhauer have thought of this will as the final thing--that which took the place of god--the first cause. but others have seen in this will an active living principle emanating from the absolute or god, and working in accordance with the laws impressed by him upon it. in various forms, this latter idea is seen all through the history of philosophical thought. cudsworth, the english philosopher, evolved the idea of a something called the "plastic nature," which so closely approaches the yogi idea of the creative will, that we feel justified in quoting a passage from his book. he says: "it seems not so agreeable to reason that nature, as a distinct thing from the deity, should be quite superseded or made to signify nothing, god himself doing all things immediately and miraculously; from whence it would follow also that they are all done either forcibly and violently, or else artificially only, and none of them by any inward principle of their own. "this opinion is further confuted by that slow and gradual process that in the generation of things, which would seem to be but a vain and idle pomp or a trifling formality if the moving power were omnipotent; as also by those errors and bungles which are committed where the matter is inept and contumacious; which argue that the moving power be not irresistible, and that nature is such a thing as is not altogether incapable (as well as human art) of being sometimes frustrated and disappointed by the indisposition of matter. whereas an omnipotent moving power, as it could dispatch its work in a moment, so would it always do it infallibly and irresistibly, no ineptitude and stubbornness of matter being ever able to hinder such a one, or make him bungle or fumble in anything. "wherefore, since neither all things are produced fortuitously, or by the unguided mechanism of matter, nor god himself may be reasonably thought to do all things immediately and miraculously, it may well be concluded that there is a plastic nature under him, which, as an inferior and subordinate instrument, doth drudgingly execute that part of his providence which consists in the regular and orderly motion of matter; yet so as there is also besides this a higher providence to be acknowledged, which, presiding over it, doth often supply the defects of it, and sometimes overrules it, forasmuch as the plastic nature cannot act electively nor with discretion." the yogi philosophy teaches of the existence of a universal creative will, emanating from the absolute--infilled with the power of the absolute and acting under established natural laws, which performs the active work of creation in the world, similar to that performed by "cudsworth's plastic nature," just mentioned. this creative will is not schopenhauer's will-to-live. it is not a thing-in-itself, but a vehicle or instrument of the absolute. it is an emanation of the mind of the absolute--a manifestation in action of its will--a mental product rather than a physical, and, of course, saturated with the life-energy of its projector. this creative will is not a mere blind, mechanical energy or force--it is far more than this. we can explain it only by referring you to the manifestation of the will in yourself. you wish to move your arm, and it moves. the immediate force may seem to be a mechanical force, but what is back of that force--what is the essence of the force? the will! all manifestations of energy--all the causes of motion--all forces--are forms of the action of the will of the one--the creative will--acting under natural laws established by the one, ever moving, acting, forcing, urging, driving, leading. we do not mean that every little act is a thought of the moment on the part of the absolute, and a reaching out of the will in obedience to that thought. on the contrary, we mean that the one set the will into operation as a whole, conceiving of laws and limitations in its action, the will constantly operating in obedience to that conception, the results manifesting in what we call natural law; natural forces, etc. besides this, the absolute is believed to manifest its will specially upon occasions; and moreover permits its will to be applied and used by the individual wills of individual egos, under the general law and laws, and plan of the one. but you must not suppose that the will is manifested only in the form of mechanical forces, cohesion, chemical attraction, electricity, gravitation, etc. it does more than this. it is in full operation in all forms of life, and living things. it is present everywhere. back of all forms of movement and action, we find a moving cause--usually a _pressure_. this is true of that which we have been calling mechanical forces, and of all forms of that which we call life energy. now, note this, this great pressure that you will observe in all life action, is the creative will--the will principle of the one--bending toward the carrying out of the great plan of life. look where we will, on living forms, and we may begin to recognize the presence of a certain creative energy at work--building up; moulding, directing; tearing down; replacing, etc.--always active in its efforts to create, preserve and conserve life. this visible creative energy is what the yogi philosophy calls "the creative will," and which forms the subject of this lesson. the creative will is that striving, longing, pressing forward, unfolding, progressing evolutionary effort, that all thoughtful people see in operation in all forms of life--throughout all nature. from the lowest to the highest forms of life, the effort, energy, pressure, may be recognized in action, creating, preserving, nourishing, and improving its forms. it is that something that we recognize when we speak of "nature's forces" at work in plant growth and animal functioning. if you will but keep the word and idea--"nature"--before you, you will be able to more clearly form the mental concept of the creative will. the creative will is that which you have been calling "nature at work" in the growth of the plant; the sprouting of the seed; the curling and reaching of the tendril; the fertilization of the blossoms, etc. you have seen this will at work, if you have watched growing things. we call this energy "the creative will," because it is the objective manifestation of the creative energy of the absolute--its visible will manifested in the direction of physical life. it is as much will in action, as the will that causes your arm to move in response to its power. it is no mere chance thing, or mechanical law--it is life action in operation. this creative will not only causes movement in completed life, but all movement and action in life independent of the personal will of its individual forms. all the phenomena of the so-called unconscious belong to it. it causes the body to grow; attends to the details of nourishment, assimilation, digestion, elimination, and all of the rest. it builds up bodies, organs, and parts, and keeps them in operation and function. the creative will is directed to the outward expression of life--to the objectification of life. you may call this energy the "universal life energy" if you wish, but, to those who know it, it is a will--an active, living will, in full operation and power, pressing forward toward the manifestation of objective life. the creative will seems to be filled with a strong desire to manifest. it longs to express itself, and to give birth to forms of activity. desire lies under and in all forms of its manifestations. the ever present desire of the creative will causes lower forms to be succeeded by higher forms--and is the moving cause of evolution--it is the evolutionary urge itself, which ever cries to its manifestations, "move on; move upward." in the hindu classic, the "mahabarata," brahma created the most beautiful female being ever known, and called her tillotama. he presented her in turn to all the gods, in order to witness their wonder and admiration. siva's desire to behold her was so great that it developed in him four faces, in succession, as she made the tour of the assembly; and indra's longing was so intense that his body became all eyes. in this myth may be seen exemplified the effect of desire and will in the forms of life, function and shape--all following desire and need, as in the case of the long neck of the giraffe which enables him to reach for the high branches of the trees in his native land; and in the long neck and high legs of the fisher birds, the crane, stork, ibis, etc. the creative will finds within itself a desire to create suns, and they are formed. it desired planets to revolve around the suns, and they were thrown off in obedience to the law. it desired plant life, and plant life appeared, working from higher to lower form. then came animal life, from nomad to man. some of the animal forms yielded to the desire to fly, and wings appeared gradually, and we called it bird-life. some felt a desire to burrow in the ground, and lo! came the moles, gophers, etc. it wanted a thinking creature, and man with his wonderful brain was evolved. evolution is more than a mere survival of the fittest; natural selection, etc. although it uses these laws as tools and instruments, still back of them is that insistent urge--that ever-impelling desire--that ever-active creative will. lamark was nearer right than darwin when he claimed that desire was back of it all, and preceded function and form. desire wanted form and function, and produced them by the activity of the creative will. this creative will acts like a living force--and so it is indeed--but it does not act as a reasoning, intellectual something, in one sense--instead it manifests rather the "feeling," wanting, longing, instinctive phase of mind, akin to those "feelings" and resulting actions that we find within our natures. the will acts on the instinctive plane. evolution shows us life constantly pressing forward toward higher and still higher forms of expression. the urge is constantly upward and onward. it is true that some species sink out of sight their work in the world having been done, but they are succeeded by other species more in harmony with their environment and the needs of their times. some races of men decay, but others build on their foundations, and reach still greater heights. the creative will is something different from reason or intellect. but it underlies these. in the lower forms of life, in which mind is in but small evidence, the will is in active operation, manifesting in instinct and automatic life action, so called. it does not depend upon brains for manifestation--for these lowly forms of life have no brains--but is in operation through every part of the body of the living thing. evidences of the existence of the creative will acting independently of the brains of animal and plant life may be had in overwhelming quantity if we will but examine the life action in the lower forms of life. the testimony of the investigators along the lines of the evolutionary school of thought, show us that the life principle was in active operation in lowly animal and plant life millions of years before brains capable of manifesting thought were produced. haekel informs us that during more than half of the enormous time that has elapsed since organic life first became evident, no animal sufficiently advanced to have a brain was in existence. brains were evolved according to the law of desire or necessity, in accordance with the great plan, but they were not needed for carrying on the wonderful work of the creation and preservation of the living forms. and they are not today. the tiny infant, and the senseless idiot are not able to think intelligently, but still their life functions go on regularly and according to law, in spite of the absence of thinking brains. and the life work of the plants, and of the lowly forms of animal life, is carried on likewise. this wonderful thing that we call instinct is but another name for the manifestation of the creative will which flows from the one life, or the absolute. even as far down the scale of life as the monera, we may see the creative will in action. the monera are but tiny bits of slimy, jelly-like substances--mere specks of glue without organs of any kind, and yet they exercise the organic phenomena of life, such as nutrition, reproduction, sensation and movement, all of which are usually associated with an organized structure. these creatures are incapable of thought in themselves, and the phenomenon is due to the action of the will through them. this instinctive impulse and action is seen everywhere, manifesting upon higher and still higher lines, as higher forms of organisms are built up. scientists have used the term, "appetency," defining it as, "the instinctive tendency of living organisms to perform certain actions; the tendency of an unorganized body to seek that which satisfies the wants of its organism." now what is this tendency? it cannot be an effort of reason, for the low form of life has nothing with which to reason. and it is impossible to think of "purposive tendency" without assuming the existence of mental power of some kind. and where can such a power be located if not in the form itself? when we consider that the will is acting in and through all forms of life, from highest to lowest--from moneron to man--we can at once recognize the source of the power and activity. it is the great life principle--the creative will, manifesting itself. we can perhaps better form an idea of the creative will, by reference to its outward and visible forms of activity. we cannot see the will itself--the pressure and the urge--but we can see its action through living forms. just as we cannot see a man behind a curtain, and yet may practically see him by watching the movements of his form as he presses up against the curtain, so may we see the will by watching it as it presses up against the living curtain of the forms of life. there was a play presented on the american stage a few years ago, in which one of the scenes pictured the place of departed spirits according to the japanese belief. the audience could not see the actors representing the spirits, but they could see their movements as they pressed up close to a thin silky curtain stretched across the stage, and their motions as they moved to and fro behind the curtain were plainly recognized. the deception was perfect, and the effect was startling. one almost believed that he saw the forms of formless creatures. and this is what we may do in viewing the operation of the creative will--we may take a look at the moving form of the will behind the curtain of the forms of the manifestation of life. we may see it pressing and urging here, and bending there--building up here, and changing there--always acting, always moving, striving, doing, in response to that insatiable urge and craving, and longing of its inner desire. let us take a few peeps at the will moving behind the curtain! commencing with the cases of the forming of the crystals, as spoken of in our last lesson, we may pass on to plant life. but before doing so, it may be well for us to take a parting look at the will manifesting crystal forms. one of the latest scientific works makes mention of the experiments of a scientist who has been devoting much attention to the formation of crystals, and reports that he has noticed that certain crystals of organic compounds, instead of being built up symmetrically, as is usual with crystals, were "enation-morphic," that is, opposed to each other, in rights and lefts, like hands or gloves, or shoes, etc. these crystals are never found alone, but always form in pairs. can you not see the will behind the curtain here? let us look for the will in plant-life. passing rapidly over the wonderful evidences in the cases of the fertilization of plants by insects, the plant shaping its blossom so as to admit the entrance of the particular insect that acts as the carrier of its pollen, think for a moment how the distribution of the seed is provided for. fruit trees and plants surround the seed with a sweet covering, that it may be eaten by insect and animal, and the seed distributed. others have a hard covering to protect the seed or nut from the winter frosts, but which covering rots with the spring rains and allows the germ to sprout. others surround the seed with a fleecy substance, so that the wind may carry it here and there and give it a chance to find a home where it is not so crowded. another tree has a little pop-gun arrangement, by means of which it pops its seed to a distance of several feet. other plants have seeds that are covered with a burr or "sticky" bristles, which enables them to attach themselves to the wool of sheep and other animals, and thus be carried about and finally dropped in some spot far away from the parent plant, and thus the scattering of the species be accomplished. some plants show the most wonderful plans and arrangements for this scattering of the seed in new homes where there is a better opportunity for growth and development, the arrangements for this purpose displaying something very much akin to what we would call "ingenuity" if it were the work of a reasoning mind. there are plants called cockle-burs whose seed-pods are provided with stickers in every direction, so that anything brushing against them is sure to pick them up. at the end of each sticker is a very tiny hook, and these hooks fasten themselves tightly into anything that brushes against it, animal wool, hair, or clothing, etc. some of these seeds have been known to have been carried to other quarters of the globe in wool, etc., there to find new homes and a wider field. other plants, like the thistle, provide their seed with downy wings, by which the wind carries them afar to other fields. other seeds have a faculty of tumbling and rolling along the ground to great distances, owing to their peculiar shape and formation. the maple provides its seed with a peculiar arrangement something like a propeller screw, which when the wind strikes the trees and looses the seed, whirls the latter through the air to a distance of a hundred yards or more. other seeds are provided with floating apparatus, which enables them to travel many miles by stream or river, or rain washes. some of these not only float, but actually swim, having spider-like filaments, which wriggle like legs, and actually propel the tiny seed along to its new home. a recent writer says of these seeds that "so curiously lifelike are their movements that it is almost impossible to believe that these tiny objects, making good progress through the water, are really seeds, and not insects." the leaves of the venus' fly-trap fold upon each other and enclose the insect which is attracted by the sweet juice on the leaf, three extremely sensitive bristles or hairs giving the plant notice that the insect is touching them. a recent writer gives the following description of a peculiar plant. he says: "on the shores of lake nicaragua is to be found an uncanny product of the vegetable kingdom known among the natives by the expressive name of 'the devil's noose.' dunstan, the naturalist, discovered it long ago while wandering on the shores of the lake. attracted by the cries of pain and terror from his dog, he found the animal held by black sticky bands which had chafed the skin to bleeding point. these bands were branches of a newly-discovered carnivorous plant which had been aptly named the 'land octopus.' the branches are flexible, black, polished and without leaves, and secrete a viscid fluid." you have seen flowers that closed when you touched them. you remember the golden poppy that closes when the sun goes down. another plant, a variety of orchid, has a long, slender, flat stem, or tube, about one-eighth of an inch thick, with an opening at the extreme end, and a series of fine tubes where it joins the plant. ordinarily this tube remains coiled up into a spiral, but when the plant needs water (it usually grows upon the trunks of trees overhanging swampy places) it slowly uncoils the little tube and bends it over until it dips into the water, when it proceeds to suck up the water until it is filled, when it slowly coils around and discharges the water directly upon the plant, or its roots. then it repeats the process until the plant is satisfied. when the water is absent from under the plant the tube moves this way and that way until it finds what it wants--just like the trunk of an elephant. if one touches the tube or trunk of the plant while it is extended for water, it shows a great sensitiveness and rapidly coils itself up. now what causes this life action? the plant has no brains, and cannot have reasoned out this process, nor even have acted upon them by reasoning processes. it has nothing to think with to such a high degree. it is the will behind the curtain, moving this way and that way, and doing things. there was once a french scientist named duhamel. he planted some beans in a cylinder--something like a long tomato can lying on its side. he waited until the beans began to sprout, and send forth roots downward, and shoots upward, according to nature's invariable rule. then he moved the cylinder a little--rolled it over an inch or two. the next day he rolled it over a little more. and so on each day, rolling it over a little each time. well, after a time duhamel shook the dirt and growing beans out of the cylinder, and what did he find? this, that the beans in their endeavor to grow their roots downward had kept on bending each day downward; and in their endeavor to send shoots upward, had kept on bending upward a little each day, until at last there had been formed two complete spirals--the one spiral being the roots ever turning downward, and the other the shoots ever bending upward. how did the plant know direction? what was the moving power. the creative will behind the curtain again, you see! potatoes in dark cellars have sent out roots or sprouts twenty and thirty feet to reach light. plants will send out roots many feet to reach water. they know where the water and light are, and where to reach them. the tendrils of a plant know where the stake or cord is, and they reach out for it and twine themselves around it. unwind them, and the next day they are found again twined around it. move the stake or cord, and the tendril moves after it. the insect-eating plants are able to distinguish between nitrogenous and non-nitrogenous food, accepting the one and rejecting the other. they recognize that cheese has the same nourishing properties as the insect, and they accept it, although it is far different in feeling, taste, appearance and every other characteristic from their accustomed food. case after case might be mentioned and cited to show the operation of the will in plant-life. but wonderful as are many of these cases, the mere action of the will as shown in the _growing_ of the plant is just as wonderful. just imagine a tiny seed, and see it sprout and draw to itself the nourishment from water, air, light and soil, then upward until it becomes a great tree with bark, limbs, branches, leaves, blossoms, fruit and all. think of this miracle, and consider what must be the power and nature of that will that causes it. the growing plant manifests sufficient strength to crack great stones, and lift great slabs of pavement, as may be noticed by examining the sidewalks of suburban towns and parks. an english paper prints a report of four enormous mushrooms having lifted a huge slab of paving stone in a crowded street overnight. think of this exhibition of energy and power. this wonderful faculty of exerting force and motion and energy is fundamental in the will, for indeed every physical change and growth is the result of motion, and motion arises only from force and pressure. whose force, energy, power and motion? the will's! on all sides of us we may see this constant and steady urge and pressure behind living forces, and inorganic forms as well--always a manifestation of energy and power. and all this power is in the will--and the will is but the manifestation of the all-power--the absolute. remember this. and this power manifests itself not only in the matter of growth and ordinary movements, but also in some other ways that seem quite mysterious to even modern science. how is it that certain birds are able to fly directly against a strong wind, without visible movement of their wings? how do the buzzards float in the air, and make speed without a motion of the wing? what is the explanation of the movements of certain microscopic creatures who lack organs of movement? listen to this instance related by the scientist benet. he states that the polycystids have a most peculiar manner of moving--a sort of sliding motion, to the right or left, upward, backward, sideways, stopping and starting, fast or slow, as it wills. it has no locomotive organs, and no movement can be seen to take place in the body from within or without. it simply slides. how? passing on to the higher animal life--how do eggs grow into chickens? what is the power in the germ of the egg? can the germ think, and plan, and move, and grow into a chicken? or is the will at work there? and what is true in this case, is true of the birth and growth of all animal life--all animal life develops from a single germ cell. how, and why? there is a mental energy resident in the germ cell--of this there can be no doubt. and that mental energy is the creative will ever manifesting. listen to these words from huxley, the eminent scientist. he says: "the student of nature wonders the more and is astonished the less, the more conversant he becomes with her operations; but of all the perennial miracles she offers to his inspection, perhaps the most worthy of his admiration is the development of a plant or of an animal from its embryo. examine the recently laid egg of some common animal, such as a salamander or a newt. it is a minute spheroid in which the best microscope will reveal nothing but a structureless sac, enclosing a glairy fluid, holding granules in suspension. but strange possibilities lie dormant in that semi-fluid globule. let a moderate supply of warmth reach its watery cradle, and the plastic matter undergoes changes so rapid, and so purposelike in their succession, that one can only compare them to those operated by a skilled modeller upon a formless lump of clay. as with an invisible trowel, the mass is divided and subdivided into smaller and smaller portions, until it is reduced to an aggregation of granules not too large to build withal the finest fabrics of the nascent organism. and, then, it is as if a delicate finger traced out the line to be occupied by the spinal column, and moulded the contour of the body; pinching up the head at one end, the tail at the other, and fashioning flank and limb into due salamanderine proportions, in so artistic a way that, after watching the process hour by hour, one is almost involuntarily possessed by the notion that some more subtle aid to vision than the achromatic lens would show the hidden artist, with his plan before him, striving with skilful manipulation to perfect his work. "as life advances and the young amphibian ranges the waters, the terror of his insect contemporaries, not only are the nutritious particles supplied by its prey (by the addition of which to its frame growth takes place) laid down, each in its proper spot, and in due proportion to the rest, as to reproduce the form, the color, and the size, characteristic of the parental stock; but even the wonderful powers of reproducing lost parts possessed by these animals are controlled by the same governing tendency. cut off the legs, the tail, the jaws, separately or all together, and as spallanzani showed long ago, these parts not only grow again, but the new limb is formed on the same type as those which were lost. the new jaw, or leg, is a newt's, and never by any accident more like that of a frog's." in this passage from huxley one may see the actual working of the creative will of the universe,--moving behind the curtain--and a very thin curtain at that. and this wonderful work is going on all around us, all the time. miracles are being accomplished every second--they are so common that we fail to regard them. and in our bodies is the will at work? most certainly. what built you up from single cell to maturity? did you do it with your intellect? has not every bit of it been done without your conscious knowledge? it is only when things go wrong, owing to the violation of some law, that you become aware of your internal organs. and, yet, stomach and liver, and heart and the rest have been performing their work steadily--working away day and night, building up, repairing, nourishing, growing you into a man or woman, and keeping you sound and strong. are you doing this with your reason or with your personal will? no, it is the great creative will of the universe, universe,--the expression of the purpose and power of the one, working in and through you. it is the one life manifesting in you through its creative will. and not only is this all. the creative will is all around us in every force, energy and principle. the force that we call mental power is the principle of the will directed by our individual minds. in this statement we have a hint of the great mystery of mental force and power, and the so-called psychic phenomena. it also gives us a key to mental healing. this is not the place to go into detail regarding these phases--but think over it a bit. this will power of the universe, in all of its forms and phases, from electricity to thought-power, is always at the disposal of man, within limits, and subject always to the laws of the creative will of the universe. those who acquire an understanding of the laws of any force may use it. and any force may be used or misused. and the nearer in understanding and consciousness that we get to the one life and power, the greater will be our possible power, for we are thus getting closer and closer to the source of all power. in these lessons we hope to be able to tell you how you may come into closer touch with this one life of which you and all living things are but forms, shapes and channels of expression, under the operation of the creative will. we trust that this lesson may have brought to your minds the realization of the oneness of all--the fact that we are all parts of the one encircling unity, the heart-throbs and pulsations of which are to be felt even to the outer edge of the circle of life--in man, in monad, in crystal, in atom. try to feel that inner essence of creative will that is within yourselves, and endeavor to realize your complete inner unity in it, with all other forms of life. try to realize, as some recent writer has expressed it, "that all the living world is but mankind in the making, and that we are but part of the all." and also remember that splendid vistas of future unfoldment spread themselves out before the gaze of the awakened soul, until the mind fails to grasp the wondrous sight. we will now close this lesson by calling your attention to its central thought. there is but one power in the universe--one energy--one force. and that power, energy and force is a manifestation of the one life. there can be no other power, for there is none other than the one from whom power may come. and there can be no manifestation of power that is not the power of the one, for no other power can be in existence. the power of the one is visible in its manifestations to us in the natural laws and forces of nature--which we call the creative will. this creative will is the inner moving power, urge and pressure behind all forms and shapes of life. in atom, and molecule; in monad, in cell, in plant, in fish, in animal, in man,--the life principle or creative will is constantly in action, creating, preserving, and carrying on life in its functions. we may call this instinct or nature, but it is the creative will in action. this will is back of all power, energy, or force--be it physical, mechanical or mental force. and all force that we use, consciously or unconsciously, comes from the one great source of power. if we could but see clearly, we would know that back of us is the power of the universe, awaiting our intelligent uses, under the control of the will of the all. there is nothing to be afraid of, for we are manifestations of the one life, from which all power proceeds, and the real self is above the effect, for it is part of the cause. but over and above--under and behind--all forms of being, matter, energy, force and power, is the absolute--ever calm; ever peaceful; ever content. in knowing this it becomes us to manifest that spirit of absolute trust, faith and confidence in the goodness and ultimate justice of that which is the only reality there is. peace be with you. the fourth lesson the unity of life. in our first lesson of this series we spoke of the one reality underlying all life. this one reality was stated to be higher than mind or matter, the nearest term that can be applied to it being "spirit." we told you that it was impossible to explain just what "spirit" is, for we have nothing else with which to compare or describe it, and it can be expressed only in its own terms, and not in the terms applicable to its emanations or manifestations. but, as we said in our first lesson, we may think of "spirit" as meaning the "essence" of life and being--the reality underlying universal life, and from which the latter emanates. in the second lesson we stated that this "spirit," which we called "the absolute," expressed itself in the universal life, which universal life manifested itself in countless forms of life and activity. in the same lesson we showed you that the universe is alive--that there is not a single dead thing in it--that there can be no such thing as a dead object in the universe, else the theory and truth of the one underlying life must fall and be rejected. in that lesson we also showed you that even in the world of inorganic things there was ever manifest life--in every atom and particle of inorganic matter there is the universal life energy manifesting itself, and in constant activity. in the third lesson, we went still further into this phase of the general subject, and showed you that the creative will--that active principle of the universal life--was ever at work, building up new forms, shapes and combinations, and then tearing them down for the purpose of rebuilding the material into new forms, shapes, and combinations. the creative will is ever at work in its threefold function of creating, preserving and destroying forms--the change, however, being merely in the shape and form or combination, the real substance remaining unchanged in its inner aspect, notwithstanding the countless apparent changes in its objective forms. like the great ocean the depths of which remain calm and undisturbed, and the real nature of which is unchanged in spite of the waves, and billows of surface manifestation, so does the great ocean of the universal life remain unchanged and unaltered in spite of the constant play of the creative will upon the surface. in the same lesson we gave you many examples of the will in action--of its wondrous workings in the various forms of life and activity--all of which went to show you that the one power was at work everywhere and at all times. in our next lesson--the fifth lesson--we shall endeavor to make plain to you the highest teachings of the yogi philosophy regarding the one reality and the many manifestations--the one and the many--how the one apparently becomes many--that great question and problem which lies at the bottom of the well of truth. in that lesson we shall present for your consideration some fundamental and startling truths, but before we reach that point in our teachings, we must fasten upon your mind the basic truth that all the various manifestations of life that we see on all hands in the universe are but forms of manifestation of one universal life which is itself an emanation of the absolute. speaking generally, we would say to you that the emanation of the absolute is in the form of a grand manifestation of one universal life, in which the various apparent separate forms of life are but centers of energy or consciousness, the separation being more apparent than real, there being a bond of unity and connection underlying all the apparently separated forms. unless the student gets this idea firmly fixed in his mind and consciousness, he will find it difficult to grasp the higher truths of the yogi philosophy. that all life is one, at the last,--that all forms of manifestation of life are in harmonious unity, underlying--is one of the great basic truths of the yogi teaching, and all the students of that philosophy must make this basic truth their own before they may progress further. this grasping of the truth is more than a mere matter of intellectual conception, for the intellect reports that all forms of life are separate and distinct from each other, and that there can be no unity amidst such diversity. but from the higher parts of the mind comes the message of an underlying unity, in spite of all apparent diversity, and if one will meditate upon this idea he will soon begin to realize the truth, and will _feel_ that he, himself, is but a center of consciousness in a great ocean of life--that he and all other centers are connected by countless spiritual and mental filaments--and that all emerge from the one. he will find that the illusion of separateness is but "a working fiction of the universe," as one writer has so aptly described it--and that all is one, at the last, and underlying all is one. some of our students may feel that we are taking too long a path to lead up to the great basic truths of our philosophy, but we who have traveled the path, and know its rocky places and its sharp turns, feel justified in insisting that the student be led to the truth gradually and surely, instead of attempting to make short cuts across dangerous ravines and canyons. we must insist upon presenting our teachings in our own way--for this way has been tested and found good. we know that every student will come to realize that our plan is a wise one, and that he will thank us for giving him this gradual and easy approach to the wondrous and awful truth which is before us. by this gradual process, the mind becomes accustomed to the line of thought and the underlying principles, and also gradually discards wornout mental sheaths which have served their purposes, and which must be discarded because they begin to weigh heavily upon the mind as it reaches the higher altitudes of the path of attainment. therefore, we must ask you to consider with us, in this lesson, some further teachings regarding the unity of life. all the schools of the higher oriental thought, as well as many of the great philosophical minds of the western world, have agreed upon the conception of the unity of life--the oneness of all life. the western thinkers, and many of the eastern philosophers arrived at this conclusion by means of their intellectual powers, greatly heightened and stimulated by concentration and meditation, which latter process liberated the faculties of the spiritual mind so that it passed down knowledge to the intellect, which then seized upon the higher knowledge which it found within itself, and amplified and theorized upon the same. but among the eastern masters there are other sources of information open, and from these sources come the same report--the oneness and unity of universal life. these higher sources of information to which we have alluded, consist of the knowledge coming from those beings who have passed on to higher planes of life than ours, and whose awakened spiritual faculties and senses enable them to see things quite plainly which are quite dark to us. and from these sources, also, comes the message of the oneness of life--of the existence of a wonderful universal life including all forms of life as we know it, and many forms and phases unknown to us--many centers in the great ocean of life. no matter how high the source of inquiry, the answer is the same--"all life is one." and this one life includes beings as much higher than ourselves, as we are higher than the creatures in the slime of the ocean-bed. included in it are beings who would seem as archangels or gods to us, and they inform that beyond them are still higher and more radiant creatures, and so on to infinity of infinities. and yet all are but centers of being in the one life--all but a part of the great universal life, which itself is but an emanation of the absolute. the mind of man shrinks back appalled from the contemplation of such wonders, and yet there are men who dare to attempt to speak authoritatively of the attributes and qualities of "god," as if he, the absolute, were but a magnified man. verily, indeed, "fools rush in where angels fear to tread," as the poet hath said. those who will read our next lesson and thus gain an idea of the sublime conception of the absolute held by the yogi teachers may shudder at the presumption of those mortals who dare to think of the absolute as possessing "attributes" and "qualities" like unto the meanest of things in this his emanated universe. but even these spiritual infants are doing well--that is, they are beginning to _think_, and when man begins to _think_ and _question_, he begins to progress. it is not the fact of these people's immature ideas that has caused these remarks on our part, but rather their tendency to set up their puny conceptions as the absolute truth, and then insisting upon forcing these views upon the outer world of men, whom they consider "poor ignorant heathen." permit each man to think according to his light--and help him by offering to share with him the best that you possess--but do not attempt to force upon him your own views as absolute truth to be swallowed by him under threat of damnation or eternal punishment. who are you that dares to speak of punishment and damnation, when the smell of the smoke of the hell of materialism is still upon your robes. when you realize just what spiritual infants you still are--the best of you--you will blush at these things. hold fast to the best that you know--be generous to others who seem to wish to share your knowledge--but give without blame or feeling of superiority--for those whom you teach today may be your teachers tomorrow--there are many surprises of this kind along the path. be brave and confident, but when you begin to feel puffed up by your acquirement of some new bit of knowledge, let your prayer--_our_ prayer, for we too are infants--be, "lord, be merciful unto me, a fool!" the above words are for us, the students of the yogi philosophy--the teachers of the same--for human nature is the same in spite of names, and we must avoid the "vanity of vanities"--spiritual pride and arrogance--that fault which has sent many a soul tumbling headlong from a high position on the path, and compelled it to again begin the journey, chastened and bruised. the fall of lucifer has many correspondences upon the occult plane, and is, indeed, in itself an allegorical illustration of just this law. remember, always, that you are but a centre in the ocean of life, and that all others are centres in the same ocean, and that underlying both and all of you is the same calm bed of life and knowledge, the property of all. the highest and the lowest are part of the same one life--each of you has the same life blood flowing through your veins--you are connected with every other form of life, high or low, with invisible bonds, and none is separate from another. we are speaking, of course, to the personalities of the various students who are reading these words. the real self of each is above the need of such advice and caution, and those who are able to reach the real self in consciousness have no need for these words, for they have outlived this stage of error. to many, the consciousness of the one life--the universal life--in which all are centres of consciousness and being--has come gradually as a final step of a long series of thought and reasoning, aided by flashes of truth from the higher regions of the mind. to others it has come as a great illumination, or flash of truth, in which all things are seen in their proper relations and positions to each other, and all as phases of being in the one. the term "cosmic consciousness," which has been used in the previous series of these lessons, and by other writers, means this sudden flash of "knowing" in which all the illusionary dividing lines between persons and things are broken down and the universal life is seen to be actually existent as one life. to those who have reached this consciousness by either route just mentioned--or by other routes--there is no sense of loss of individuality or power or strength. on the contrary there is always a new sense of increased power and strength and knowing--instead of losing individuality, there is a sense of having found it. one feels that he has the whole universe at his back, or within him, rather than that he has lost his identity in the great ocean of life. while we are speaking of this phase of the subject, we should like to ask you if you have ever investigated and inquired into the real meaning of the much-used word "individuality?" have you ever looked up its origin and real meaning, as given by the standard authorities? we are sure that many of you have no real idea of the actual meaning of the term, as strange as this statement may appear to you at first glance. stop now, and define the word to yourself, as you have been accustomed to think of it. ninety-five people of a hundred will tell you that it means something like "a strong personality." let us see about this. webster defines the word "individual" as follows: "not divided, or not to be divided; existing as one distinct being or object; single; one." the same authority informs us that the word arises from the latin word _individuus_, meaning "indivisible; not divisible." does not this help you to gain a clearer idea of the individuality that knows itself to be a centre of consciousness in the one life, rather than a separate, puny, insignificant thing apart from all other centres or forms of life, or the source of life? we think it will help to clear your mind of some of the fog that has not as yet lifted itself. and while we are on the subject of definitions, let us take a little look at the word "personality," that is generally believed to be a synonym of "individuality," and is often so used. webster tells us that the word "person" originated from the latin word _persona_, meaning "a mask used by actors," which word in turn arose from two other words, _per_, meaning "through," and _sonare_, meaning "to sound," the two combined words meaning "to sound through." the same authority informs us that the archaic meaning of the word was "a character or part, as in a play; an assumed character." if you will think of personality as "a mask used by an actor," or as "a part in a play," or as something used to "sound through" or to speak through, by the real individual behind the mask of personality, then perhaps you will see a little further into the mystery of personality and individuality. oh, dear students, be not deceived by the mask of personality which you may happen to be wearing at this moment, or by the masks which are worn by those around you. realize that back of your mask is the great individual--the indivisible--the universal life, in which you are a centre of consciousness and activity. this does not wipe out your identity--instead it gives you a greater and grander identity. instead of your sinking into a nirvana of extinction of consciousness, your consciousness so enlarges as you unfold, that you will in the end feel your identity to be the identity of the universe. instead of your gaining nothingness, you gain allness. all spiritual growth and unfoldment gives you a constantly increasing sense of relationship with, and agreement with, the all. you grow into allness as you unfold. be not deceived by this chatter about nothingness, and loss of individuality, in the oriental thought, although some of the presentations of its teachings may so seem to mean at first reading. remember always that personality is the mask, and individuality the real one. you have often heard persons, claiming to be acquainted with the teachings of theosophy and other expositions of the oriental wisdom religion (including our own presentation), asserting that the oriental mind was ever bent upon attaining a final stage of nothingness or extinction in nirvana. in addition to what we have said, and to what we shall say on this subject, let us quote from the inspired writer of the "_secret doctrine_" (a standard theosophical work) when she says, in that work on page , vol. i: "is this annihilation, as some think? ... to see in nirvana annihilation, amounts to saying of a man plunged in a sound, dreamless sleep--one that leaves no impression on the physical memory and brain, because the sleeper's higher self is in its original state of absolute consciousness during these hours--that he too is annihilated. the latter simile answers only to one side of the question--the most material; since reabsorption is by no means such a dreamless sleep, but, on the contrary, absolute existence, an unconditional unity, or a state, to describe which human language is absolutely and hopelessly inadequate... nor is the individuality--nor even the essence of the personality, if any be left behind--lost because re-absorbed." as j. wm. lloyd says, in connection with the above quotation, "this seems conclusive proof that theosophy does not regard nirvana as annihilation, but as an infinite enlargement of consciousness." and we would add that this is true not only as regards the nirvana of the theosophist, but also of the consciousness of the unity of life--the universal life. this too is not annihilation of individual consciousness, but an "infinite enlargement of consciousness" as this western writer lloyd has so well expressed it. the very consciousness of life that every man feels within him, comes not from something belonging exclusively to himself as a separate or personal thing. on the contrary, it belongs to his individuality, not to his personality, and is a phase of his consciousness or "awareness" of his relation to the one universal life which underlies his existence, and in which he is a center of consciousness. do you grasp this idea? if not, meditate and concentrate upon it, for it is important. you must learn to _feel_ the life within you, and to know that it is the life of the great ocean of universal life upon the bosom of which you are borne as a centre of consciousness and energy. in this thought there is power, strength, calm, peace, and wisdom. acquire it, if you are wise. it is indeed a gift from the gods. in this lesson we are not attempting to build up your idea of the unity of life by a series of arguments taken from a world of phenomena in which separateness and non-unity is apparent. no such arguments would suffice, for it would be like trying to prove the existence and laws of color to a man born blind, by arguments taken from his world of darkness. on the contrary we are appealing to that region of the mind in which is stored the capacity for intuitively apprehending truth. we are endeavoring to speak in tones which will awaken a similar vibration in that part of your mentality, and if these vibrations be started into being, then will you be able to _feel_ and _know_ the truth, and then will your intellect eagerly seize upon the new idea that it finds within itself, and will proceed to apply the same to the various problems that have been bothering you in the past. this consciousness of unity must come from the higher regions of the mind, for the intellect alone knows it not,--it is out of its field. just as one may not know that the earth is round by means of his senses which report quite the contrary, but may and does know this truth by abstract reasoning and higher intellectual effort; so may one know the truth that all life is indeed one, at the last, and underlying, by the higher faculties of the mind, although his senses and ordinary intellectual processes fail to so inform him. the senses cannot inform man that the earth is round, _because they cannot see it as a whole, but only in part_--while the higher reasoning faculties are able to visualize the earth as a whole, and know it must be round. and the intellect, in its ordinary field can see only separateness, and cannot report oneness, but the higher mind sees life as a whole, and knows it to be one. and it is the higher mind that we are trying to bring into the field of consciousness in the appeal to you in this lesson. we trust that we may be successful--in fact we _know_ that we shall be so, in many cases, for we know that the field is ready for the sowing of the seed--and that the call has been heard, and the message passed on to us to answer the call--else these words would not have been written. the consciousness of the unity of life is something that must be experienced before the truth may be realized. it is not necessary for one to wait until he acquire full cosmic consciousness before he may realize, at least partially, the oneness of all life, for he may unfold gradually into the cosmic knowing, experiencing at each stage a fuller conception of the underlying unity of life, in which he is a centre of consciousness and manifestation. but there must be at least a partial unfoldment before one is able to _feel_ the sense of unity. to those who have not unfolded sufficiently to gain at least a glimmering of the truth, everything appears separate from every other thing, and there is no unity of all. it is as if every leaf on a mighty tree were to consider itself a being separate and distinct from everything else in the world, failing to perceive its connection with the branch or limb, and tree, and its unity in being with every other leaf on the tree. after a bit the unfolding consciousness of the leaf enables it to perceive the stem that connects it with the twig. then it begins to realize certain relationships, and feels its vital connection with the twig and the few other leaves attached to the same twig. later on, it unfolds sufficiently to perceive that certain other leaf-bearing twigs are connected with the same branch, and it learns to feel its relationship with all twigs and leaves springing from that branch. then again, a little later on, it begins to realize that other branches spring from the same limb as its branch, and the sense of relationship and dawning unity begins to widen still further. and so it goes on, until at last, the tiny leaflet realizes that the life of the tree is the life of all of its parts--limbs, branches, twigs, leaves, blossoms, fruit, seed, etc., and that it, itself, is but a centre of expression in the one life of the tree. does the leaf feel less important and real from this discovery? we should say assuredly not, for it must feel that behind its tiny form and limited strength is the strength and vitality of the entire organism of the tree. it must know that the tree is ever at work extracting nourishment from the earth, air, and water, and transmitting that nourishment to its every part, including our little friend the leaflet. it knows that the sap will rise in the spring to renew the manifestations of life, and it knows that although its leafy form may wither and die, still the essence of its life--its real life--does not die but remains ever active and strong awaiting its chance for future expression and re-embodiment. of course this figure of the leaf and the tree fails us if we attempt to carry it very far, but it will give us at least a partial idea of the relationship between the life of the person, and the one life. some of the oriental teachers have illustrated this idea to their students by various familiar examples and figures of speech. some bid the student hold up his hand, and then point out to him that each finger is apparently separate and distinct if one does not look down to where it joins the hand. each finger, if it had consciousness, might well argue that it was a separate individual, having no relationship with any other finger. it might prove this to its own satisfaction, and to that of its listeners, by showing that it could move itself without stirring the other fingers. and so long as its consciousness was confined to its upper two joints it would remain under the illusion of separateness. but when its consciousness at last permeated the depths of its being, it would find that it emerged from the same hand from which also sprung the other fingers, and that its real life and power was vested in the hand rather than in itself, and that although apparently separate and independent, it was really but a part of the hand. and when its consciousness, through the consciousness of the hand, broadened and widened, it would perceive its relationship with, and interdependence with, the whole body, and would also recognize the power of the brain, and its mighty will. another favorite illustration of the eastern teachers is the stream of water flowing over a rocky bed. they point to the stream before it comes to a rocky place, and show the _chela_ (student) that it is one. then they will move a little way down the stream and show him how the rocks and stones divide the stream into countless little streams, each of which might imagine itself a separate and distinct stream, until later on it again joins the main united stream, and finds that it was but a form of expression of the one. another illustration that is frequently used by the teachers, is that which bids the student consider himself as a minute cell, or "little-life" as the hindus call it, in a body. it may be a cell in the blood performing the office of a carrier or messenger, or it may be a working cell in one of the organs of the body; or it may be a thinking cell in the brain. at any rate, the cell manifests capacity for thought, action and memory--and a number of secondary attributes quite wonderful in the way. (see "_hatha yoga_," chapter xviii.) each cell might well consider itself as a separate individual--in a certain sense it _does_. it has a certain degree of something akin to consciousness, enabling it to perform its work correctly and properly, and is called upon at times to manifest something like judgment. it may well be excused for thinking of itself as a "person" having a separate life. the analogy between its illusions and that of the man when seen by a master, is very close. but we know that the life of the cell is merely a centre of expression of the life of the body--that its consciousness is merely a part of the consciousness of the mind animating the body. the cell will die and apparently perish, but the _essence_ of it will remain in the life of the person whose body it occupied, and nothing really dies or perishes. would the cell feel any less real if it knew that behind its personality as a cell, there was the individuality of the man--that its real self was the man, not the cell? of course, even this figure of speech can be carried only so far, and then must stop, for the personality of the man, when it is dissolved, leaves behind it an essence which is called character, which becomes the property of the ego and which accompanies it into after life according to the law of karma, of which we shall speak in future lessons. but back even of these attributes of personality, is the ego which exists in spite of personality, and lives on and on throughout many personalities, and yet learning the lessons of each, until at last it rises above personality and enters into higher sphere of knowing and being. still another favorite illustration of the hindu teachers is that of the sun beating down upon the ocean and causing a portion of the water to rise in the form of vapor. this vapor forms clouds which spread all over the earth, and which eventually condense in the form of rain drops, dew, etc. this rain and dew form streams, rivers, etc., and sooner or later every drop finds its way back to mother ocean which is its real self. separate though the dewdrop be, yet it is a part of the ocean, no matter how far distant it may be, and the attraction of the ocean will surely, and without fail, draw it back to its bosom. and the dewdrop, if it could know the truth, would be so much happier and stronger, and braver if it could know that it was superior to accident, time and space, and that it could not escape its own good, and that nothing could prevent its final triumph and victory when at last "the dewdrop glides into the shining sea." how cheerfully it could have met its many changes of form. and the incidents of its journey, if it could have gotten rid of the illusion of separateness, and knew that instead of being a tiny insignificant dewdrop it was a part of the mighty ocean--in fact that its real self was that ocean itself--and that the ocean was continually drawing it toward it, and that the many changes, up and down, were in response to that mighty power of attraction which was slowly but irresistibly drawing it back home to rest, peace, and power. as valuable as are all these illustrations, examples, and figures of speech, still all must of necessity fall short of the truth in the case of the soul of man--that wondrous something which has been built up by the absolute after aeons and aeons of time, and which is destined to play an important part in the great cosmic drama which it has pleased the absolute to think into existence. drawing its life from the universal life, it has the roots of its being still further back in the absolute itself, as we shall see in the next lesson. great and wonderful is it all, and our minds are but illy fitted to receive the truth, and must be gradually accustomed to the glare of the sun. but it will come to all--none can escape his glorious destiny. the oriental writings are full of allusions to the underlying oneness, in fact the entire oriental philosophies rest upon it. you may find it everywhere if you will but look for it. the experience of cosmic consciousness, which is naught but a sudden or gradual "awareness" of the underlying unity of life, is evidenced everywhere in the _upanishads_, that wonderful series of teachings in the hindu classics. every writer in the collection gives his evidence regarding this awareness of unity and oneness, and the experiences and mental characteristics arising from the same. the following quotations will give an idea of the prevalence of this thought: "he that beholds all beings in the self, and the self in all things, he never turns away from it." "when to a man who understands, the self has become all things, what sorrow, what trouble, can there be to him who once beheld that unity." the hindu father explains to his son that the one life is in all forms and shapes, points out object after object, saying to the boy: "_tat tuam asi_, thou art that; that thou art." and the mystics have added their testimony to that of others who have experienced this consciousness. plotinus said: "knowledge has three degrees: opinion, science, and illumination. the last is absolute knowledge founded upon the identity of the knowing mind with the known object." and eckhardt, the german mystic, has told his pupils that: "god is the soul of all things. he is the light that shines in us when the veil is rent." and tennyson, in his wonderful verse describing the temporary lifting of the veil for him, has described a phase of cosmic consciousness in the following words: "for knowledge is the swallow on the lake that sees and stirs the surface-shadow there, but never yet hath dippt into the abysm, the abysm of all abysms, beneath, within the blue of sky and sea, the green of earth, and in the million-millionth of a grain which cleft and cleft again for evermore and ever vanishing, never vanishes. . . and more, my son, for more than once when i sat all alone, revolving in myself that word which is the symbol of myself, the mortal symbol of the self was loosed, and past into the nameless, as a cloud melts into heaven. i touched my limbs, the limbs were strange, not mine--and yet no shadow of doubt, but utter clearness, and through loss of self the gain of such large life as matched with ours were sun to spark, unshadowable in words, themselves but shadows of a shadow-world." and not only among the mystics and poets is this universal truth experienced and expressed, but among the great philosophers of all ages may we find this teaching of the unity of life originally voiced in the _upanishads_. the grecian thinkers have expressed the thought; the chinese philosophers have added their testimony; the modern philosophers, spinoza, berkeley, kant, hegel, schopenhauer, hartman, ferrier, royce, although differing widely in their theories, all have expressed as a fundamental truth the unity of life--a one life underlying. the basic teachings of the vedas are receiving confirmation at the hands of modern science, which while calling itself rationalistic and inclining to a materialistic conception of the universe, still finds itself compelled to say, "at the last, all is one." and in nearly every human soul there is a secret chamber in which the text of this knowledge lies hidden, and in the rare moments in which the chamber door is opened in response to poetry, music, art, deep religious feeling, or those unaccountable waves of uplift that come to all, the truth is recognized for the moment and the soul feels at peace and is content in the feeling that it is at harmony with the all. the sense of beauty, however expressed, when keenly experienced, has a tendency to lift us out of our consciousness of separateness into another plane of mind in which the keynote is unity. the higher the human feeling, the nearer is the conscious realization of the underlying unity. this realization of the unity of life--the oneness of life--the great life--even when but faintly experienced, renders life quite a different thing to the person. he feels no longer that he is a mere "part" of something that may be destroyed--or that he is a tiny personal something, separate from and opposed to all the rest of the universe--but that he is, instead, a unit of expression--a centre of consciousness--in the great one life. he realizes that he has the power, and strength, and life, and wisdom of the whole back of him, upon which he may learn to draw as he unfolds. he realizes that he is at home, and that he cannot be thrust out, for there is no outside of the all. he feels within himself the certainty of infinite life and being, for his life is the all life, and that cannot die. the petty cares, and worries, and griefs, and pains of everyday personal life are seen for what they are, and they cease to threaten and dominate him as of old. he sees the things of personality as merely the costume and trappings of the part in the play of life that he is acting out, and he knows that when he discards them he will still be "i." when one really feels the consciousness of the one life underlying, he acquires a confident trust and faith, and a new sense of freedom and strength comes to him, for is he not indeed delivered from the bondage of fear that has haunted him in his world of separateness. he feels within him the spiritual pulse of the universal life, and at once he thrills with a sense of new-found power and being. he becomes reconciled with life in all its phases, for he knows these things as but temporary phases in the working out of some great universal plan, instead of things permanent and fixed and beyond remedy. he begins to feel the assurance of ultimate justice and god, and the old ideas of injustice and evil begin to fade from him. he who enters into the consciousness of the universal life, indeed enters into a present realization of the life everlasting. all fear of being "lost" or "eternally damned" fades away, and one instinctively realizes that he is "saved" because he is of the one life and cannot be lost. all the fear of being lost arises from the sense of illusion of separateness or apartness from the one life. once the consciousness of unity is gained, fear drops from the soul like a wornout garment. when the idea and consciousness of the unity takes possession of one, he feels a new sense of cheerfulness and optimism entirely different from any other feeling that he has ever experienced. he loses that distrust and hardness which seems to cling to so many in this age who have arrived at the intellectual stage of development, and have been unable to progress further. a new sense of peace and harmony comes to one, and illuminates his entire character and life. the bitterness engendered by the illusion of separateness is neutralized by the sweetness of the sense of unity. when one enters into this consciousness he finds that he has the key to many a riddle of life that has heretofore perplexed him. many dark corners are illuminated--many hard sayings are made clear. paradoxes become understandable truths, and the pairs of opposites that dwell in all advanced intellectual conceptions, seem to bend around their ends and form themselves into a circle. to the one who understands the unity, all nature seems akin and friendly. there is no sense of antagonism or opposition--everything is seen to fit into its place, and work out its appointed task in the universal plan. all nature is seen to be friendly, when properly understood, and man regains that sense of harmonious environment and at-home-ness that he lost when he entered the stage of self-consciousness. the lower animal and the children feel this unity, in their poor imperfect way, but man lost this paradise when he discovered good and evil. but paradise lost becomes paradise regained when man enters into this new stage of consciousness. but unlike the animal or child, which instinctively feels the unity, the awakened soul of man possesses the unity consciousness, coupled with intelligent comprehension, and unfolding spiritual power. he has found that which he lost, together with the accumulated interest of the ages. this new kingdom of consciousness is before the race. all must enter into it in time--all will enter into it--many are entering into it now, by gradual stages. this dawning sense of unity is that which is causing the spiritual unrest which is now agitating the world, and which in time will bring the race to a realization of the fatherhood of god and the brotherhood of man, and his kinship to every living thing. we are entering into this new cycle of human unfoldment, and the greatest changes are before the race. ye who read these words are in the foremost ranks of the new dispensation, else you would not be interested in this subject. you are the leaven which is designed to lighten the heavy mass of the world-mind. play well your parts. you are not alone. mighty forces and great intelligences are behind you in the work. be worthy of them. peace be with you. carry with you the central thought of this lesson: central thought. _there is but one life--a universal life--in the world. this one life is an emanation from the absolute. it infills all forms, shapes and manifestations of life, and is the real life that each imagines to be his personal property. there is but one--and you are centres of consciousness and expression in that one. there is a unity and harmony which becomes apparent to those who enter into the consciousness of the one life. there is peace and calm in the thought. there is strength and power in the knowledge. enter ye into your kingdom of power--possess yourselves of your birthright of knowledge. in the very center of your being you will find a holy of holies in which dwells the consciousness of the one life, underlying. enter into the silence of the shrine within_. the fifth lesson the one and the many. as we have stated in previous lessons, all philosophies which thinkers have considered worthy of respect, find their final expression of truth in the fundamental thought that there is but _one reality_, underlying all the manifold manifestations of shape and form. it is true that the philosophers have differed widely in their conception of that one, but, nevertheless, they have all agreed upon the logical necessity of the fundamental conception that there is, at least, but one reality, underlying all. even the materialists have conceded this conclusion, and they speak and think of a something called "matter," as the one--holding that, inherent in matter, is the potentiality of all life. the school of energists, holding that matter in itself is non-existent, and that it is merely a mode of manifestation of a something called "energy," asserts that this something called energy is one, fundamental, real, and self-sufficient. the various forms of western religious thought, which hold to the various conceptions of a personal deity, also hold to a oneness, inasmuch as they teach that in the beginning there was god, only, and that all the universe has been _created_ by him. they do not go into details regarding this creation, and, unlike the oriental teachers, they fail to distinguish between the conception of the _creation of shape and form_, on the one hand; and the _creation of the substance of these shapes and forms_, on the other hand. but, even accepting the premises of these people who hold to the personal deity conception, it will be seen that the reason requires the acceptance of one or two ideas, _viz._, ( ) that the deity created the substance of these shapes and forms from _nothing_; or else ( ) that he created them out of _his own substance_--out of himself, in fact. let us consider, briefly, these two conceptions. in the first conception, _i.e._, creation from nothing, we are brought face to face with an impregnable obstacle, inasmuch as the human reason positively refuses to think of anything coming from nothing. while it is perfectly true that the finite human mind cannot undertake to limit the powers of the infinite; or to insist that the possibilities of the divine power must be measured and limited by the finite power of man--still it must hearken to the report of its own highest faculties, and say "i cannot think it," or else blindly accept the teachings of other finite minds which are equally unable to "think it," and which have no superior sources of information. the infinite power has endowed us with reasoning faculties, and evidently expects us to use them to their full capacity--else the gift were a mockery. and in the absence of information from higher sources than the reason, we must use the reason in thinking of this matter, or else refuse to think of it at all. in view of the above thought, let us then consider the report of the reason, regarding this matter, and then, after having done so, let us apply the test of this report of the reason, to the highest teaching of the yogi philosophy, and see how the latter stands the test. and, after having done this, we will apply the test of the higher consciousness to the same teachings. remember this always, that while there is knowledge that transcends reason--that is knowledge that comes from the higher regions of the mind--still even such information of the spiritual mind _does not run contrary to reason_, although it goes beyond it. there is harmony between the spiritual mind and the highest reason. returning to the consideration of the matter of creation of substance from nothing, we again assert that _the reason is unable to think of the creation of something from nothing_. it finds the statement unthinkable, and contrary to all the laws of thought. it is true that the reason is compelled to accept as a final truth, many things that it cannot _understand_ by reason of its finitude--but this is not one of them. there is no logical necessity for the reason to accept any such conception as this--there is no warrant in the reason for any such theory, idea or conclusion. let us stop here, for a moment, and examine into this difference--it may help us to think clearer, hereafter. we find it impossible to _understand_ the fact of the infinite being having always existed--and being without cause. we find it impossible to conceive of the nature of an eternal, causeless, and infinite being--to conceive the _nature of_, such a being, remember. but, while this is so, still our reason, by its own laws, compels us to think that there _must be_ such a being, so long as we think at all. for, if we think at all, we _must_ think of there being a fundamental reality--and we _must_ think of that reality as being without cause (because there can be no cause for the first cause); and we _must_ think of that reality as being eternal (because it could not have sprung into being from nothing, and therefore must have always been); and we _must_ think of that reality as infinite (because there is nothing outside of itself to limit it). think over this statement for a moment--until you grasp it fully. but there is no such necessity, or compulsion, in the case of the question of creation from nothingness. on the contrary, the necessity and compulsion is all the other way. not only is the reason unable to _think of_ creation from nothing--not only does all its laws forbid it to hold such a conception--but, more than this, it finds within itself a conception, full-grown and potent, which contradicts this idea. it finds within itself the strong certainty that _whatever really is has always been_, and that all transient and finite shapes, forms, and manifestations, _must_ proceed from that which is real, infinite, causeless, and infinite--and moreover _must be composed of the substance of that reality_, for there is nothing else real from which they could have been composed; and their composition from nothing is unthinkable, for nothing is nothing, and always will be nothing. "nothing" is merely a name of denial of existence--an absolute denial of substantiality of any degree, kind or form--an absolute denial of reality. and from such could come only nothing--from nothing, nothing comes. therefore, finding within itself the positive report that all, and anything there is, must be composed of the substance of the reality, the reason is compelled to think that the universe is composed of the substance of the one reality--whether we call that one reality, by the name of the absolute; or whether we call it god. _we must believe that from this absolute-god all things in the universe have flown out, or been emanated, rather than created--begotten, rather than "made."_ this does not mean the pantheistic idea that the universe _is_ god--but rather that god, while existing separate and apart from his universe, in his essence, and being, is nevertheless _in_ his universe, and his universe _in_ him. and this, no matter what conception of god or deity is had--or whether one thinks of the absolute as principle. the truth is the same--truth no matter by what names it is called, or by what misconception it is surrounded. the truth is that _one is in all, and all is in one_--such is the report of the highest reason of man--such is the report of the illumined--such is the highest teachings that have come down to the race from the great souls that have trodden the path of attainment. and now let us submit the yogi philosophy to these conceptions, and reports of the reason. and let us discover just what more the yogi philosophy has to say concerning the _nature of_ the substance of the divine, which infills all life--and how it solves the riddle of the sphinx, concerning the one in all; and all in one. we hope to show you that the riddle is capable of solution, and that the old yogi teachers have long ago grasped that for which the human mind has ever sought. this phase of the teachings is the highest, and it is usually hinted at, rather than expressed, in the writings on the subject--owing to danger of confusion and misconception. but in these lessons we shall speak the truth plainly, and without fear--for such is the message which has been given us to deliver to our students--and we will perform the right action, leaving the result, or fruits of the action, where it belongs, according to the higher teachings found in the "_bhagavad gita_," and in the higher teachings of the yogi philosophy. the fundamental truth embedded in the wisdom-philosophies of the east--the higher yogi teachings--is the impregnable doctrine of the one self in the many selves--the many selves in the one self. this fundamental truth underlies all the oriental philosophies which are esoteric in their nature. notwithstanding the crude and often repulsive conceptions and practices of the masses of the people who represent the exoteric, or popular, phase of the teachings (and these two phases are to be found in _all_ regions) still there is always this inner doctrine of the one self, to be found to those who look for it. not only is this true among the hindus; but even among the mahommedans, of all countries, there is an inner circle of mystics, known as the _sufis_, holding to this truth. and the inner teachings of the philosophies of all ages and races, have held likewise. and the highest thought of the philosophers of the western races, has found refuge in this idea of the over-soul, or universal self. but, it is only among the yogis that we find an attempt made to explain the real nature of the manifestation of the one in many--the holding of the many forms in the one self. before proceeding to the consideration of _how_ the one becomes as many, as expounded by the higher yogi teachings, it becomes necessary to speak of a matter upon which there has been much confusion and misunderstanding, not only on the part of the students of various oriental philosophies, but also upon the part of some of the teachers themselves. we allude to the connection between the one--the absolute--in its essence--and that which has been called the one life; the universal life, etc. many writers have spoken of the universal life, and the one, as being identical--but such is a grievous error, finding no warrant in the highest yogi teachings. it is true that all living forms dwell in, and are infilled with the universal life--that all life is one. we have taught this truth, and it is indeed truth, without qualification. but there is still a higher truth--the highest truth, in fact--and that is, that even this universal life is not the one, but, instead, is in itself a manifestation of, and emanation from, the one. there is a great difference here---see that you perceive and understand it, before proceeding further. the one--the absolute--according to the highest teachings, is pure spirit, and not life, mind, or being as we understand them in our finite and mortal expressions. but, still all life, mind, and being, as we understand them, spring from, flow from, and emanate from, the one--and more than this, may be spoken of as _reflections_ of the life, mind, and being of the one, if we may be permitted to apply the names of finite manifestations to the infinite reality. so, the highest teaching is that the universal life infilling all living things, is not, in itself, the being and life of the one--but is rather a great fundamental emanation of the one, the manner and nature of which will be spoken of as we proceed. remember this, please. leading up to the supreme idea of the one in all--all in one--let us examine into the report of the reason upon the _nature of_ the substance--the divine substance--from which all living forms are shaped; and from which all that we know as finite mind is likewise composed. _how can these imperfect and finite forms be composed of a divine and perfect substance?_ this is the question that must occur to the minds of those who are capable of deep thought on the subject--and it is a question that must be answered. and it can be answered--and _is_ answered in the higher yogi philosophy. let us examine the reports of the reason, a little further--then shall we be ready for the teachings. of what can the substance of the infinite be composed? can it be matter? yes, if you are satisfied with the reasoning of the materialists, and cannot see further into the truth! these teach that matter is god, and that god is matter. but if you be among those who reject the materialistic teachings, you will not be satisfied with this answer. even if you incline toward a non-mental infinite, still if you are familiar with the results of modern scientific investigation, and know that science has seen matter resolve itself into something like electric energy, you will know that the truth must lie behind and beyond matter. then is it pure energy? you may ask. pure energy? what's that? can you think of energy apart from material manifestation? have you ever known of such a thing? do you not know that even the electron theory, which is attracting the attention of advanced modern science, and which holds that all things are composed of minute particles of electric energy, called electrons, from which the atoms are built--do you not know that even this theory recognizes the necessity of a "something like matter, only infinitely finer," which they call the ether, to enfold the electric energy as a unit--to give it a _body_, as it were? and can you escape from the fact that the most advanced scientific minds find confronting them--_the fact that in all energy, and governing its actions, there 'is manifested "something like mind_"? and does not all this teach thinkers that just as energy creates from itself, that which is called matter, and then uses it as a vehicle of expression and action--so does this "something like mind" create from itself that which we call energy, and proceeds to use it, with its accompanying phase of matter, for its expression? does not all advanced research show us that in all matter and energy there are evidences of the operation of this "something like mind"? and if this be so, are we not justified as regarding matter and energy as mere effects--and to look to this "something like mind" as the more fundamental substance? we think so--and science is beginning to think so, too. and soon will science be regarding with the most profound respect, the metaphysical axiom that "all is mind." you will see by reference to our "_advanced course in yogi philosophy, etc._," the general yogi teachings regarding the emanation of the one, known respectively as mind, energy, and matter. you will see that the yogis teach that mind, energy, and matter comprise a threefold emanation of the absolute. you will also see that it is taught that mind was the parent-emanation--the universal mind; and that the universal energy was the second-emanation (proceeding from mind); and that the universal matter was the third emanation (proceeding from energy) in the same book you will find that the teaching is that above matter, energy, and mind, is the essence of the absolute, which is called spirit--the nature of which is non-understandable to the mind of man, the highest conception of which is the highest manifestation of itself--mind. but as we cannot comprehend spirit otherwise, we are justified in thinking of it as something like infinite mind--something as much higher than finite mind as that is higher than mere energy. now, then--we have seen the folly of thinking of the divine substance as matter or energy. and we have come to know it as spirit, something like mind, only infinitely higher, but which still may be thought of in terms of infinite mind, for we can have no higher terms in our thinking operations. so we may then assume that this divine nature or substance is spirit, which we will think of as infinite mind, for want of a better form of conception. we have seen the folly of thinking of the divine essential substance as the body of god. we have likewise seen the folly of thinking of it as the vital energy of god. and we have found that we could not escape thinking of it as the spirit, or infinite mind of god. beyond this we cannot think intelligently. but do you not see that all this exercise of the reason has brought us to the point where we must think that this divine substance, which the absolute-god uses in the manifestation of universal life; the universe; and all the forms, and shapes, and manifestations of life and things in the universe--this divine substance which must be _in_ all things--and _in which_ all things must rest, even as the bubble rests on the ocean--that this can be nothing less than spirit, and that this spirit can be thought of only as infinite mind? and, if this be so, then indeed must _all be mind, and mind be all_--meaning, of course, the infinite mind, not the finite manifestation that we _call_ mind. then, if this reasoning has been correct, then must we think that all life--all the universe--everything except the absolute itself--_must be held in the infinite mind of the absolute_! and, so, by the exercise of our reason--by listening to, and examining its reports, we have been brought face to face--eye to eye--heart to heart--with the teaching of the illumined ones, which has come down to us as the highest teaching of the yogi philosophy! for this, indeed, is the highest conception of truth in the yogi teachings--this, that all manifestations and emanations of the absolute are mental creations of the absolute--thought-forms held in the infinite mind--the infinite spirit in them--and they in the infinite spirit. _and that the only real thing about man is the spirit involved in the thought-form, the rest is mere personality, which changes and ceases to be. the spirit in the soul of man, is the soul of the soul, which is never born; never changeth; never dieth--this is the real self of _man, in which, indeed, he is "one with the father."_ this is the point where the reasoning mind of man has come to a sense of agreement with the highest yogi teachings. let us now pass on to the teachings themselves--let us listen to the message of truth. in this consideration of the highest yogi philosophy, and its teaching, we would again say to our students, that which we said to them in _"the advanced course"_--that we do not attempt to teach the "why" of the manifestation of the absolute, but rest content with delivering the message of the yogi sages, which deals with the "how." as we stated in the lessons referred to, we incline to that school of the higher teachings, which holds that the "why" of the infinite manifestation must, of necessity, rest with the infinite alone, and that the finite mind cannot hope to answer the question. we hold that in all the universal mind, or in any of its mind manifestations, there is to be found no answer to this question! wrapped in the essence of the absolute spirit, alone, is this final answer! the sages, and masters, from their high spiritual points of observation, possess many truths regarding the "how" side of the question that would appear almost like infinite wisdom itself, compared with our puny knowledge. but even these great souls report that they do not possess the answer to the final question--the "why" of the infinite manifestation. and so we may be excused from attempting to answer it--and without shame or sense of shortcoming do we still say, to this question, "we do not know!" in order that the final question may be fully understood let us consider it for a moment. we find the question arising from the following condition: the human reason is compelled to admit that there is an infinite, eternal, causeless reality underlying all forms of manifestation in the phenomenal world. it is likewise compelled to admit that this reality must comprise all that really is--and that there can be nothing real outside of itself. arising from this is the truth, that all forms of phenomenal manifestation, must emanate _from_ the one reality, for there is nothing else real from which they could emanate. and the twin-truth that these forms of manifestation, must also be _in_ the being of the one reality, for there is nowhere outside of the all wherein they might find a place. so this one reality is seen to be "that from which all things flow"; and "that in which all things live, and move and have their being." therefore all things _emanate from_, and are _contained in_ the one reality. we shall consider "just how" later on, but the question which confronts us, and which has been called the "final question"--and that which we pronounce unanswerable--is this: "why has the infinite manifested and emanated finite forms of being?" you will see the nature of the question when you stop to consider: ( ) the infinite cannot have desire, for that is a finite quality; ( ) it cannot lack anything, for that would take away from its infinity; ( ) and even if it did lack anything, from whence could it expect to acquire it; for there is nothing outside of itself--if it lacks anything, it must continue to always lack it, for there is no outside source from which it could obtain anything which it does not already possess. and desire would be, of course, a _wanting_ for something which it lacked--so it could not desire unless it lacked--and it would know that desire would be hopeless, even if indeed it did lack. so you see that if we regard the infinite reality as perfect, we must drop all ideas of it desiring or lacking--and of it growing or improving--or of it obtaining more power, or knowledge. these ideas are ridiculous, for an absolute, infinite reality, must possess all-knowledge; all-power; all-presence, else it is not absolute and infinite. and, if it does not possess these attributes of being, then it can never hope to acquire them, for there is nowhere from whence they could be acquired--there is no source outside of the all-source. a finite thing, may lack, and desire, and improve and develop, for there is the universal source from which it may draw. but the infinite has no universal source, for it is its own source. do you see the nature of the final question? if not we will again state it--it is this: "why should the infinite reality, which possesses all that may be possessed, and which in itself is the only source of things--why should it desire to manifest a universe from and within itself?" a little consideration will show you that there is no intelligent answer to the "why," either in your own minds, or in the writings and teachings of the greatest minds. the matter is important, to those who are confronted every day with some of the many attempts to answer this final question--it is well that our students inform them regarding the futility of such questioning. and with this end in view, we shall herein give a few of the wise "guesses" at the answer, and our reasons for considering them inadequate. we ask the student to consider carefully these remarks, for by so doing he will post himself, and will be saved much tedious and perplexing wandering along the dangerous places in the swamp of metaphysics, following the will-o'-the-wisp of finite mind masquerading as the infinite wisdom! beware of the false lights! they lead to the quagmire and quicksands of thought! let us now consider some of these "guesses" at the answer to the final question. some thinkers have held that the absolute was bound by a divine necessity to manifest itself as many. the answer to this is that the absolute could not be _bound_ by anything, inner or outer, else it would not be absolute and infinite, but would be relative and finite. another set of thinkers have held that the absolute found within itself a desire to manifest as many. from whence could come such an action-causing desire? the absolute could lack nothing, and there would be nothing for it to desire to gain, other than that which it already possessed. one does not desire things one already has, but only what he lacks. another school would tell us that the infinite wished to _express_ itself in the phenomenal world. why? such a phenomenal world could only be reflection of its power, witnessed only by itself, and could contain nothing that was not already contained in the all. to what end would such a wish tend? what would be accomplished or gained? the infinite all could not become anything more than it already was--so why the wish for expression? some say that the whole phenomenal world is but _maya_, or illusion, and does not exist at all. then who else than the infinite caused the illusion, and why the necessity? this answer only removes the question back one point, and does not really answer it. some would say that the universe is the "dream of the infinite." can we conceive the infinite being as exercising the finite faculty of "dreaming"--is not this childish? others would have us believe that the absolute is indulging in a "game" or "play," when he makes universes, and those inhabiting them. can anyone really believe this of the absolute--playing like a child, with men and women, worlds and suns, as its blocks and tin-soldiers? why should the infinite "play"?--does it need amusement and "fun" like a child? poor man, with his attempts to read the riddle of the infinite! we know of teachers who gravely instruct their pupils in the idea that the absolute and infinite one manifests universes and universal life, and all that flows from them, because it wishes to "gain experience" through objective existence. this idea, in many forms has been so frequently advanced that it is worth while to consider its absurdity. in the first place, what "experience" could be gained by the absolute and infinite one? what could it expect to gain and learn, that it did not already know and possess? one can gain experience only from others, and outside things--not from oneself entirely separated from the outside world of things. and there would be no "outside" for the infinite. these people would have us believe that the absolute emanated a universe from itself--which could contain nothing except that which was obtained from itself--and then proceeded to gain experience from it. having no "outside" from which it could obtain experiences and sentences and sensations, it proceeded to make (from itself) an imitation one--that is what this answer amounts to. can you accept it? the whole trouble in all of these answers, or attempted answers, is that the answerer first conceives of the absolute-infinite being, as a relative-finite man, and then proceeds to explain what this big man would do. this is but an exaggerated form of anthropomorphism--the conception of god as a man raised to great proportions. it is but an extension of the idea which gave birth to the savage conceptions of deity as a cruel chief or mighty warrior, with human passions, hates, and revenge; love, passions, and desires. arising from the same cause, and akin to the theories advanced above are similar ones, which hold that the absolute cannot dwell alone, but must forever bring forth souls from itself--this was the idea of _plotinus_, the greek philosopher. others have thought that the infinite was possessed of such a consuming love, that it manifested objects upon which it could bestow its affections. others have thought that it was lonesome, and desired companionship. some have spoken of the absolute as "sacrificing" itself, in becoming many, instead of remaining one. others have taught that the infinite somehow has become entangled in its manifestations, and had lost the knowledge of its oneness--hence their teachings of "i am god." others, holding to a similar idea, tell us that the infinite is deliberately "masquerading" as the many, in order to fool and mystify itself--a show of itself; by itself, and for itself! is not this speculative metaphysics run wild? can one in calm thought so regard the infinite and absolute being--all-wise--causeless--all-powerful--all-present--all-possessing-- lacking nothing--perfect one--as acting and performing thus, and from these motives? is not this as childish as the childishness of the savage, and barbarians, in their mumbo-jumbo conceptions? let us leave this phase of the subject. the higher yogi teachings hold to no such ideas or theories. it holds that the answer to the secret is vested in the infinite alone, and that finite "guesses" regarding the "why" are futile and pitiful. it holds that while one should use the reason to the full, still there are phases of being that can be considered only in love, faith, and confidence in that from which all things flow, and in which we live and move and have our being. it recognizes that the things of the spirit, are known by the mind. it explores the regions of the universal mind to its utmost limits, fearlessly--but it pauses before the closed door of the spirit, reverently and lovingly. but, remember this--that while the higher yogi teachings contain no "guess," or speculative theory, regarding the "why" of the divine manifestation, still they do not deny the existence of a "why". in fact, they expressly hold that the absolute manifestation of the many is in pursuance of some wondrous divine plan, and that the unfoldment of the plan proceeds along well-established and orderly lines, and according to law. they trust in the wisdom and love of the absolute being, and manifest a perfect confidence, trust and peaceful patience in the ultimate justice, and final victory of the divine plan. no doubt disturbs this idea--it pays no attention to the apparent contradictions in the finite phenomenal world, but sees that all things are proceeding toward some far-away goal, and that "all is well with the universe". but they do not think for a moment, or teach in the slightest degree, that all this unfoldment, and plan of the universe, has for its object any advantage, benefit or gain to the absolute--such a thought would be _folly_, for the absolute is already perfect, and its perfection cannot be added to, or taken away from. but they do positively teach that there is a great beneficial purpose in all the plan, accruing in the end to the developed souls that have evolved through the workings of the plan. these souls do not possess the qualities of the infinite--they are finite, and thus are capable of receiving benefits; of growing, developing, unfolding, attaining. and, therefore, the yogis teach that this building up of great souls seems to be the idea of the infinite, so far as may be gained from an observation of the workings of the plan. the absolute cannot _need these_ great souls for its own pleasure, and therefore their building-up must be for their own advantage, happiness and benefit. the yogis teach, on this subject, that there can be only one real perfect being--perfect without experience--perfect from the beginning--but only one! in other words, they teach that there can be no such thing as absolute perfection, outside of the absolute itself--and that not even the absolute being can create another absolute being, for in that case there would be no absolute being at all, but only _two relative beings_. think over this for a moment, and you will see its truth. the absolute must always be "the one without a second", as the yogis express it--there cannot be _two_ perfect ones. and so, all finite beings, being finite, must work their way up toward the plane of perfection by the path of life, with all of its lessons, tasks, cares, pains, and strivings. this is the only way open to them--and even the absolute cannot have it otherwise, and still be the absolute. there is a fine point here--the absolute is all-powerful, but even that all-power is not sufficient to enable it to destroy its absolute being. and so, you who have wondered, perhaps you may now understand our words in the first lesson of this series, in which we said that the message of the absolute to some of the illumined has been: "all is being done in the best and only possible way--i am doing the best i can--all is well--and in the end will so appear." and, as we also said in that first lesson: "the absolute, instead of being an indifferent and unmoved spectator to its own creation, is a striving, longing, active, suffering, rejoicing, feeling spirit, partaking of the feelings of its manifestations, rather than callously witnessing them. it lives in us--with us--through us. back of all the pain in the world, may be found a great feeling and suffering love." and in this thought there is comfort to the doubting soul--peace to the troubled mind. in the sixth lesson, we shall proceed to deliver to you the further message of truth, concerning "how" the one absolute manifests its mental images as universe; universal life; and forms and shapes; and individualities, and personalities. we had hoped to include the whole message in this fifth lesson, but now find that we have merely laid the steps by which the student may reach the essential truth. but, lest the student may be left in an uncertain state of mind, awaiting the conclusion of the consideration of the subject--and lest he may think that we intend teaching him that the universe, and all in it, including himself are "dreams," because we have said that all things are thought-forms in the mind of the absolute--lest this misunderstanding may arise, we wish to add a few parting words to what we have said. we wish to impress upon the mind of the student that though all things are but thought-forms in the mind of the absolute being, and that while it is true that the entire universe of universes is simply a thought-form held in the mind of the absolute--still this fact does not mean that all things are "illusions" or "dreams." remember this, now and forever, o student--that that which is held in the absolute mind as a thought-form is, and is all there is, outside of the absolute itself. when the absolute forms a thought-form, it forms it out of its own mental substance--when the absolute "holds anything in its mind," it holds it in itself--for the absolute is all-mind. the absolute is not a material being, from which material beings are created. it is a spiritual being--a being whose substance is akin to that which we call "mind," only raised to infinity and absolute perfection and power. and this is the only way it can "create"--by creating a thought-form in its mental, or spiritual substance. the faintest "thought" of the absolute is more real and durable than anything that man can create--in fact, man can "create" nothing, for all the hard and real material he uses in his "creations," such as steel, diamonds, granite, are but some of the minor forms, "thought" into being by the absolute. and also remember this, that the absolute cannot "think" of anything, without putting itself in that thing, as its essence. just as a man's mental images are not only _in_ his mind, _but his mind is in them, also_. why, you doubting and timorous ones, does not even the finite "thinking" of man manifest itself in physical and material changes of form and shape?--does not a man's every thought actually "create" physical forms and shapes, in his brain-cells and physical tissue? you who are reading these words--yea, _while_ you are reading these words--are "creating" changes of form and shape in your brain-cells, and physical organism. your mind is constantly at work, also, in building up your physical body, along the lines of the instinctive mind (see previous series of lessons)--you are mentally creating in a miniature universe, every moment of your life. and yet, the idea of the absolute "creating" a universe by pure thought, in its own mind, and thereafter causing the work of the universe to proceed according to law, by simply "willing" it so, causes you to wonder, and perhaps to doubt. o, ye of little faith, you would deny to the absolute even the power you possess yourself. you plan things in your mind every day, and then proceed to cause them to appear in material manifestation, and yet you doubt the ability of the absolute to do likewise. why even the poets, or writers of fiction, create characters in their minds--and these seem so real, that even you imagine them to be actual entities, and you weep over their pains, and smile at their joys--and yet all this is on the finite plane. why, even the "imaginations" of your petty finite, undeveloped minds, have sufficient power to make your physical bodies sick, or well, or even to cause you to "die," from some imagined ailment. and yet you doubt the power of the absolute, to "think" things into being! you tiny students in the great kindergarten of life--you must learn better lessons from your little blocks and games. and you _will_--this is the law. and you who are filled with the sense of your smallness, and "unreality"--know you that so long as you are "held in the mind of god," then so long are you "remembered" by him. and so long as you are remembered by him, no real harm can befall you, and your reality is second only to his own. even though you pass out of your mortal frame--doth he remember you in his mind, and keeping you there, he holds you safe and unharmed. the greatest satisfaction that can come to one, is to be able to fully realize that he, or she, is held firmly in the mind of the infinite being. to such comes the knowledge that in that life there can be no death. peace be with you in this realization. may you make it your own! the sixth lesson within the mind of the one. in our last lesson we gave you the inner teachings of the yogi philosophy, relating to the real nature of the universe, and all that is therein contained. we trust that you have pondered well and carefully the statements contained in that lesson, for in them is to be found the essence of the highest yogi teachings. while we have endeavored to present these high truths to you in the simplest possible form, yet unless your minds have been trained to grasp the thought, you may have trouble in fully assimilating the essence of the teachings. but, be not discouraged, for your mind will gradually unfold like the flower, and the sun of truth will reach into its inmost recesses. do not be troubled if your comprehension seems dull, or your progress slow, for all things will come to you in time. you cannot escape the truth, nor can the truth escape you. and it will not come to you one moment sooner than you are ready to receive it, nor will it be delayed one moment in its coming, when you are ready for it. such is the law, and none can escape it, nor alter it, nor modify it. all is well, and all is under the law--nothing ever "happens." to many, the thought that the universe and all that is therein contained, are simply "thought forms" in the infinite mind--mental creations of the absolute, may seem startling, and a sense of unreality may pervade one. this is inevitable, but the reaction will come. to some who have grasped this mighty truth there has come a feeling that "all is nothing," which idea is embodied in their teachings and writings. but this is merely the negative phase of the truth--there is a positive phase which comes as one advances. the negative phase shows us that all that we have considered as real and permanent--the foundations of the universe itself--is but a mental image in the mind of the absolute, and therefore lacks the fundamental reality that we had previously associated with it. and realizing this, we are at first apt to feel that, indeed "all is nothing," and to fall into a state of apathy, and lack of desire to play our part in the world. but, then, happily the reaction sets in, sooner or later, and we begin to see the positive phase of the truth. this positive phase shows us that while all the forms, shapes, and phenomena of the universe are but parts of a great show-world, still the _essence of_ all must be reality, itself, else there would not be even the "appearance" of a universe. before a thing can be a mental image, there must be a mind to hold that mental image, and a being to possess that mind. and, the very essence of that being must pervade and be immanent in every image in that mind. just as _you_ are really in your mental images, as well as they in you, so must the absolute be _in_ its mental images, or creations, or thought forms, as truly as they are in the mind of the absolute. do you see this plainly? think well over it--ponder it well--for in it lies the truth. and so, this positive phase of the truth, is far from depressing--it is the most stimulating conception one can hold, if he but grasps it in its entirety and fulness. even if it be true that all these shapes, and forms, and appearances, and phenomena, and personalities, be but illusion as compared to the inner reality--what of it? are you not then assured that the spirit within yourself is the spirit of the absolute--that the reality within you is the reality of the absolute--that you are, because the absolute is, and cannot be otherwise? does not the peace, and calm, and security, and bliss that comes to you with this realization, far more than counterbalance the petty nothings that you have discarded? we think that there can be but one answer to this, when you have fully realized the truth. what gives you the greatest satisfaction and content in life? let us see. well, there is the satisfaction of immortality. the human mind instinctively craves this. well, what that even the highest finite conceptions of future life have given you, can compare with the assurance of actual being, in and of the absolute? what are your petty conceptions of "heavens," "paradises," "happy-hunting-grounds," "divine regions of the blessed," and the other ideas of the various religious sects, when compared with the conceptions of your infinite and eternal existence in spirit--your relation with the one--that conception of infinite wisdom, being, and bliss? when you grasp this truth, you will see that you are "in eternity right now," and are immortal even this moment, as you have always been. now, what we have said above is not intended to deny the "heaven-worlds," or planes. on the contrary, you will find much in the teachings regarding these, which the yogis enter into with much detail. but, we mean that back of all the "heavens" and "celestial planes," there is a still higher state of being being--the "absolute being." even the "heavens," and "heaven-worlds," and regions of the _devas_, or archangels, are but relative states--there is a state higher than even these exalted relative states, and that is the state of the conscious unity and identity with the one. when one enters into that state, he becomes more than man--more than gods--he is then "in the bosom of the father." and now, before proceeding to a consideration of the phenomenal manifestation of the absolute--the evolving of the universe in the infinite mind--we will again call your attention to the fact that underlies all the universe of forms, shapes and appearances, and that is, as we stated in our last lesson: _all manifestations and emanations of the absolute are mental creations of the absolute--thought-forms held in the infinite mind--the infinite spirit in them--and they in the infinite spirit. and, the only real thing about man is the spirit involved in the thought-form--the rest is mere personality, which changes and ceases to be. the spirit in the soul of man, is the soul of the soul, which is never born; never changeth; never dieth--this is the real self of man, in which, indeed, he is "one with the father_." and, now let us consider the yogi teachings regarding the creation of the universe, and the evolution of the living forms thereon. we shall endeavor to give you the story as plainly as may be, holding fast to the main thought, and avoiding the side-paths of details, etc., so far as is possible. in the first place, we must imagine ourselves back to the beginning of a "day of brahm,"--the first dawn of that day, which is breaking from the darkness of a "night of brahm." before we proceed further, we must tell you something about these "days and nights of brahm," of which you have seen much mention in the oriental writings. the yogi teachings contain much regarding the "days and nights of brahm;" the "in-breathing and out-breathing of the creative principle;" the periods of "_manvantara_," and the periods of "_pralaya_." this thought runs through all the oriental thought, although in different forms, and with various interpretations. the thought refers to the occult truth that there is in cosmic nature alternate periods of activity and inactivity--days and nights--in-breathings and out-breathings--wakefulness and sleep. this fundamental law manifests in all nature, from universes to atoms. let us see it now in its application to universes. at this point we would call the attention of the student that in many of the presentations of the hindu teachings the writers speak as if the absolute, _itself_, were subject to this law of rhythm, and had its periods of rest and work, like its manifestations. this is incorrect. the highest teachings do not so hold, although at first glance it would so appear. the teaching really is that while the creative principle manifests this rhythm, still even this principle, great though it be, is a manifestation of the absolute, and not the absolute itself. the highest hindu teachings are firm and unmistakable about this point. and, another point, in which there is much mistaken teaching. in the periods of creative inactivity in a universe it must not be supposed that there is no activity anywhere. on the contrary, there is never a cessation of activity on the part of the absolute. while it is creative night in one universe, or system of universes, there is intense activity of mid-day in others. when we say "the universe" we mean the universe of solar systems--millions of such systems--that compose the particular universe of which we have any knowledge. the highest teachings tell us that this universe is but one of a system of universes, millions in number--and that this system is but one, in a higher system, and so on and on, to infinity. as one hindu sage hath said: "well do we know that the absolute is constantly creating universes in its infinite mind--and constantly destroying them--and, though millions upon millions of aeons intervene between creation and destruction, yet doth it seem less than the twinkle of an eye to the absolute one." and so the "day and night of brahm" means only the statement of the alternating periods of activity and inactivity in some one particular universe, amidst the infinite universality. you will find a mention of these periods of activity and inactivity in the "_bhagavad gita_," the great hindu epic. the following quotations, and page references, relate to the edition published by the yogi publication society, which was compiled and adapted by the writer of these lessons. in that edition of the "_bhagavad gita_," on page , you will find these words attributed to _krishna_, the absolute one in human incarnation: "the worlds and universes--yea, even the world of brahm, a single day of which is like unto a thousand _yugas_ (four billion years of the earth), and his night as much--these worlds must come and go... the days of brahm are succeeded by the nights of brahm. in these brahmic days all things emerge from invisibility, and become visible. and, on the coming of the brahmic night, all visible things again melt into invisibility. the universe having once existed, melteth away; and lo! is again re-created." and, in the same edition, on page , we find these words, attributed to the same speaker: "at the end of a _kalpa_--a day of brahm--a period of creative activity--i withdraw into my nature, all things and beings. and, at the beginning of another _kalpa_, i emanate all things and beings, and re-perform my creative act." we may say here, in passing, that modern science now holds to the theory of periods of rhythmic change; of rise and fall; of evolution and dissolution. it holds that, beginning at some time in the past aeons of time, there was the beginning of an upward or evolutionary movement, which is now under way; and that, according to the law of nature, there must come a time when the highest point will be reached, and then will come the beginning of the downward path, which in time must come to an end, being succeeded by a long period of inactivity, which will then be followed by the beginning of a new period of creative activity and evolution--"a day of brahm." this thought of this law of rhythm, in its universal form, has been entertained by the thinkers of all times and races. herbert spencer expressly held to it in his "first principles," expressing it in many ways akin to this: "evolution must come to a close in complete equilibrium or rest;" and again, "it is not inferable from the general progress towards equilibrium, that a state of universal quiescence or death will be reached; but that if a process of reasoning ends in that conclusion, a further process of reasoning points to renewals of activity and life;" and again, "rhythm in the totality of changes--alternate eras of evolution and dissolution." the ancient western philosophers also indulged in this idea. heraclitus taught that the universe manifested itself in cycles, and the stoics taught that "the world moves in an endless cycle, through the same stages." the followers of pythagoras went even further, and claimed that "the succeeding worlds resemble each other, down to the minutest detail," this latter idea, however--the idea of the "eternal recurrence"--while held by a number of thinkers, is not held by the yogi teachers, who teach infinite progression--an evolution of evolution, as it were. the yogi teachings, in this last mentioned particular, are resembled more by the line of lotze's thinking, as expressed in this sentence from his _micro-cosmos:_ "the series of cosmic periods, ... each link of which is bound together with every other; ... the successive order of these sections shall compose the unity of an onward-advancing melody." and, so through the pages of heraclitus, the stoics, the pythagoreans, empedocles, virgil, down to the present time, in nietzsche, and his followers, we find this thought of universal rhythm--that fundamental conception of the ancient yogi philosophy. and, now, returning to the main path of our thought--let us stand here at the beginning of the dawn of a day of brahm. it is verily a beginning, for there is nothing to be seen--there is nothing but space. no trace of matter, force or mind, as we know these terms. in that portion of infinite space--that is, of course, in that "portion" of the infinite mind of the absolute one, for even space is a "conception" of that mind, there is "nothing." this is "the darkest moment, just before the dawn." then comes the breaking of the dawn of the brahmic day. the absolute begins the "creation" of a universe. and, how does it create? there can be no creation of something out of nothing. and except the absolute itself there is but nothing. therefore the absolute must create the universe out of its own "substance," if we can use the word "substance" in this connection. "substance" means, literally, "that which stands under," being derived from the two latin words, _sub_, meaning "under," and _stare_, meaning "to stand." the english word "understand" means, literally, "to stand under"--the two words really meaning the same. this is more than a coincidence. so the absolute must create the universe from its own substance, we have seen. well, what is this "substance" of the absolute? is it matter? no! for matter we know to be, in itself, merely a manifestation of force, or energy. then, is it force or energy? no! because force and energy, in itself, cannot possess mind, and we must think of the absolute as possessing mind, for it manifests mind, and what is manifested must be in the manifestor, or manifesting agent. then this "substance" must be mind? well, yes, in a way--and yet not mind as we know it, finite and imperfect. but something like mind, only infinite in degree and nature--something sufficiently greater than mind as we know it, to admit of it being the cause of mind. but, we are compelled to think of it as "infinite mind," for our finite minds can hold no higher conception. so we are content to say that this "substance" from which the absolute must create the universe is a something that we will call infinite mind. fix this in your mind, please, as the first step in our conception. but, how can the infinite mind be used to create finite minds, shapes, forms, and things, without it being lessened in quantity--how can you take something from something, and still have the original something left? an impossibility! and, we cannot think of the absolute as "dividing itself up" into two or more portions--for if such were the case, there would be two or more absolutes, or else none. there cannot be two absolutes, for if the absolute were to divide itself so there would be no absolute, but only two relatives--two finites instead of one infinite. do you see the absurdity? then how can this work of creation be accomplished, in view of these difficulties which are apparent even to our finite minds? you may thresh this question over and over again in your minds--men have done so in all times--and you will not find the answer except in the fundamental idea of the yogi teachings. and this fundamental idea is that the creation is purely a mental creation, and the universe is the mental image, or thought-form, in the mind of the absolute--in the infinite mind, itself. no other "creation" is possible. and so this, say the yogi masters, this is the secret of universal creation. the universe is _of_, and _in_, the infinite mind, and this is the only way it could be so. so, fix in your mind this second step in our conception. but then, you ask us, from whence comes force, matter, and finite mind? well asked, good student--your answer shall be forthcoming. here it is. finite mind; force or energy; and matter; in themselves have no existence. they are merely mental images, or thought-forms in the infinite mind of the absolute. their whole existence and appearance depends upon their mental conception and retention in the infinite mind. in it they have their birth, rise, growth, decline and death. then what is real about me, you may ask--surely i have a vivid consciousness of reality--is this merely an illusion, or shadow? no, not so! that sense of reality which you possess and which every creature or thing possesses--that sense of "i am"--is the perception by the mental image of the reality of its essence--and that essence is the spirit. and that spirit is the substance of the absolute embodied in its conception, the mental image. it is the perception by the finite, of its infinite essence. or, the perception by the relative of its absolute essence. or, the perception by you, or i, or any other man or woman, of the real self, which underlies all the sham self or personality. it is the reflection of the sun, in the dew-drop, and thousands of dew-drops--seemingly thousands of suns, and yet but one. and yet, that reflection of the sun in the dewdrop is more than a "reflection," for it is the substance of the sun itself--and yet the sun shines on high, one and undivided, yet manifesting in millions of dew-drops. it is only by figures of speech that we can speak of the unspeakable reality. to make it perhaps plainer to some of you, let us remind you that even in your finite mental images there is evident many forms of life. you may think of a moving army of thousands of men. and yet the only "i" in these men is your own "i." these characters in your mind move and live and have their being, and yet there is nothing in them except "you!" the characters of shakespeare, dickens, thackeray, balzac, and the rest, were such strong mental images that not only their creators were carried away by their power, and apparent ability, but even you who read of them, many years after, perhaps, feel the apparent reality, and weep, or smile, or grow angry over their actions. and, yet there was no hamlet, outside of shakespeare's mind; no micawber outside of dickens; no pere goriot outside of balzac. these illustrations are but finite examples of the infinite, but still they will give you an idea of the truth that we are trying to unfold in your mind. but you must not imagine that you and i, and all others, and things, are but mere "imaginations," like _our_ created characters--that would be a most unhappy belief. the mental creations held by you and i, and other finite minds, are but _finite creations of finite minds_, while we, ourselves, are the finite creations of an infinite mind. while our, and dickens', and balzac's, and shakespeare's creations live and move and have their being, they have no other "i" than our finite minds, while we, the characters in the divine drama, story, or epic, have for our "i"--our real self--the absolute reality. they have merely a background of our finite personalities, and minds, before which they may desport themselves. until, alas! the very background fades away to dust, and both background and shadows disappear. but, we have behind our personalities the eternal background of reality, which changeth not, neither doth it disappear. shadows on a screen though our personalities may be, yet the screen is real and eternal. take away the finite screen and the shadows disappear--but our screen remains forever. we _are_ mental images in the infinite mind--the infinite mind holds us safe--we cannot be lost--we cannot be hurt--we can never disappear, unless we be absorbed in the infinite mind itself, and then we still are! the infinite mind never forgets--it never can overlook us--it is aware of our presence, and being, always. we are safe--we are secure--we are! just as we could not be created from nothing--so we cannot be converted into nothing. we are in the all--and there is no outside. at the dawn of the brahmic day, the absolute begins the creation of a new universe, or the recreation of one, just as you may care to state it. the highest yogi teachings inform us that the information relating to this event (which is, of course, beyond the personal knowledge of man as we know him) has been passed down to the race from teachers, who have received it from still higher teachers, and so on, and on and on, higher and higher, until it is believed to have originated with some of those wonderfully developed souls which have visited the earth from higher planes of being, of which there are many. in these lessons we are making no claims of this sort, but pass on the teachings to you, believing that their truth will appeal to those who are ready for them, without any attempt to attribute to them an authority such as just mentioned. our reference to this high source of the teachings was made because of its general acceptance in the eastern countries, and by occultists generally. the yogi teachings inform us that, in the beginning, the absolute formed a mental image, or thought-form, of an universal mind--that is, of an universal principle of mind. and here the distinction is made between this universal mind principle, or universal mind-stuff, as some have called it, and the infinite mind itself. the infinite mind is something infinitely above this creation of the universal mind principle, the latter being as much an "emanation" as is matter. let there be no mistake about this. the infinite mind is spirit--the universal mind principle is "mind-stuff" of which all finite mind is a part. this universal mind principle was the first conception of the absolute, in the process of the creation of the universe. it was the "stuff" from which all finite mind forms, and is formed. it is the universal mental energy. know it as such--but do not confound it with spirit, which we have called infinite mind, because we had no other term. there is a subtle difference here, which is most important to a careful understanding of the subject. the yogi teachings inform us that from this mental principle there was developed the universal principle of force or energy. and that from this universal force principle there developed the universal principle of matter. the sanscrit terms for these three principles are as follows: _chitta_, or the universal mind substance, or principle; _prana_, or the universal energy principle; and _akasa_, or the universal principle of matter. we have spoken of these three principles, or three great manifestations, in our "advanced course" of lessons, which followed our "fourteen lessons," several years ago, but it becomes necessary for us to refer to them again at this place in connection with the present presentation of the subject. as was stated in the lessons just mentioned, these three manifestations, or principles, are really one, and shade into each other. this matter has been fully touched upon in the concluding lessons of the aforesaid "advanced course," to which we must refer you for further details, in order to avoid repetition here. you will find a wonderful correspondence between these centuries-old yogi teachings, and the latest conceptions of modern science. well, to return to the main path once more, the teachings inform us that the absolute "thought" into being--that is, held the mental image, or thought-form, of--_chitta_, or universal mind principle. this _chitta_ was finite, of course, and was bound and governed by the laws of finite mind, imposed upon it by the will of the absolute. everything that is finite is governed by laws imposed by the great law which we call the absolute. then began the great involution which was necessary before evolution was possible. the word "involve," you know, means "to wrap up; to cover; to hide; etc.;" and the word "evolve" means "to unwrap; to unfold; to un-roll; etc." before a thing can be "evolved," or "unfolded," it must first have been "involved" or "folded-in, or wrapped up, etc." everything must be "involved" before it can be "evolved;" remember this, please--it is true on all planes, mental, physical, and spiritual. a thing must be "put in" before it may be "taken out." this truth, if remembered and applied to metaphysical problems, will throw the clearest light upon the darkest problems. make it your own. therefore before the process of evolution from the gross forms of matter up to the higher, and then on to the mental, from higher to higher, and then on the spiritual plane--that evolution which we see being performed before our sight today--before that evolution became possible there was a necessary involution, or "wrapping-up." the spirit of the absolute first "involved" itself in its mental image; thought-form, or creation, of the mind principle, just as you may "involve" yourself in an earnest thought in deep meditation. did you never "lose yourself" in thought, or "forget yourself" in an idea? have you not spoken of yourself as having been "wrapped in thought?" well, then you can see something of what is here meant, at least so far as the process of "involution" is concerned. you involve yourself in your meditations--the absolute involves itself in its mental creations--but, remember the one is finite, and the other infinite, and the results are correspondingly weak or strong. obeying the laws imposed upon it, the mental principle then involved itself in the energy principle, or _prana_, and the universal energy sprang into existence. then, in obedience to the same laws, the _prana_ involved itself in the _akasa_, or universal matter principle. of course each "involving" practically "created" the "wrapper," "sheath" of the lower principle. do you see this? each, therefore, depends upon the principle higher than itself, which becomes its "parent principle," as the yogis express it. and in this process of involution the extreme form of matter was reached before the process of evolution became possible. the extreme form of gross matter is not known to us today, on this planet, for we have passed beyond it. but the teachings inform us that such forms were as much grosser that the grossest matter that we know today, as the latter is gross in comparison with the most ethereal vapors known to modern science. the human mind cannot grasp this extreme of the scale, any more than it can the extreme high degree of manifestation. at this point we must call your attention to certain occult teachings, widely disseminated, which the highest yogi teachers discountenance, and contradict. we allude to the teaching that in the process of involution there was a "degeneration" or "devolution" from higher to lower forms of life, until the gross state of matter was reached. such a teaching is horrible, when considered in detail. it would mean that the absolute deliberately created high forms of life, arch-angels, and higher than these--gods in fact--and then caused them to "devolve" until the lowest state was reached. this would mean the exact opposite of evolution, and would mean a "going down" in accordance with the divine will, just as evolution is a "going up" in accordance with the divine will. this is contrary to man's best instincts, and the advanced yogi teachings inform us that it is but an illusion or error that men have created by endeavoring to solve spiritual mysteries by purely intellectual processes. the true teaching is that the process of involution was accomplished by a principle involving itself in the lower principle created within itself, and so on until the lowest plane was reached. note the difference--"principles as principles" did this, and not as individual forms of life or being. there was no more a "devolution" in this process than there was in the absolute involving itself in the mental image of the mind principle. there was no "devolution" or "going down"--only an "involution" or "wrapping up," of principle, within principle--the individual life not having as yet appeared, and not being possible of appearance until the evolutionary process began. we trust that we have made this point clear to you, for it is an important matter. if the absolute first made higher beings, and then caused them to "devolute" into lower and lower forms, then the whole process would be a cruel, purposeless thing, worthy only of some of the base conceptions of deity conceived of by men in their ignorance. no! the whole effort of the divine will seems to be in the direction of "raising up" individual egos to higher and still higher forms. and in order to produce such egos the process of "involution" of principles seems to have been caused, and the subsequent wonderful evolutionary process instituted. what that "reason" is, is unknowable, as we have said over and over again. we cannot pry into the infinite mind of the absolute, but we may form certain conclusions by observing and studying the laws of the universe, which seem to be moving in certain directions. from the manifested will of the divine one, we may at least hazard an idea as to its purposes. and these purposes seem to be always in an "upward" lifting and evolution. even the coming of the "night of brahm" is no exception to this statement, as we shall see in future lessons. from the starting of the process of involution from the mental principle, down to the extreme downward point of the grossest manifestation of matter, there were many stages. from the highest degree of the finite mind, down to lower and still lower degrees; then on to the plane of force and energy, from higher to lower degrees of principle within principle; then on to the plane of matter, the involutionary urge proceeded to work. when the plane of matter was reached, it, of course, showed its highest degree of manifested matter--the most subtle form of ether, or _akasa_. then down, down, down, went the degrees of matter, until the grossest possible form was reached, and then there was a moment's pause, before the evolutionary process, or upward-movement, began. the impulse of the original will, or thought, had exhausted its downward urge, and now began the upward urge or tendency. but here was manifested a new feature. this new feature was "the tendency toward individualization." during the downward trend the movement was _en masse_, that is, by principle as _principle_, without any "splitting up" into portions, or centers. but with the first upward movement there was evidenced a tendency toward creating centers of energy, or units of activity, which then manifested itself, as the evolutionary movement continued, from electrons to atoms; from atoms to man. the gross matter was used as material for the formation of finer and more complex forms; and these in turn combined, and formed higher, and so on, and on. and the forms of energy operated in the same way. and the manifestations of centers of mind or consciousness in the same way. but all in connection. matter, energy and mind formed a trinity of principles, and worked in connection. and the work was always in the direction of causing higher and higher "forms" to arise--higher and higher units--higher and higher centers. but in every form, center or unit, there was manifested the three principles, mind, energy, and matter. and within each was the ever present spirit. for spirit _must_ be in all--just as all must be in spirit. and, so this evolutionary process has continued ever since, and must continue for aeons yet. the absolute is raising itself up into itself higher and higher egos, and is providing them with higher and higher sheaths in which to manifest. and, as we shall see in these lessons, as we progress, this evolution is not only along the physical lines, but also along the mental. and it concerns itself not only with "bodies," but with "souls," which also evolve, from time to time, and bodies are given these souls in order that they may work out their evolution. and the whole end and aim of it all seems to be that egos may reach the stage where they are conscious of the real self--of the spirit within them, and its relation to the spirit of the absolute, and then go on and on and on, to planes of life and being, and activities of which even the most advanced of the race may only dream. as some of the ancient yogi teachers have said: "men are evolving into super-men; and super-men into gods; and gods into super-gods; and super-gods into something still higher; until from the lowest bit of matter enclosing life, unto the highest being--yea, even unto the absolute--there is an infinite ladder of being--and yet the one spirit pervades all; is in all, as the all is in it." the creative will, of which we have spoken in these lessons, is in full operation all through life. the natural laws are laws of life imposed by the absolute in his mental image. they are the natural laws of this universe, just as other universes have other laws. but the absolute itself has no laws affecting it--it, in itself _is_ law. and these laws of life, and nature, along its varying planes, material, of energy; and mental; are also, in the divine mind, else they would not be at all, even in appearance. and when they are transcended, or apparently defied by some man of advanced development, it is only because such a man is able to rise above the plane upon which such laws are operative. but even this transcending is, in itself, in accordance with some higher law. and so, we see that all, high and low--good and bad--simple or complex--all are contained within the mind of the one. gods, angels, adepts, sages, heavens, planes,--all, everything--is within the universe, and the universe is within the mind of the one. and all is proceeding in accordance with law. and all is moving upward and onward, along the lines of evolution. all is well. we are held firmly in the mind of the one. and, just as the tendency was from the general principle toward the particular individual soul, so is there a reconciliation later on, for the individual soul, as it develops and unfolds, loses its sense of separateness, and begins to feel its identity with the one spirit, and moves along the lines of unfoldment, until it becomes in conscious union with god. spiritual evolution does not mean the "growth of the spirit," for the spirit cannot grow--it is already perfect. the term means the unfoldment of the individual mind, until it can recognize the spirit within. let us close this lesson with the central thought. there is but one. that one is spirit. in the infinite mind of that one spirit there arose the mental image or thought-form of this universe. beginning with the thought of the principle in mind; and passing on to the principle of energy; and then on to the principle of matter; proceeded the involutionary process of creation. then, upward began the evolutionary process, and individual centers or units were formed. and the tendency, and evolutionary urge is ever in the direction of "unfolding" within the ego of the realization of the indwelling spirit. as we throw off sheath after sheath, we approach nearer and nearer to the spirit within us, which is the one spirit pervading all things. this is the meaning of life--the secret of evolution. all the universe is contained within the mind of the one. there is nothing outside of that infinite mind. there is no outside, for the one is all in all; space, time, and laws, being but mental images in that mind, as are likewise all shapes and forms, and phenomena. and as the ego unfolds into a realization of itself--its real self--so does its wisdom and power expand. it thus enters into a greater and greater degree of its inheritance. within the mind of the one, is all there is. and i, and thou, and all things are here within that infinite mind. we are always "held in mind" by the absolute--are always safe here. there is nothing to harm us, in reality, for our real self is the real self of the infinite mind. all is within the mind of the one. even the tiniest atom is under the law, and protected by the law. and the law is all there is. and in that law we may rest content and unafraid. may this realization be yours. peace be with you all. the seventh lesson cosmic evolution. we have now reached a most interesting point in this course of lessons, and a period of fascinating study lies before us from now until the close of the course. we have acquainted ourselves with the fundamental principles, and will now proceed to witness these principles in active operation. we have studied the yogi teachings concerning the truth underlying all things, and shall now pass on to a consideration of the process of cosmic evolution; the cyclic laws; the law of spiritual evolution, or reincarnation; the law of spiritual cause and effect, or _karma_; etc. in this lesson we begin the story of the upward progress of the universe, and its forms, shapes, and forces, from the point of the "moment's pause" following the ceasing of the process of involution--the point at which cosmic evolution begins. our progress is now steadily upward, so far as the evolution of individual centres is concerned. we shall see the principles returning to the principle--the centres returning to the great centre from which they emanated during the process of involution. we shall study the long, gradual, but steady ascent of man, in his journey toward god-hood. we shall see the building of an universe, and the growth of the soul. in our last lesson we have seen that at the dawn of a brahmic day, the absolute begins the creation of a new universe. the teachings inform us that in the beginning, the absolute forms a mental image, or thought-form of an universal mind principle, or universal mind-stuff, as some of the teachers express it. then this universal mind principle creates within itself the universal energy principle. then this universal energy principle creates within itself the universal matter principle. thus, energy is a product of mind; and matter a product of energy. the teachings then further inform us that from the rare, tenuous, subtle form of matter in which the universal matter principle first appeared, there was produced forms of matter less rare; and so by easy stages, and degrees, there appeared grosser and still grosser forms of matter, until finally there could be no further involution into grosser forms, and the involutionary process ceased. then ensued the "moment's pause" of which the yogi teachers tell us. at that point matter existed as much grosser that the grossest form of matter now known to us, as the latter is when compared to the most subtle vapors known to science. it is impossible to describe these lower forms of matter, for they have ages since disappeared from view, and we would have no words with which to describe them. we can understand the situation only by comparisons similar to the above. succeeding the moment's pause, there began the evolutionary process, or cosmic evolution, which has gone on ever since, and which will go on for ages to come. from the grossest forms of matter there evolved forms a little more refined, and so on and on. from the simple elementarv forms, evolved more complex and intricate forms. and from these forms combinations began to be formed. and the urge was ever upward. but remember this, that all of this evolutionary process is but a returning home. it is the ascent after the descent. it is not a creation but an unfoldment. the descent was made by principles as principles--the ascent is being made by individualized centres evolved from the principles. matter manifests finer and finer forms, and exhibits a greater and greater subservience to energy or force. and energy or force shows a greater and greater degree of "mind" in it. but, remember this, that there is mind in even the grossest form of matter. this must be so, for what springs from a thing must contain the elements of its cause. and the cosmic evolution continues, and must continue for aeons of time. higher and higher forms of mind are being manifested, and still higher and higher forms will appear in the scale, as the process continues. the evolution is not only along material lines, but has passed on to the mental planes, and is now operating along the spiritual lines as well. and the end, and aim seems to be that each ego, after the experiences of many lives, may unfold and develop to a point where it may become conscious of its real self, and realize its identity with the one life, and the spirit. at this point we may be confronted with the objection of the student of material science, who will ask why we begin our consideration of cosmic evolution at a point in which matter has reached the limit of its lowest vibrations, manifesting in the grossest possible form of matter. these students may point to the fact that science begins its consideration of evolution with the _nebulae_, or faint cloudlike, vaporous matter, from which the planets were formed. but there is only an apparent contradiction here. the _nebulae_ were part of the process of involution, and science is right when it holds that the gross forms were produced from the finer. but the process of change from finer to grosser was _involution_, not evolution. do you see the difference? evolution begins at the point when the stage of unfoldment commenced. when the gross forms begin to yield to the new upward urge, and unfold into finer forms--then begins evolution. we shall pass over the period of evolution in which matter was evolving into finer and still finer forms, until at last it reached a degree of vibration capable of supporting that which we call "life." of course there is "life" in all matter--even in the atom, as we have shown in previous lessons. but when we speak of "life," as we now do, we mean what are generally called "living forms." the yogi teachings inform us that the lowest forms of what we call "life" were evolved from forms of high crystal life, which indeed they very much resemble. we have spoken of this resemblance, in the previous lessons of this series. and, so we shall begin at the point where "living forms" began. speaking now of our own planet, the earth, we find matter emerging from the molten state in which it manifested for ages. gradually cooling and stratifying, the earth contained none of those forms that we call living forms. the temperature of the earth in that period is estimated at about , times hotter than boiling water, which would, of course, render impossible the existence of any of the present known forms of life. but the yogi teachings inform us that even in the molten mass there were elementary forms that were to become the ancestral forms of the later living forms. these elementary forms were composed of a vaporous, peculiar form of matter, of minute size,--little more than the atoms, in fact, and yet, just a little more advanced. from these elementary forms, there gradually evolved, as the earth cooled and solidified, other forms, and so on until at last the first "living form" manifested. as the globe cooled at the poles, there was gradually created a tropical climate, in which the temperature was sufficiently cool to support certain rudimentary forms of life. in the rocks in the far northern latitudes, there are found abundant traces of fossils, which goes to prove the correctness of the yogi teachings of the origin of life at the north pole, from which the living forms gradually spread south toward the equator, as the earth's surface cooled. the elementary evolving life forms were of a very simple structure, and were but a degree above the crystals. they were composed of identically the same substance as the crystals, _the only difference being that they displayed a greater degree of mind_. for that matter, even the highest physical form known to us today is composed of simple chemical materials. and these chemical materials are obtained, either directly or indirectly, from the air, water, or earth. the principal materials composing the physical bodies of plants, animals, and man, are oxygen, carbon, hydrogen, nitrogen, with a still smaller proportion of sulphur and phosphorus, and traces of a few other elements. the material part of all living things is alike--the difference lies in the degree of mind controlling the matter in which it is embodied. of these physical materials, carbon is the most important to the living forms. it seems to possess properties capable of drawing to it the other elements, and forcing them into service. from carbon proceeds what is called "protoplasm," the material of which the cells of animal and vegetable life is composed. from protoplasm the almost infinite varieties of living forms have been built up by the process of evolution, working gradually and by easy stages. every living form is made up, or composed, of a multitude of single cells, and their combinations. and every form originates in a single cell which rapidly multiplies and reproduces itself until the form of the amoeba; the plant; the animal; the man, is completed. all living forms are but a single cell multiplied. and every cell is composed of protoplasm. therefore we must look for the beginning of life in the grade of matter called protoplasm. in this both modern science and the yogi teachings agree fully. in investigating protoplasm we are made to realize the wonderful qualities of its principal constituent--carbon. carbon is the wonder worker of the elements. manifesting in various forms, as the diamond, graphite, coal, protoplasm--is it not entitled to respect? the yogi teachings inform vis that in carbon we have that form of matter which was evolved as the physical basis of life. if any of you doubt that inorganic matter may be transformed into living forms, let us refer you to the plant life, in which you may see the plants building up cells every day from the inorganic, chemical or mineral substances, in the earth, air, and water. nature performs every day the miracle of transforming chemicals and minerals into living plant cells. and when animal or man eats these plant cells, so produced, they become transformed into animal cells of which the body is built up. what it took nature ages to do in the beginning, is now performed in a few hours, or minutes. the yogi teachings, again on all-fours with modern science, inform us that living forms had their beginning in water. in the slimy bed of the polar seas the simple cell-forms appeared, having their origin in the transitional stages before mentioned. the first living forms were a lowly form of plant life, consisting of a single cell. from these forms were evolved forms composed of groups of cells, and so proceeded the work of evolution, from the lower form to the higher, ever in an upward path. as we have said, the single cell is the physical centre, or parent, of every living form. it contains what is known as the _nucleus_, or kernel, which seems to be more highly organized than the rest of the material of the cell--it may be considered as the "brain" of the cell, if you wish to use your imagination a little. the single cell reproduces itself by growth and division, or separation. each cell manifests the functions of life, whether it be a single-celled creature, or a cell which with billions of others, goes to make up a higher form. it feels, feeds, grows, and reproduces itself. in the single-celled creature, the one cell performs all of the functions, of course. but as the forms become more complex, the many cells composing a form perform certain functions which are allotted to it, the division of labor resulting in a higher manifestation. this is true not only in the case of animal forms, but also in the case of plant forms. the cells in the bone, muscle, nerve-tissue and blood of the animal differ according to their offices; and the same is true in the cells in the sap, stem, root, leaf, seed and flower of the plant. as we have said, the cells multiply by division, after a period of growth. the cell grows by material taken into its substance, as food. when sufficient food has been partaken, and enough new material accumulated to cause the cell to attain a certain size, then it divides, or separates into two cells, the division being equal, and the point of cleavage being at the kernel or nucleus. as the two parts separate, the protoplasm _of_ each groups itself around its nucleus, and two living forms exist where there was but one a moment before. and then each of the two cells proceed to grow rapidly, and then separate, and so on to the end, each cell multiplying into millions, as time passes. ascending in the scale, we next find the living forms composed of cell-groups. these cell-groups are formed by single cells dividing, and then subdividing, but instead of passing on their way they group themselves in clusters, or masses. there are millions of forms of these cell-group creatures, among which we find the sponges, polyps, etc. in the early forms of life it is difficult to distinguish between the animal and the plant forms, in fact the early forms partake of the qualities of both. but as we advance in the scale a little there is seen a decided "branching out," and one large branch is formed of the evolving plant forms, and the other of the evolving animal forms. the plant-branch begins with the sea-weeds, and passes on to the fungi, lichens, mosses, ferns, pines and palm-ferns, grasses, etc., then to the trees, shrubs and herbs. the animal-branch begins with the _monera_, or single-cell forms, which are little more than a drop of sticky, glue-like protoplasm. then it passes on to the _amoebae_, which begins to show a slight difference in its parts. then on the _foraminifera_, which secretes a shell of lime from the water. then on a step higher to the _polycystina_, which secretes a shell, or skeleton of flint-like material from the water. then come the sponges. then the coral-animals, anemones and jelly-fish. then come the sea-lilies, star-fish, etc. then the various families of worms. then the crabs, spiders, centipedes, insects. then come the mollusca, which include the oysters, clams and other shell-fish; snails, cuttle-fish, sea-squirts, etc. all of the above families of animal-forms are what are known as "invertebrates," that is, without a backbone. then we come to the "vertebrates," or animals having a backbone. first we see the fish family with its thousands of forms. then come the amphibia, which include the toads, frogs, etc. then come the reptiles, which include the serpents, lizards, crocodiles, turtles, etc. then come the great family of birds, with its wonderful variety of forms, sizes, and characteristics. then come the mammals, the name of which comes from the latin word meaning "the breast," the characteristic of which group comes from the fact that they nourish their young by milk, or similar fluid, secreted by the mother. the mammals are the highest form of the vertebrates. first among the mammals we find the aplacentals, or those which bring forth immature young, which are grouped into two divisions, _i.e_., ( ) the _monotremes_, or one-vented animals, in which group belong the duck-bills, spiny ant-eaters, etc.; and ( ) the _marsupials_, or pouched animals, in which group belong the kangaroo, opossum, etc. the next highest form among the mammals are known as the _placentals_, or those which bring forth mature young. in this class are found the ant-eaters, sloth, manatee, the whale and porpoise, the horse, cow, sheep, and other hoofed animals; the elephant, seal, the dog, wolf, lion, tiger, and all flesh eating animals; the hares, rats, mice, and ail other gnawing animals; the bats, moles, and other insect-feeders; then come the great family of apes, from the small monkeys up to the orang-outang, chimpanzee, and other forms nearly approaching man. and then comes the highest, man, from the kaffir, bush-man, cave-man, and digger indian, up through the many stages until the highest forms of our own race are reached. from the monera to man is a long path, containing many stages, but it is a path including all the intermediate forms. the yogi teachings hold to the theory of evolution, as maintained by modern science, but it goes still further, for it holds not only that the physical forms are subject to the evolutionary process, but that also the "souls" embodied in these forms are subject to the evolutionary process. in other words the yogi teachings hold that there is a twin-process of evolution under way, the main object of which is to develop "souls," but which also finds it necessary to evolve higher and higher forms of physical bodies for these constantly advancing souls to occupy. let us take a hasty glance at the ascending forms of animal life, as they rise in the evolutionary scale. by so doing we can witness the growth of the soul, within them, as manifested by the higher and higher physical forms which are used as channels of expression by the souls within. let us first study soul-evolution from the outer viewpoint, before we proceed to examine it from the inner. by so doing we will have a fuller idea of the process than if we ignored the outer and proceed at once to the inner. despise not the outer form, for it has always been, and is now, the temple of the soul, which the latter is remodelling and rebuilding in order to accommodate its constantly increasing needs and demands. let us begin with the _protozoa_, or one-celled forms--the lowest form of animal life. the lowest form of this lowest class is that remarkable creature that we have mentioned in previous lessons--the _moneron_. this creature lives in water, the natural element in which organic life is believed to have had its beginning. it is a very tiny, shapeless, colorless, slimy, sticky mass--something like a tiny drop of glue--alike all over and in its mass, and without organs or parts of any kind. some have claimed that below the field of the microscope there may be something like elementary organs in the moneron, but so far as the human eye may discover there is no evidence of anything of the kind. it has no organs or parts with which to perform particular functions, as is the case with the higher forms of life. these functions, as you know, may be classed into three groups, _i.e._, nutrition, reproduction, and relation--that is, the function of feeding, the function of reproducing its kind, and the function of receiving and responding to the impressions of the outside world. all of these three classes of functions the moneron performs--but _with any part of its body, or with all of it_. every part, or the whole, of the moneron absorbs food and oxygen--it is all mouth and lungs. every part, or the whole, digests the food--it is all stomach. every part, or the whole, performs the reproductive function--it is all reproductive organism. every part of it senses the impressions from outside, and responds to it--it is all organs of sense, and organs of motion. it envelops its prey as a drop of glue surrounds a particle of sand, and then absorbs the substance of the prey into its own substance. it moves by prolonging any part of itself outward in a sort of tail-like appendage, which it uses as a "foot," or "finger" with which to propel itself; draw itself to, or push itself away from an object. this prolongation is called a _pseudopod_, or "false-foot." when it gets through using the "false-foot" for the particular purpose, it simply draws back into itself that portion which had been protruded for the purpose. it performs the functions of digestion, assimilation, elimination, etc., perfectly, just as the higher forms of life--but it has no organs for the functions, and performs them severally, and collectively with any, or all parts of its body. what the higher animals perform with intricate organs and parts--heart, stomach, lungs, liver, kidneys, etc., etc.--this tiny creature performs _without organs_, and with its entire body, or any part thereof. the function of reproduction is startlingly simple in the case of the moneron. it simply divides itself in two parts, and that is all there is to it. there is no male or female sex in its case--it combines both within itself. the reproductive process is even far more simple than the "budding" of plants. you may turn one of these wonderful creatures inside out, and still it goes on the even tenor of its way, in no manner disturbed or affected. it is simply a "living drop of glue," which eats, digests, receives impressions and responds thereto, and reproduces itself. this tiny glue-drop performs virtually the same life functions as do the higher complex forms of living things. which is the greater "miracle"--the moneron or man? a slight step upward from the moneron brings us to the _amoeba_. the name of this new creature is derived from the greek word meaning "change," and has been bestowed because the creature is constantly changing its shape. this continual change of shape is caused by a continuous prolongation and drawing-in of its pseudopods, or "false-feet," which also gives the creature the appearance of a "many-fingered" organism. this creature shows the first step toward "parts," for it has something like a membrane or "skin" at its surface, and a "nucleus" at its centre, and also an expanding and contracting cavity within its substance, which it uses for holding, digesting and distributing its food, and also for storing and distributing its oxygen--an elementary combination of stomach and lungs! so you see that the amoeba has taken a step upward from the moneron, and is beginning to appreciate the convenience of parts and organs. it is interesting to note, in this connection, that while the ordinary cells of the higher animal body resemble the _monera_ in many ways, still the white corpuscles in the blood of man and the animals bear a startling resemblance to the _amoebae_ so far as regards size, general structure, and movements, and are in fact known to science as "amoeboids." the white corpuscles change their shape, take in food in an intelligent manner, and live a comparatively independent life, their movements showing independent "thought" and "will." some of the amoebae (the diatoms, for instance) secrete solid matter from the water, and build therefrom shells or houses, which serve to protect them from their enemies. these shells are full of tiny holes, through which the pseudopods are extended in their search for food, and for purposes of movement. some of these shells are composed of secreted lime, and others of a flinty substance, the "selection" of these substances from the ether mineral particles in the water, evidencing a degree cf "thought," and mind, even in these lowly creatures. the skeletons of these tiny creatures form vast deposits of chalk and similar substances. next higher in the scale are the _infusoria_. these creatures differ from the amoebae inasmuch as instead of pseudopods, they have developed tiny vibrating filaments, or thread-like appendages, which are used for drawing in their prey and for moving about. these filaments are permanent, and are not temporary like the pseudopods of the monera or amoebae--they are the _first signs of permanent hands and feet_. these creatures have also discovered the possibilities of organs and parts, to a still greater degree than have their cousins the amoebae, and have evolved something like a mouth-opening (very rudimentary) and also a short gullet through which they pass their food and oxygen--_they have developed the first signs of a throat, wind-pipe and food-passage_. next come the family of sponges, the soft skeletons of which form the useful article of everyday use. there are many forms who weave a home of far more delicacy and beauty than their more familiar and homely brothers. the sponge creature itself is a slimy, soft creature, which fills in the spaces in its spongy skeleton. it is fastened to one spot, and gathers in its food from the water around it (and oxygen as well), by means of numerous whip-like filaments called _cilia_, which flash through the water driving in the food and oxygen to the inner positions of its body. the water thus drawn in, as well as the refuse from the food, is then driven out in the same manner. it is interesting to note that in the organisms of the higher animals, including man, there are numerous _cilia_ performing offices in connection with nutrition, etc. when nature perfects an instrument, it is very apt to retain it, even in the higher forms, although in the latter its importance may be dwarfed by higher ones. the next step in the ascending scale of life-forms is occupied by the _polyps_, which are found in water, fastened to floating matter. the polyps fasten themselves to this floating matter, with their mouths downward, from the latter dangling certain tentacles, or thin, long arms. these tentacles contain small thread-like coils in contact with a poisonous fluid, and enclosed in a cell. when the tentacles come in contact with the prey of the creature, or with anything that is sensed as a possible enemy, they contract around the object and the little cells burst and the tiny thread-like coils are released and twist themselves like a loop around the object, poisoning it with the secreted fluid. some of the polyps secrete flint-like tubes, which they inhabit, and from the ends of which they emerge like flowers. from these parent polyps emerge clusters of young, resembling buds. these bud-like young afterwards become what are known as jelly-fishes, etc., which in turn reproduce themselves--but here is a wonder--the jelly-fish lay eggs, which when hatched produce stationary polyps like their grandparent, and not moving creatures like their parents. the jelly-fishes have a comparatively complex organism. they have an intricate system of canal-like passages with which to convey their food and oxygen to the various parts. they also have something like muscles, which contract and enable the creature to "swim." they also possess a "nervous system," and, most wonderful of all, they have _rudimentary eyes and ears_. their tentacles, like those of the parent-polyp, secrete the poisonous fluid which is discharged into prey or enemy. akin to the polyps are the sea-anemones, with their beautiful colors, and still more complex structure and organism, the tentacles of which resemble the petals of a flower. varying slightly from these are the coral-creatures, which form in colonies and the skeletons of which form the coral trees and branches, and other forms, with which we are familiar. passing on to the next highest family of life-forms, we see the spiny-bodied sea-creatures, such as the sea-urchin, star-fish, etc., which possess a thick, hard skin, covered by spines or prickly projections. these creatures abound in numerous species. the star-fish has rays projecting from a common centre, which gives it its name, while the sea-urchin resembles a ball. the sea-lilies, with their stems and flowers (so-called) belong to this family, as do also the sea-cucumbers, whose name is obtained from their shape and general appearance, but which are animals possessing a comparatively complex organism, one of the features of which is a stomach which may be discarded at will and replaced by a new one. these creatures have a well defined nervous system, and have eyes, and some of them even rudimentary eyelids. ascending the scale of life-forms, we next observe the great family of the _annulosa_, or jointed creatures, which comprises the various families of the worm, the crab, the spider, the ant, etc. in this great family are grouped nearly four-fifths of the known life-forms. their bodies are well formed and they have nervous systems running along the body and consisting of two thin threads, knotted at different points into ganglia or masses of nerve cells similar to those possessed by the higher animals. they possess eyes and other sense organs, in some cases highly developed. they possess organs, corresponding to the heart, and have a well-developed digestive apparatus. note this advance in the nutritive organism: the _moneron_ takes its food at any point of its body; the _amoeba_ takes its food by means of its "false-feet," and drives it through its body by a rhythmic movement of its substance; the _polyp_ distributes its food to its various parts by means of the water which it absorbs with the food; the _sea-urchin and star-fish_ distribute their food by canals in their bodies which open directly into the water; in the higher forms of the _annulosa_, the food is distributed by a fluid resembling blood, which carries the nourishment to every part and organ, and which carries away the waste matter, the blood being propelled through the body by a rudimentary heart. the oxygen is distributed by each of these forms in a corresponding way, the higher forms having rudimentary lungs and respiratory organs. step by step the life-forms are perfected, and the organs necessary to perform certain definite functions are evolved from rudimentary to perfected forms. the families of worms are the humblest members of the great family of the annulosa. next come the creatures called rotifers, which are very minute. then come the crustacea, so called from their crustlike shell. this group includes the crabs, lobsters, etc., and closely resembles the insects. in fact, some of the best authorities believe that the insects and the crustacea spring from the same parent form, and some of the yogi authorities hold to this belief, while others do not attempt to pass upon it, deeming it immaterial, inasmuch as all life-forms have a common origin. the western scientists pay great attention to outward details, while the oriental mind is apt to pass over these details as of slight importance, preferring to seek the cause back of the outward form. on one point both the yogi teachers and the scientists absolutely agree, and that is that the family of insect life had its origin in some aquatic creature. both hold that the wings of the insect have been evolved from organs primarily used for breathing purposes by the ancestor when it took short aerial flights, the need for means of flight afterwards acting to develop these rudimentary organs into perfected wings. there need be no more wonder expressed at this change than in the case of the transformation of the insect from grub to chrysalis, and then to insect. in fact this process is a reproduction of the stages through which the life-form passed during the long ages between sea-creature and land-insect. we need not take up much of your time in speaking of the wonderful complex organism of some of the insect family, which are next on the scale above the crustacea. the wonders of spider-life--the almost human life of the ants--the spirit of the beehive--and all the rest of the wonders of insect life are familiar to all of our readers. a study of some good book on the life of the higher forms of the insect family will prove of value to anyone, for it will open his or her eyes to the wonderful manifestation of life and mind among these creatures. remember the remark of darwin, that the brain of the ant, although not much larger than a pin point, "is one of the most marvelous atoms of matter in the world, perhaps more so than the brain of man." closely allied to the crustacea is the sub-family of the _mollusca_, which includes the oyster, clams, and similar creatures; also the snails, cuttle-fish, slugs, nautilus, sea-squirts, etc., etc. some are protected by a hard shell, while others have a gristly outer skin, serving as an armor, while others still are naked. those having shells secrete the material for their construction from the water. some of them are fixed to rocks, etc., while others roam at will. strange as it may appear at first sight, some of the higher forms of the mollusca show signs of a rudimentary vertebra, and science has hazarded the opinion that the sea-squirts and similar creatures were descended from some ancestor from whom also descended the vertebrate animals, of which man is the highest form known today on this planet. we shall mention this connection in our next lesson, where we will take up the story of "the ascent of man" from the lowly vertebrate forms. and now, in closing this lesson, we must remind the reader that we are _not_ teaching evolution as it is conceived by modern science. we are viewing it from the opposite viewpoint of the yogi teaching. modern science teaches that mind is a by-product of the evolving material forms--while the yogi teachings hold that there was mind _involved_ in the lowest form, and that that mind constantly pressing forward for unfoldment _compelled_ the gradual evolution, or unfoldment of the slowly advancing degrees of organization and function. science teaches that "function precedes organization," that is, that a form performs certain functions, imperfectly and crudely, before it evolves the organs suitable for the functioning. for instance the lower forms digested food before they evolved stomachs--the latter coming to meet the need. but the yogi teachings go further and claim that "desire precedes function," that is, that the lowly life form "desires" to have digestive apparatus, in order to proceed in the evolutionary scale, before it begins the functioning that brings about the more complex organism. there is ever the "urge" of the mind which craves unfoldment, and which the creature feels as a dim desire, which grows stronger and stronger as time goes on. some yield more readily to the urge, and such become the parents of possible higher forms. "many are called, but few are chosen," and so matters move along slowly from generation to generation, a few forms serving to carry on the evolutionary urge to their descendants. but is always the evolutionary urge of the imprisoned mind striving to cast aside its sheaths and to have more perfect machinery with which, and through which, to manifest and express itself? this is the difference between the "evolution" of modern science and the "unfoldment" of the yogi teachings. the one is all material, with mind as a mere by-product, while the other is all mind, with matter as a tool and instrument of expression and manifestation. as we have said in this lesson--and as we shall point out to you in detail in future lessons--accompanying this evolution of bodies there is an evolution of "souls" producing the former. this evolution of souls is a basic principle of the yogi teachings, but it is first necessary that you acquaint yourselves with the evolution of bodies and forms, before you may fully grasp the higher teachings. our next lesson will be entitled "the ascent of man," in which the rise of man--that is, his body--from the lowly forms of the vertebrates is shown. in the same lesson we shall begin our consideration of the "evolution of souls." we trust that the students are carefully studying the details of each lesson, for every lesson has its part in the grand whole of the teachings. the eighth lesson the ascent of man. in our last lesson we led you by successive steps from the beginnings of life in living forms up to the creatures closely resembling the family of vertebrates--the highest family of living forms on this planet. in this present lesson we take up the story of the "ascent of man" from the lowly vertebrate forms. the large sub-family of forms called "the vertebrates" are distinguished from the invertebrates by reason of the former possessing an _internal_ bony skeleton, the most important feature of which is the vertebra or spinal column. the vertebrates, be it remembered, possess practically the same organs as the lower forms of life, but differ from them most materially by the possession of the _internal_ skeleton, the lower forms having an _external_ or outside _skeleton_, which latter is merely a hardening of the skin. the flexibility of the vertebra creates a wonderful strength of structure, combined with an ease of movement peculiar to the vertebrates, and which renders them the natural forms of life capable of rapid development and evolution. by means of this strength, and ease, these forms are enabled to move rapidly in pursuit of their prey, and away from their pursuers, and also to resist outside pressure or attack. they are protected in a way similar to the invertebrates having shells, and yet have the additional advantage of easy movement. differing in shape and appearance as do the numerous members of the sub-family of vertebrates, still their structure is easily seen to spring from a single form--all are modifications of some common pattern, the differences arising from the necessities of the life of the animal, as manifested through the desire and necessities of the species. science shows the direct relationship between the vertebrates, and the invertebrates by means of several connecting-links, the most noticeable of which is the lancelot, a creature resembling the fish-form, and yet also closely resembling the lower (invertebrate) forms of life. this creature has no head, and but one eye. it is semi-transparent, and possesses _cilia_ for forcing in the water containing its food. it has something like gills, and a gullet like the lower forms. it has no heart, the blood being circulated by means of contracting vessels or parts. strictly speaking, it has no back-bone, or vertebra, but still science has been compelled to class it among the vertebrates because is has a gristly cartilage where the back-bone is found in the higher forms. this gristle may be called an "elementary spine." it has a nervous system consisting of a single cord which spreads into a broadened end near the creature's mouth, and which may therefore be regarded as "something like a brain." this creature is really a developed form of invertebrate, shaped like a vertebrate, and showing signs of a rudimentary spine and nervous system of the latter. it is a "connecting-link." the lowest forms of the true vertebrates are the great families of fishes. these fish families include fishes of high and low degree, some of the higher forms being as different from the lowest as they (the highest) are different from the reptile family. it is not necessary to go into detail regarding the nature of the fish families, for every student is more or less familiar with them. some peculiar forms of fish show a shading into the reptile family, in fact they seem to belong nearly as much to the latter as to their own general family. some species of fish known as the _dipnoi_ or "double-breathers," have a remarkable dual system of breathing. that is, they have gills for breathing while in the water, and also have a primitive or elementary "lung" in the shape of an air-bladder, or "sound," which they use for breathing on land. the mud-fish of south america, and also other forms in australia and other places, have a modification of fins which are practically "limbs," which they actually use for traveling on land from pond to pond. some of these fish have been known to travel enormous distances in search of new pools of water, or new streams, having been driven from their original homes by droughts, or perhaps by instincts similar to the migrating instinct of birds. eels are _fish_ (although many commonly forget this fact) and many of their species are able to leave the water and travel on land from pond to pond, their breathing being performed by a peculiar modification of the gills. the climbing perch of india are able to live out of water, and have modified gills for breathing purposes, and modified fins for climbing and walking. so you see that without leaving the fish family proper, we have examples of land living creatures which are akin to "connecting links." but there are real "connecting-links"' between the fish and the reptiles. passing over the many queer forms which serve as links between the two families, we have but to consider our common frog's history for a striking example. the tadpole has gills, has no limbs, uses its tail like a fish's fin, eats plants, etc. passing through several interesting stages the tadpole reaches a stage in which it is a frog with a tail--then it sheds its tail and is a full fledged frog, with four legs; web-feet; no tail; and feeding on animals. the frog is amphibious, that is, able to live on land or in water--and yet it is compelled to come to the surface of the water for air to supply its lungs. some of the amphibious animals possess both lungs and gills, even when matured; but the higher vertebrates living in the water breathe through lungs which are evolved from the air-bladder of fishes, which in turn have been evolved from the primitive gullet of the lower forms. there are fishes known which are warm-blooded. students will kindly remember that the whale is not a fish, but an aquatic animal--a mammal, in fact, bringing forth its young alive, and suckling it from its breasts. so we readily see that it is but a step, and a short step at that, between the land-traveling and climbing fishes and the lower forms of reptiles. the frog shows us the process of evolution between the two families, its life history reproducing the gradual evolution which may have required ages to perfect in the case of the species. you will remember that the embryo stages of all creatures reproduce the various stages of evolution through which the species has passed--this is true in man as well as in the frog. we need not tarry long in considering the reptile family of living forms. in its varieties of serpents, lizards, crocodiles, turtles, etc., we have studied and observed its forms. we see the limbless snakes; the lizards with active limbs; the huge, clumsy, slow crocodiles and alligators--the armor-bearing turtles and tortoises--all belonging to the one great family of reptiles, and nearly all of them being degenerate descendants of the mighty reptile forms of the geological age of reptiles, in which flourished the mighty forms of the giant reptiles--the monsters of land and water. amidst the dense vegetation of that pre-historic age, surrounded by the most favorable conditions, these mighty creatures flourished and lived, their fossilized skeleton forms evidencing to us how far their descendants have fallen, owing to less favorable conditions, and the development of other life-forms more in harmony with their changed environment. next comes the great family of birds. the birds ascended from the reptiles. this is the eastern teaching, and this is the teaching of western science it was formerly taught in the text-books that the line of ascent was along the family of winged reptiles which existed in the age of reptiles, in the early days of the earth. but the later writers on the subject, in the western world, have contradicted this. it is now taught that these ancient winged-reptiles were featherless, and more closely resembled the bat family than birds. (you will remember that a bat is neither a reptile nor a bird--it is a mammal, bringing forth its young alive, and suckling them at its breast. the bat is more like a mouse, and its wings are simply membrane stretched between its fingers, its feet, and its tail.) the line of ascent from reptile to bird was along the forms of the reptiles that walked on land. there are close anatomical and physiological relations and correspondences between the two families (reptiles and birds) which we need not refer to here. and, of course, many modifications have occurred since the "branching-out." the scales of the reptiles, and the feathers of the birds, are known to be but modifications of the original outer skin, as are also the hair, claws, hoofs, nails, etc., of all animals. even teeth arose in this way, strange as it may now seem--they are all secreted from the skin. what a wonderful field for thought--this gradual evolution from the filmy outer covering of the lowest living forms to the beautiful feathers, beaks, and claws of the bird! the evolving of wings meant much to the ascending forms of life. the reptiles were compelled to live in a narrow circle of territory, while the birds were able to travel over the earth in wide flights. and travel always develops the faculties of observation, memory, etc., and cultivates the senses of seeing, hearing, etc. and the creature is compelled to exercise its evolving "thinking" faculties to a greater extent. and so the birds were compelled by necessity of their travels to develop a greater degree of thinking organism. the result is that among birds we find many instances of intelligent thought, which cannot be dismissed as "mere instinct." naturalists place the crow at the head of the family of birds, in point of intelligence, and those who have watched these creatures and studied the mental processes, will agree that this is a just decision. it has been proven that crows are capable of counting up to several figures, and in other ways they display a wonderful degree of almost human sagacity. next above the bird family comes the highest form of all--the mammals. but before we begin our consideration of these high forms, let us take a hasty glance at the "connecting-links" between the birds and the mammals. the lowest forms of the mammals resemble birds in many ways. some of them are toothless, and many of them have the same primitive intestinal arrangements possessed by the birds, from which arises their name, _monotremes_. these _monotremes_ may be called half-bird and half-mammal. one of the most characteristic of their family is the _ornithorhynchus_, or duck-bill, which the early naturalists first thought was a fraud of the taxidermists, or bird-stuffers, and then, when finally convinced, deemed it a "freak-of-nature." but it is not a freak creature, but a "connecting-link" between the two great families of creatures. this animal presents a startling appearance to the observer who witnesses it for the first time. it resembles a beaver, having a soft furry coat, but also has a horny, flat bill like a duck, its feet being webbed, but also furnished with claws projecting over the edge of the web-foot. it lays eggs in an underground nest--two eggs at a time, which are like the eggs of birds, inasmuch as they contain not only the protoplasm from which the embryo is formed, but also the "yolk." on which the embryo feeds until hatched. after the young duck-bill is hatched, it feeds from teatless glands in the mother's body, the milk being furnished by the mother by a peculiar process. consider this _miracle_--_an animal which lays eggs and then when her young are hatched nourishes them with milk_. the milk-glands in the mother are elementary "breasts." the above-mentioned animal is found in australia, the land of many strange forms and "connecting-links," which have survived there while in other parts of the globe they have vanished gradually from existence, crowded out by the more perfectly evolved forms. darwin has called these surviving forms "living fossils." in that same land is also found the _echidna_ or spiny ant-eater, which lays an egg and then hatches it in her pouch, after which she nourishes it on milk, in a manner similar to that of the duck-bill. this animal, like the duck-bill, is a monotreme. scientists are divided in theories as to whether the monotremes are actually descended directly from the reptiles or birds, or whether there was a common ancestor from which reptiles and birds and mammals branched off. but this is not important, for the relationship between reptiles, birds and mammals is clearly proven. and the monotremes are certainly one of the surviving forms of the intermediate stages. the next higher step in the ascent of mammal life above the monotreme is occupied by the marsupials, or _milk-giving, pouched animals_, of which family the opossum and kangaroo are well known members. the characteristic feature of this family of creatures is the possession of an external pouch in the female, in which the young are kept and nourished until they can take care of themselves as the young of other animals are able to do. the young of the marsupials are brought forth, or born, in an imperfect condition, and undeveloped in size and strength. there are fossil remains of marsupials showing that in past ages creatures of this kind existed which were as large as elephants. in the more common form of mammals the young are brought forth fully formed, they having received "nourishment, before birth, from the mother's body, through the _placenta_, the appendage which connects the fetus with the parent. the placental mammals were the best equipped of all the life-forms for survival and development, for the reason that the young were nourished during their critical period, and the care that the mammal must of necessity give to her young operated in the direction of affording a special protection far superior to that of the other forms. this and other causes acted to place the placentals in the "royal line" from which man was evolved. the following families of placental mammals are recognized by science, each having its own structural peculiarities: the _edentata_, or toothless creatures, among which are the sloths, ant-eaters, armadillos, etc. these animals seem to be closer to the monotremes than they are to the marsupials; the _sirenia_, so called by reason of their fanciful resemblance to the sirens of mythology, among which are the sea-cows, manatees, dugongs, etc., which are fish-like in structure and appearance, the fore-limbs being shaped like paddles, or fins, and the hind-limbs being absent or rudimentary; the _cetacea_, or whale family, including whales, porpoises, dolphins, etc., which are quite fish-like in appearance and structure, their forms being adapted for life in the sea, although they are, of course, mammals, bringing forth matured young which are suckled at the breast; the _ungulata_, or hoofed animals, which comprise many varied forms, such as the horse, the tapir, the rhinoceros, the swine, the hippopotamus, the camel, the deer, the sheep, the cow, etc., etc.; the _hyracoidea_, which is a small family, the principal member of which is the coney, or rock rabbit, which has teeth resembling those of the hoofed animals, in some ways, and those of the gnawing animals in the others. the _proboscidea_, or trunked animals, which family is represented in this age only by the families of elephants, which have a peculiar appendage called a "trunk," which they use as an additional limb; the _carnivora_, or flesh-eaters, represented by numerous and various forms, such as the seal, the bear, the weasel, the wolf, the dog, the lion, the tiger, the leopard, etc. the wolf and similar forms belong to the sub-family of dogs; while the lion, tiger, etc., belong to the sub-family of cats; the _rodentia_, or gnawers, comprising the rat, the hare, the beaver, the squirrel, the mouse, etc., etc.; the _insectivora_, or insect feeders, comprising the mole, the shrew, the hedgehog, etc.; the _chiroptera_, or finger-winged animals, comprising the great family of bats, etc., which are very highly developed animals; the _lemuroidea_, or lemurs, the name of which is derived from the latin word meaning a "ghost," by reason of the lemur's habits of roaming about at night. the lemur is a nocturnal animal, somewhat resembling the monkey in general appearance, but with a long, bushy tail and sharp muzzle like a fox. it is akin to a small fox having hands and feet like a monkey, the feet being used to grasp like a hand, as is the case with the true monkey family. these creatures are classed by some naturalists among the monkeys by reason of being "four-handed," while others are disposed to consider as still more important their marked relationship with, and affinity to, the marsupials, gnawers and insect-feeders. on the whole, these creatures are strangely organized and come very near to being a "connecting-link" between other forms. one of the lemurs is what is known as the _colugo_, or "flying lemur," which resembles a squirrel in many particulars, and yet has a membranous web extending from its hands, which enables it to make flying leaps over great distances. this last named variety seems to furnish a link between the insect-feeders and the primates; the _primates_, which is a large family comprising the various forms of monkeys, baboons, man-apes, such as the gibbon, gorilla, chimpanzee, orang-outang, etc., all of which have big jaws, small brains, and a stooping posture. this family also includes man, with his big brain and erect posture, and his many races depending upon shape of skull, color of skin, character of hair, etc. in considering the ascent of man (physical) from the lowly forms of the monera, etc., up to his present high position, the student is struck with the continuity of the ascent, development and unfoldment. while there are many "missing-links," owing to the disappearance of the forms which formed the connection, still there is sufficient proof left in the existing forms to satisfy the fair-minded inquirer. the facts of embryology alone are sufficient proof of the ascent of man from the lowly forms. each and every man today has passed through all the forms of the ascent within a few months, from single cell to the new-born, fully formed infant. embryology teaches us that the eggs from which all animal forms evolve are all practically alike so far as one can ascertain by microscopic examination, no matter how diverse may be the forms which will evolve from them, and this resemblance is maintained even when the embryo of the higher forms begins to manifest traces of its future form. von baer, the german scientist, was the first to note this remarkable and suggestive fact. he stated it in the following words: "in my possession are two little embryos, preserved in alcohol, whose names i have omitted to attach, and at present i am unable to state to what class they belong. they may be lizards, or small birds, or very young mammals, so complete is the similarity in the mode of the formation of the head and trunk in these animals. the extremities, however, are still absent in these embryos. but even if they had existed in the earliest stage of their development, we should learn nothing, for the feet of lizards and mammals, the wings and feet of birds, no less than the hands and feet of man, all arise from the same fundamental form." as has been said by prof. clodd, "the embryos of all living creatures epitomize during development the series of changes through which the ancestral forms passed if their ascent from the simple to the complex; the higher structures passing through the same stages as the lower structures up to the point when they are marked off from them, yet never becoming in detail the form which they represent for the time being. for example, the embryo of man has at the outset gill-like slits on each side of the neck, like a fish. these give place to a membrane like that which supersedes gills in the development of birds and reptiles; the heart is at first a simple pulsating chamber like that in worms; the backbone is prolonged into a movable tail; the great toe is extended, or opposable, like our thumbs, and like the toes of apes; the body three months before birth is covered all over with hair except on the palms and soles. at birth the head is relatively larger, and the arms and legs relatively longer than in the adult; the nose is bridgeless; both features, with others which need not be detailed, being distinctly ape-like. thus does the egg from which man springs, a structure only one hundred and twenty-fifth of an inch in size, compress into a few weeks the results of millions of years, and set before us the history of his development from fish-like and reptilian forms, and of his more immediate descent from a hairy, tailed quadruped. that which is individual or peculiar to him, the physical and mental character inherited, is left to the slower development which follows birth." this, then, in brief is the western theory of evolution--the physical ascent of man. we have given it as fully as might be in the small space at our disposal in these lessons on the yogi philosophy. why? because we wish to prove to the western mind, in the western way, that western science corroborates the ancient yogi teachings of the unfoldment of living forms, from monad to man. the eastern teachers scorn to "prove" anything to their pupils, who sit at the feet of teachers and accept as truth that which is taught them, and which has been handed down from the dim ages long past. but this method will never do for the western student--he must have it "proven" to him by physical facts and instances, not by keen, subtle, intellectual reasoning alone. the eastern student wishes to be "told"--the western student wishes to be "shown." herein lies the racial differences of method of imparting knowledge. and so we have recognized this fact and have heaped up proof after proof from the pages of western science, in order to prove to you the reasonableness, from the western point of view, of the doctrine of physical unfoldment as taught for ages past by the yogi _gurus_ to their _chelas_. you have now the eastern teachings on the subject, together with the testimony of western science to the reasonableness of the idea. but, alas! western science, while performing a marvelous work in piling up fact after fact to support its newly-discovered theory of evolution, in a way utterly unknown to the oriental thinker who seeks after principles by mental concentration--_within_ rather than without--while actually proving by physical facts the _mental_ conceptions of the oriental teachings, still misses the vital point of the subject-thought. in its materialistic tendencies it has failed to recognize _the mental cause of the physical unfoldment_. it is true that lamark, the real western discoverer of evolution, taught that desire and mental craving, was the real force behind evolution, but his ideas were jeered at by his contemporaries, and are not regarded seriously by the majority of evolutionists even today. and yet he was nearer to the truth than darwin or any other western evolutionist. and time will show that science has overlooked his genius, which alone throws the true light upon the subject. in order to see just this difference between the darwinian school and the yogi teachings let us examine into what causes the western evolutionists give for the fact of evolution itself. we shall do this briefly. the darwinians start out to explain the causes of the "origin of species," with the statement that "no two individuals of the same species are exactly alike; each tends to vary." this is a self-evident fact, and is very properly used as a starting point for variation. the next step is then stated as "variations are transmitted, and therefore tend to become permanent," which also is self-evident, and tends to prove the reasonableness of the gradual evolution of species. the next step in the argument is "as man produces new species and forms, by breeding, culture, etc., so has nature in a longer time produced the same effect, in the same way." this also is reasonable, although it tends to personify nature, and to give it a _mind_ before the evolutionists admit "mind" was evolved. it will be as well to quote darwin himself on this point. he says; "as man can produce, and certainly has produced, a great result by his methodical and unconscious means of selection, what may not natural selection effect? man can act only on external and visible characters, while nature, if i may be allowed to personify the natural preservation or survival of the fittest, cares nothing for appearances except in so far as they are useful to any being. she can act on every internal organ, on every shade of constitutional difference, on the whole machinery of life. man selects only for his own good; nature only for the good of the being which she tends. every selected character is fully exercised by her, as is implied by the fact of their selection. man keeps the natives of many climates in the same country; he seldom exercises each selected character in some peculiar and fitting manner; he feeds a long-beaked and a short-beaked pigeon on the same food; he does not exercise a long-backed or long-legged quadruped in any peculiar manner; he exposes sheep with long hair and short wool in the same climate. he does not allow the most vigorous males to struggle for the females. he does not rigidly destroy all inferior animals, but protects during each varying season, so far as lies in his power, all his productions. he often begins his selection by some half-monstrous form, or at least by some modification prominent enough to catch the eye or to be plainly useful to him. under nature the slightest differences of structure or constitution may- well turn the nicely balanced scale in the struggle for life, and so be preserved. how fleeting are the wishes and efforts of man! how short his time! and consequently how poor will be his results, compared with those accumulated by nature during whole geological periods! can we wonder, then, that nature's productions should be far 'truer' in character than man's productions; that they should be infinitely better adapted to the most complex conditions of life, and should plainly bear the stamp of far higher workmanship?" darwin's theory of survival of the fittest is begun by the statement of the fact that the number of organisms that survive are very small compared with the number that are born. to quote his own words, "there is no exception to the rule that every organic being naturally increases at so high a rate that, if not destroyed, the earth would soon be covered by the progeny of a single pair. even slow-breeding man has doubled in twenty-five years, and at this rate in less than a thousand years there would literally not be standing room for the progeny." it has been computed that if the offspring of the elephant, which is believed to be the slowest breeding animal known, were to survive, there would be about , , elephants on the earth in years. the roe of a single cod contains eight or nine millions of eggs, and if each egg were to hatch, and the fish survive, the sea would shortly become a solid mass of codfish. the house fly is said to have , , descendants in a season, counting several generations of progeny, from its several broods. and some scientist has computed that the _aphis_, or plant-louse, breeds so rapidly, and in such enormous quantity, that the tenth generation of one set of parents would be so large that it would contain more ponderable animal matter than would the population of china, which is estimated at , , ! and this without counting the progeny preceding the tenth generation! the result of the above conditions is very plain. there must ensue a struggle for existence, which necessitates the survival of the fittest. the weak are crushed out by the strong; the swift out-distance the slow. the individual forms or species best adapted to their environment and best equipped for the struggle, be the equipment physical or mental, survive those less well equipped or less well adapted to environment. animals evolving variations in structure that give them even a slight advantage over others not so favored, naturally have a better chance to survive. and this, briefly, is what evolutionists call "the survival of the fittest." as appertaining to the struggle for existence, color and mimicry are important factors. grant allen, in his work on darwin, says concerning this, and also as illustrating "natural selection": "in the desert with its monotonous sandy coloring, a black insect or a white insect, still more a red insect or a blue insect, would be immediately detected and devoured by its natural enemies, the birds and the lizards. but any greyish or yellowish insects would be less likely to attract attention at first sight, and would be overlooked as long as there were any more conspicuous individuals of their own kind about for the birds and lizards to feed on. hence, in a very short time the desert would be depopulated of all but the greyest and yellowest insects; and among these the birds would pick out those which differed most markedly in hue and shade from the sand around them. but those which happened to vary most in the direction of a sandy or spotty color would be more likely to survive, and to become the parents of future generations. thus, in the course of long ages, all the insects which inhabit deserts have become sand-colored, because the less sandy were perpetually picked out for destruction by their ever-watchful foes, while the most sandy escaped, and multiplied and replenished the earth with their own likes." prof. clodd, remarking upon this fact, adds: "thus, then, is explained the tawny color of the larger animals that inhabit the desert; the stripes upon the tiger, which parallel with the vertical stems of bamboo, conceal him as he stealthily nears his prey; the brilliant green of tropical birds; the leaf-like form and colors of certain insects; the dried, twig-like form of many caterpillars; the bark-like appearance of tree-frogs; the harmony of the ptarmigan's summer plumage with the lichen-colored stones upon which it sits; the dusky color of creatures that haunt the night; the bluish transparency of animals which live on the surface of the sea; the gravel-like color of flat-fish that live at the bottom; and the gorgeous tints of those that swim among the coral reefs." all this does not run contrary to the yogi philosophy, although the latter would regard these things as but the secondary cause for the variation and survival of species, etc. the oriental teachings are that it is the _desire_ of the animal that _causes_ it to assume the colors and shapes in accordance with its environment, the desire of course operating along sub-conscious lines of physical manifestation. the mental influence, which is the real cause of the phenomena, and which is taught as such by the yogis, is almost lost sight of by the western evolutionists, who are apt to regard mind as a "by-product" of matter. on the contrary, _the yogis regard matter as the product of mind_. but there is no conflict here as far as regards the law of the survival of the fittest. the insects that _most desired_ to become sand-colored became so, and were thus protected, while their less "desireful" brethren were exterminated. the western scientist explains the outward phenomena, but does not look for the _cause_ behind it, which is taught by the oriental sages. the doctrine of "sexual selection" is another of the leading tenets of the darwinists. briefly, it may be expressed as the theory that in the rivalry and struggle of the males for the females the strongest males win the day, and thus transmit their particular qualities to their offspring. along the same lines is that of the attraction exerted by bright colors in the plumage of the males of birds, etc., which give them an advantage in the eyes of the females, and thus, naturally, the bright colors are perpetuated. this, then, is the brief outline of the story of man's physical evolution, as stated by western science, and compared with the yogi teachings. the student should compare the two ideas, that he may harmonize and reconcile them. it must be remembered, however, that darwin did _not_ teach that man descended from the monkeys, or apes, as we know them now. the teaching of western evolution is that the apes, and higher forms of monkey life descended from some common ancestral form, which same ancestor was also the ancestor of man. in other words, man and apes are the different branches that emerged from the common trunk ages ago. other forms doubtless emerged from the same trunk, and perished because less adapted to their environments. the apes were best adapted to their own environments, and man was best adapted to his. the weaker branches failed. one must remember that the most savage races known to us today are practically as far different from the highest american, european or hindu types of man as from the highest apes. indeed, it would seem far easier for a high ape to evolve into a kaffir, hottentot, or digger indian, than for the latter to evolve into an emerson, shakespeare, or hindu sage. as huxley has shown, the brain-structure of man compared with that of the chimpanzee shows differences but slight when compared with the difference between that of the chimpanzee and that of the lemur. the same authority informs us that in the important feature of the deeper brain furrows, and intricate convolutions, the chasm between the highest civilized man and the lowest savage is far greater than between the lowest savage and the highest man-like ape. darwin, describing the fuegians, who are among the very lowest forms of savages, says: "their very signs and expressions are less intelligible to us than those of the domesticated animal. they are men who do not possess the instinct of those animals, nor yet appear to boast of human reason, or at least of arts consequent upon that reason." professor clodd, in describing the "primitive man," says: "doubtless he was lower than the lowest of the savages of today--a powerful, cunning biped, with keen sense organs always sharper, in virtue of constant exercise, in the savage than in the civilized man (who supplements them by science), strong instincts, uncontrolled and fitful emotions, small faculty of wonder, and nascent reasoning power; unable to forecast tomorrow, or to comprehend yesterday, living from hand to mouth on the wild products of nature, clothed in skin and bark, or daubed with clay, and finding shelter in trees and caves; ignorant of the simplest arts, save to chip a stone missile, and perhaps to produce fire; strong in his needs of life and vague sense of right to it and to what he could get, but slowly impelled by common perils and passions to form ties, loose and haphazard at the outset, with his kind, the power of combination with them depending on sounds, signs and gestures." such was the ancestral man. those who are interested in him are referred to the two wonderful tales of the cave-man written in the form of stories by two great modern novelists. the books referred to are ( ) "_the story of ab_," by stanley waterloo, and ( ) "_before adam_," by jack london. they may be obtained from any bookseller. both are works of fiction, with the scientific facts cleverly interwoven into them. and now in conclusion before we pass on the subject of "spiritual evolution," which will form the subject of our next lesson, we would again call your attention to the vital difference between the western and the eastern teachings. the western holds to a mechanical theory of life, which works without the necessity of antecedent mind, the latter appearing as a "product" at a certain stage. the eastern holds _that mind is back of, under, and antecedent to all the work of evolution_--the _cause_, not the effect or product. the western claims that mind was produced by the struggle of matter to produce higher forms of itself. _the eastern claims that the whole process of evolution is caused by mind striving, struggling and pressing forward toward expressing itself more fully--to liberate itself from the confining and retarding matter--the struggle resulting in an unfoldment which causes sheath after sheath of the confining material bonds to be thrown off and discarded, in the effort to release the confined spirit which is behind even the mind. the yogi teachings are that the evolutionary urge is the pressure of the confined spirit striving to free itself from the fetters and bonds which sorely oppress it_. the struggle and pain of evolution is the parturition-pangs of the spiritual deliverance from the womb of matter. like all birth it is attended by pain and suffering, but the end justifies it all. and as the human mother forgets her past suffering in the joy of witnessing the face, and form, and life, of her loved child, so will the soul forget the pain of the spiritual birth by reason of the beauty and nobility of that which will be born to and from it. let us study well the story of physical evolution, but let us not lose ourselves in it, for it is but the preliminary to the story of the unfoldment of the soul. let us not despise the tale of the body of man--for it is the story of the temple of the spirit which has been built up from the most humble beginnings, until it has reached the present high stage. and yet even this is but the beginning, for the work will go on, and on, and on, in the spirit of those beautiful lines of holmes: "build thee more stately mansions, oh, my soul! as the swift seasons roll! leave thy low-vaulted past! let each new temple, nobler than the last, shut thee from heaven with a dome more vast, till thou at last _art free_, leaving thine outgrown shell by life's unresting sea." the ninth lesson metempsychosis. as we have said in our last lesson, while the yogi teachings throw an important light upon the western theory of evolution, still there is a vital difference between the western scientific teachings on the subject and the eastern theories and teachings. the western idea is that the process is a mechanical, material one, and that "mind" is a "by-product" of matter in its evolution. but the eastern teachings hold that mind is under, back of, and antecedent to all the work of evolution, and that matter is a "by-product" of mind, rather than the reverse. the eastern teachings hold that evolution is caused by mind striving, struggling, and pressing forward toward fuller and fuller expression, using matter as a material, and yet always struggling to free itself from the confining and retarding influence of the latter. the struggle results in an unfoldment, causing sheath after sheath of the confining material bonds to be thrown off and discarded, as the spirit presses upon the mind, and the mind moulds and shapes the matter. evolution is but the process of birth of the individualized spirit, from the web of matter in which it has been confined. and the pains and struggles are but incidents of the spiritual parturition. in this and following lessons we shall consider the "spiritual evolution, of the race--that is the unfoldment of individualized spirit--just as we did the subject physical evolution in the last two lessons. we have seen that preceding spiritual evolution, there was a spiritual involution. the yogi philosophy holds that in the beginning, the absolute meditated upon the subject of creation, and formed a mental image, or thought-form, of an universal mind--that is, of an universal principle of mind. this universal principle of mind is the great ocean of "mind-stuff" from which all the phenomenal universe is evolved. from this universal principle of mind, proceeded the universal principle of force or energy. and from the latter, proceeded the universal principle of matter. the universal principle of mind was bound by laws imposed upon it by the mental-conception of the absolute--the cosmic laws of nature. and these laws were the compelling causes of the great involution. for before evolution was possible, involution was necessary. we have explained that the word "involve" means "to wrap up; to cover; to hide, etc." before a thing can be "evolved," that is "unfolded," it must first be "involved," that is "wrapped up." a thing must be _put in_, before it may be _taken out_. following the laws of involution imposed upon it, the universal mental principle involved itself in the universal energy principle; and then in obedience to the same laws, the latter involved itself in the universal material principle. each stage of involution, or _wrapping-up_, created for itself (out of the higher principle which in being involved) the wrapper or sheath which is to be used to wrap-up the higher principle. and the higher forms of the material principle formed sheaths of lower forms, until forms of matter were produced far more gross than any known to us now, for they have disappeared in the evolutionary ascent. down, down, down went the process of involution, until the lowest point was reached. then ensued a moment's pause, preceding the beginning of the evolutionary unfoldment. then began the great evolution. but, as we have told you, the upward movement was distinguished by the "tendency toward individualization." that is, while the involuntary process was accomplished by principles as principles, the upward movement was begun by a tendency toward "splitting up," and the creation of "individual forms," and the effort to perfect them and build upon them higher and still higher succeeding forms, until a stage was reached in which the temple of the spirit was worthy of being occupied by man, the self-conscious expression of the spirit. for the coming of man was the first step of a higher form of evolution--the spiritual evolution. up to this time there had been simply an evolution of bodies, but now there came the evolution of souls. and this evolution of souls becomes possible only by the process of metempsychosis (pronounced _me-temp-si-ko-sis_) which is more commonly known as reincarnation, or re-embodiment. it becomes necessary at this point to call your attention to the general subject of metempsychosis, for the reason that the public mind is most confused regarding this important subject. it has the most vague ideas regarding the true teachings, and has somehow acquired the impression that the teachings are that human souls are re-born into the bodies of dogs, and other animals. the wildest ideas on this subject are held by some people. and, not only is this so, but even a number of those who hold to the doctrine of reincarnation, in some of its forms, hold that their individual souls were once the individual souls of animals, from which state they have evolved to the present condition. this last is a perversion of the highest yogi teachings, and we trust to make same plain in these lessons. but, first we must take a look at the general subject of metempsychosis, that we may see the important part it has played in the field of human thought and belief. while to many the idea of metempsychosis may seem new and unfamiliar, still it is one of the oldest conceptions of the race, and in ages past was the accepted belief of the whole of the civilized race of man of the period. and even today, it is accepted as truth by the majority of the race the almost universal acceptance of the idea by the east with its teeming life, counterbalances its comparative non-reception by the western people of the day. from the early days of written or legendary history, metempsychosis has been the accepted belief of many of the most intelligent of the race. it is found underlying the magnificent civilization of ancient egypt, and from thence it traveled to the western world being held as the highest truth by such teachers as pythagoras, empedocles, plato, virgil and ovid. plato's dialogues are full of this teaching. the hindus have always held to it. the persians, inspired by their learned magi, accepted it implicitly. the ancient druids, and priests of gaul, as well as the ancient inhabitants of germany, held to it. traces of it may be found in the remains of the aztec, peruvian and mexican civilizations. the eleusinian mysteries of greece, the roman mysteries, and the inner doctrines of the cabbala of the hebrews all taught the truths of metempsychosis. the early christian fathers; the gnostic and manichaeans and other sects of the early christian people, all held to the doctrine. the modern german philosophers have treated it with the greatest respect, if indeed they did not at least partially accept it. many modern writers have considered it gravely, and with respect. the following quotations will give an idea of "how the wind is blowing" in the west: "of all the theories respecting the origin of the soul, metempsychosis seems to me the most plausible and therefore the one most likely to throw light on the question of a life to come."--_frederick h. hedge._ "it would be curious if we should find science and philosophy taking up again the old theory of metempsychosis, remodelling' it to suit our present modes of religious and scientific thought, and launching it again on the wide ocean of human belief. but stranger things have happened in the history of human opinions."--_james freeman clarke_. "if we could legitimately determine any question of belief by the number of its adherents, the ---- would apply to metempsychosis more fitly than to any other. i think it is quite as likely to be revived and to come to the front as any rival theory."--_prof. wm. knight_. "it seems to me, a firm and well-grounded faith in the doctrine of christian metempsychosis might help to regenerate the world. for it would be a faith not hedged around with many of the difficulties and objections which beset other forms of doctrine, and it offers distinct and pungent motives for trying to lead a more christian life, and for loving and helping our brother-man."--_prof. francis bowen_. "the doctrine of metempsychosis may almost claim to be a natural or innate belief in the human mind, if we may judge from its wide diffusion among the nations of the earth, and its prevalence throughout the historical ages."--_prof. francis bowen_. "when christianity first swept over europe, the inner thought of its leaders was deeply tinctured with this truth. the church tried ineffectually to eradicate it, but in various sects it kept sprouting forth beyond the time of erigina and bonaventura, its mediaeval advocates. every great intuitional soul, as paracelsus, boehme, and swedenborg, has adhered to it. the italian luminaries, giordano bruno and campanella. embraced it. the best of german philosophy is enriched by it. in schopenhauer, lessing, hegel, leibnitz, herder, and fichte, the younger, it is earnestly advocated. the anthropological systems of kant and schelling furnish points of contact with it. the younger helmont, in _de revolutione animarum_, adduces in two hundred problems all the arguments which may be urged in favor of the return of souls into human bodies according to jewish ideas. of english thinkers, the cambridge platonists defended it with much learning and acuteness, most conspicuously henry more; and in cudsworth and hume it ranks as the most rational theory of immortality. glanvil's _lux orientalis_ devotes a curious treatise to it. it captivated the minds of fourier and leroux. andre pezzani's book on _the plurality of the soul's lives_ works out the system on the roman catholic idea of expiation."--e.d. walker, in "_re-incarnation, a study of forgotten truth_." and in the latter part of the nineteenth century, and this the early part of the twentieth century, the general public has been made familiar with the idea of metempsychosis, under the name of re-incarnation, by means of the great volume of literature issued by the theosophical society and its allied following. no longer is the thought a novelty to the western thinker, and many have found within themselves a corroborative sense of its truth. in fact, to many the mere mention of the idea has been sufficient to awaken faint shadowy memories of past lives, and, to such, many heretofore unaccountable traits of character, tastes, inclinations, sympathies, dislikes, etc., have been explained. the western world has been made familiar with the idea of the re-birth of souls into new bodies, under the term of "re-incarnation," which means "a re-entry into flesh," the word "incarnate" being derived from the words "_in_," and "_carnis_," meaning flesh--the english word meaning "to clothe with flesh," etc. the word metempsychosis, which we use in this lesson, is concerned rather with the "passage of the soul" from one tenement to another, the "fleshly" idea being merely incidental. the doctrine of metempsychosis, or re-incarnation, together with its accompanying doctrine, karma, or spiritual cause and effect, is one of the great foundation stones of the yogi philosophy, as indeed it is of the entire system of systems of oriental philosophy and thought. unless one understands metempsychosis he will never be able to understand the eastern teachings, for he will be without the key. you who have read the _bhagavad gita_, that wonderful hindu epic, will remember how the thread of re-birth runs through it all. you remember the words of _krishna_ to _arjuna_: "as the soul, wearing this material body, experienceth the stages of infancy, youth, manhood, and old age, even so shall it, in due time, pass on to another body, and in other incarnations shall it again live, and move and play its part." "these bodies, which act as enveloping coverings for the souls occupying them, are but finite things--things of the moment--and not the real man at all. they perish as all finite things perish--let them perish." "as a man throweth away his old garments, replacing them with new and brighter ones, even so the dweller of the body, having quitted its old mortal frame, entereth into others which are new and freshly prepared for it. weapons pierce not the real man, nor doth the fire burn him; the water affecteth him not, nor the wind drieth him nor bloweth him away. for he is impregnable and impervious to these things of the world of change--he is eternal, permanent, unchangeable, and unalterable--real." this view of life gives to the one who holds to it, an entirely different mental attitude. he no longer identifies himself with the particular body that he may be occupying, nor with any other body for that matter. he learns to regard his body just as he would a garment which he is wearing, useful to him for certain purposes, but which will in time be discarded and thrown aside for a better one, and one better adapted to his new requirements and needs. so firmly is this idea embedded in the consciousness of the hindus, that they will often say "my body is tired," or "my body is hungry," or "my body is full of energy," rather than that "i am" this or that thing. and this consciousness, once attained, gives to one a sense of strength, security and power unknown to him who regards his body as himself. the first step for the student who wishes to grasp the idea of metempsychosis, and who wishes to awaken in his consciousness a certainty of its truth, is to familiarize himself with the idea of his "i" being a thing independent and a part from his body, although using the latter as an abiding place and a useful shelter and instrument for the time being. many writers on the subject of metempsychosis have devoted much time, labor and argument to prove the reasonableness of the doctrine upon purely speculative, philosophical, or metaphysical grounds. and while we believe that such efforts are praiseworthy for the reason that many persons must be first convinced in that way, still we feel that one must really _feel_ the truth of the doctrine from something within his own consciousness, before he will really _believe_ it to be truth. one may convince himself of the logical necessity of the doctrine of metempsychosis, but at the same time he may drop the matter with a shrug of the shoulders and a "still, who knows?" but when one begins to feel within himself the awakening consciousness of a "something in the past," not to speak of the flashes of memory, and feeling of former acquaintance with the subject, then, and then only, does he begin to _believe_. many people have had "peculiar experiences" that are accountable only upon the hypothesis of metempsychosis. who has not experienced the consciousness of having _felt the thing before_--_having thought it some time in the dim past? who has not witnessed new scenes that appear old, very old? who has not met persons for the first time, whose presence awakened memories of a past lying far back in the misty ages of long ago? who has not been seized at times with the consciousness of a mighty "oldness" of soul? who has not heard music, often entirely new compositions, which somehow awakens memories of similar strains, scenes, places, faces, voices, lands, associations and events, sounding dimly on the strings of memory as the breezes of the harmony floats over them? who has not gazed at some old painting, or piece of statuary, with the sense of having seen it all before? who has not lived through events, which brought with them a certainty of being merely a repetition of some shadowy occurrences away back in lives lived long ago? who has not felt the influence of the mountain, the sea, the desert, coming to them when they are far from such scenes--coming so vividly as to cause the actual scene of the present to fade into comparative unreality. who has not had these experiences--we ask_? writers, poets, and others who carry messages to the world, have testified to these things--and nearly every man or woman who hears the message recognizes it as something having correspondence in his or her own life. sir walter scott tells us in his diary: "i cannot, i am sure, tell if it is worth marking down, that yesterday, at dinner time, i was strangely haunted by what i would call the sense of preexistence, viz., a confused idea that nothing that passed was said for the first time; that the same topics had been discussed and the same persons had stated the same opinions on them. the sensation was so strong as to resemble what is called the mirage in the desert and a calenture on board ship." the same writer, in one of his novels, "guy mannering," makes one of his characters say: "why is it that some scenes awaken thoughts which belong as it were, to dreams of early and shadowy recollections, such as old brahmin moonshine would have ascribed to a state of previous existence. how often do we find ourselves in society which we have never before met, and yet feel impressed with a mysterious and ill-defined consciousness that neither the scene nor the speakers nor the subject are entirely new; nay, feel as if we could anticipate that part of the conversation which has not yet taken place." bulwer speaks of "that strange kind of inner and spiritual memory which so often recalls to us places and persons we have never seen before, and which platonists would resolve to be the unquenched consciousness of a former life." and again, he says: "how strange is it that at times a feeling comes over us as we gaze upon certain places, which associates the scene either with some dim remembered and dreamlike images of the past, or with a prophetic and fearful omen of the future. every one has known a similar strange and indistinct feeling at certain times and places, and with a similar inability to trace the cause." poe has written these words on the subject: "we walk about, amid the destinies of our world existence, accompanied by dim but ever present memories of a destiny more vast--very distant in the bygone time and infinitely awful. we live out a youth peculiarly haunted by such dreams, yet never mistaking them for dreams. as memories we know them. during our youth the distinctness is too clear to deceive us even for a moment. but the doubt of manhood dispels these feelings as illusions." home relates an interesting incident in his life, which had a marked effect upon his beliefs, thereafter. he relates that upon an occasion when he visited a strange house in london he was shown into a room to wait. he says: "on looking around, to my astonishment everything appeared perfectly familiar to me. i seemed to recognize every object. i said to myself, 'what is this? i have never been here before, and yet i have seen all this, and if so, then there must be a very peculiar knot in that shutter.'" he proceeded to examine the shutter, and much to his amazement the knot was there. we have recently heard of a similar case, told by an old lady who formerly lived in the far west of the united states. she states that upon one occasion a party was wandering on the desert in her part of the country, and found themselves out of water. as that part of the desert was unfamiliar even to the guides, the prospect for water looked very poor indeed. after a fruitless search of several hours, one of the party, a perfect stranger to that part of the country, suddenly pressed his hand to his head, and acted in a dazed manner, crying out "i know that a water-hole is over to the right--this way," and away he started with the party after him. after a half-hour's journey they reached an old hidden water-hole that was unknown even to the oldest man in the party. the stranger said that he did not understand the matter, but that he had somehow experienced a sensation of _having been there before_, and knowing just where the water-hole was located. an old indian who was questioned about the matter, afterward, stated that the place had been well known to his people who formerly travelled much on that part of the desert; and that they had legends relating to the "hidden water-hole," running back for many generations. in this case, it was remarked that the water-hole was situated in such a peculiar and unusual manner, as to render it almost undiscoverable even to people familiar with the characteristics of that part of the country. the old lady who related the story, had it direct from the lips of one of the party, who regarded it as "something queer," but who had never even heard of metempsychosis. a correspondent of an english magazine writes as follows: "a gentleman of high intellectual attainments, now deceased, once told me that he had dreamed of being in a strange city, so vividly that he remembered the streets, houses and public buildings as distinctly as those of any place he ever visited. a few weeks later he was induced to visit a panorama in leicester square, when he was startled by seeing the city of which he had dreamed. the likeness was perfect, except that one additional church appeared in the picture. he was so struck by the circumstance that he spoke to the exhibitor, assuming for the purpose the air of a traveller acquainted with the place, when he was informed that the church was a recent erection." the fact of the addition of the church, seems to place the incident within the rule of awakened memories of scenes known in a past life, for clairvoyance, astral travel, etc., would show the scene as it was at the time of the dream, not as it had been years before. charles dickens mentions a remarkable impression in his work "pictures from italy." "in the foreground was a group of silent peasant girls, leaning over the parapet of the little bridge, looking now up at the sky, now down into the water; in the distance a deep dell; the shadow of an approaching night on everything. if i had been murdered there in some former life i could not have seemed to remember the place more thoroughly, or with more emphatic chilling of the blood; and the real remembrance of it acquired in that minute is so strengthened by the imaginary recollection that i hardly think i could forget it." we have recently met two people in america who had very vivid memories of incidents in their past life. one of these, a lady, has a perfect horror of large bodies of water, such as the great lakes, or the ocean, although she was born and has lived the greater part of her life inland, far removed from any great body of water, she has a distinct recollection of falling from a large canoe-shape vessel, of peculiar lines, and drowning. she was quite overcome upon her first visit to the field museum in chicago, where there were exhibited a number of models of queer vessels used by primitive people. she pointed out one similar in shape, and lines, to the one she remembers as having fallen from in some past life. the second case mentioned is that of a married couple who met each other in a country foreign to both, on their travels. they fell in love with each other, and both have felt that their marriage was a reunion rather than a new attachment. the husband one day shortly after their marriage told his wife in a rather shamed-faced way that he had occasional flashes of memory of having held in his arms, in the dim past, a woman whose face he could not recall, but who wore a strange necklace, he describing the details of the latter. the wife said nothing, but after her husband had left for his office, she went to the attic and unpacked an old trunk containing some odds and ends, relics, heirlooms, etc., and drew from it an old necklace of peculiar pattern that her grandfather had brought back from india, where he had lived in his younger days, and which had been in the family ever since. she laid the necklace on the table, so that her husband would see it upon his return. the moment his eyes fell upon it, he turned white as death, and gasped "my god! _that's the necklace!_" a writer in a western journal gives the following story of a southern woman. "when i was in heidelberg, germany, attending a convention of mystics, in company with some friends i paid my first visit to the ruined heidelberg castle. as i approached it i was impressed with the existence of a peculiar room in an inaccessible portion of the building. a paper and pencil were provided me, and i drew a diagram of the room even to its peculiar floor. my diagram and description were perfect, when we afterwards visited the room. in some way, not yet clear to me, i have been connected with that apartment. still another impression came to me with regard to a book, which i was made to feel was in the old library of the heidelberg university. i not only knew what the book was, but even felt that a certain name of an old german professor would be found written in it. communicating this feeling to one of the mystics at the convention, a search was made for the volume, but it was not found. still the impression clung to me, and another effort was made to find the book; this time we were rewarded for our pains. sure enough, there on the margin of one of the leaves was the very name i had been given in such a strange manner. other things at the same time went to convince me that i was in possession of the soul of a person who had known heidelberg two or three centuries ago." a contributor to an old magazine relates, among other instances, the following regarding a friend who remembers having died in india during the youth of some former life. he states: "he sees the bronzed attendants gathered about his cradle in their white dresses: they are fanning him. and as they gaze he passes into unconsciousness. much of his description concerned points of which he knew nothing from any other source, but all was true to the life, and enabled me to fix on india as the scene which he recalled." while comparatively few among the western races are able to remember more than fragments of their past lives, in india it is quite common for a man well developed spiritually to clearly remember the incidents and details of former incarnations, and the evidence of the awakening of such power causes little more than passing interest among his people. there is, as we shall see later, a movement toward conscious metempsychosis, and many of the race are just moving on to that plane. in india the highly developed individuals grow into a clear recollection of their past lives when they reach the age of puberty, and when their brains are developed sufficiently to grasp the knowledge locked up in the depths of the soul. in the meantime the individual's memory of the past is locked away in the recesses of his mind, just as are many facts and incidents of his present life so locked away, to be remembered only when some one mentions the subject, or some circumstance serves to supply the associative link to the apparently forgotten matter. regarding the faculty of memory in our present lives, we would quote the following from the pen of prof. william knight, printed in the fortnightly review. he says: "memory of the details of the past is absolutely impossible. the power of the conservative faculty, though relatively great, is extremely limited. we forget the larger portion of experience soon after we have passed through it, and we should be able to recall the particulars of our past years, filling all the missing links of consciousness since we entered on the present life, before we were in a position to remember our ante-natal experience. birth must necessarily be preceded by crossing the river of oblivion, while the capacity for fresh acquisition survives, and the garnered wealth of old experience determines the amount and character of the new." another startling evidence of the proof of metempsychosis is afforded us in the cases of "infant prodigies," etc., which defy any other explanation. take the cases of the manifestation of musical talent in certain children at an early age, for instance. take the case of mozart who at the age of four was able to not only perform difficult pieces on the piano, but actually composed original works of merit. not only did he manifest the highest faculty of sound and note, but also an instinctive ability to compose and arrange music, which ability was superior to that of many men who had devoted years of their life to study and practice. the laws of harmony--the science of commingling tones, was to him not the work of years, but a faculty born in him. there are many similar cases of record. heredity does not explain these instances of genius, for in many of the recorded cases, none of the ancestors manifested any talent or ability. from whom did shakespeare inherit his genius? from whom did plato derive his wonderful thought? from what ancestor did abraham lincoln inherit his character--coming from a line of plain, poor, hard-working people, and possessing all of the physical attributes and characteristics of his ancestry, he, nevertheless, manifested a mind which placed him among the foremost of his race. does not metempsychosis give us the only possible key? is it not reasonable to suppose that the abilities displayed by the infant genius, and the talent of the men who spring from obscure origin, have their root in the experiences of a previous life? then take the cases of children at school. children of even the same family manifest different degrees of receptivity to certain studies. some "take to" one thing, and some to another. some find arithmetic so easy that they almost absorb it intuitively, while grammar is a hard task for them; while their brothers and sisters find the exact reverse to be true. how many have found that when they would take up some new study, it is almost like recalling something already learned. do you student, who are now reading these lines take your own case. does not all this teaching seem to you like the repetition of some lesson learned long ago? is it not like remembering something already learned, rather than the learning of some new truth? were you not attracted to these studies, in the first place, by a feeling that you had known it all before, somewhere, somehow? does not your mind leap ahead of the lesson, and see what is coming next, long before you have turned the pages? these inward evidences of the fact of pre-existence are so strong that they outweigh the most skillful appeal to the intellect. this intuitive knowledge of the truth of metempsychosis explains why the belief in it is sweeping over the western world at such a rapid rate. the mere mention of the idea, to many people who have never before heard of it, is sufficient to cause them to recognize its truth. and though they may not understand the laws of its operation, yet deep down in their consciousness they find a something that convinces them of its truth. in spite of the objections that are urged against the teaching, it is making steady headway and progress. the progress of the belief in metempsychosis however has been greatly retarded by the many theories and dogmas attached to it by some of the teachers. not to speak of the degrading ideas of re-birth into the bodies of animals, etc., which have polluted the spring of truth, there are to be found many other features of teaching and theory which repel people, and cause them to try to kill out of the minds the glimmer of truth that they find there. the human soul instinctively revolts against the teaching that it is bound to the wheel or re-birth, _willy-nilly_, compulsorily, without choice--compelled to live in body after body until great cycles are past. the soul, perhaps already sick of earth-life, and longing to pass on to higher planes of existence, fights against such teaching. and it does well to so fight, for the truth is nearer to its hearts desire. there is no soul longing that does not carry with it the prophecy of its own fulfillment, and so it is in this case. it is true that the soul of one filled with earthly desires, and craving for material things, will by the very force of those desires be drawn back to earthly re-birth in a body best suited for the gratification of the longings, desires and cravings that it finds within itself. but it is likewise true that the earth-sick soul is not compiled to return unless its own desires bring it back. desire is the key note of metempsychosis, although up to a certain stage it may operate unconsciously. the sum of the desires of a soul regulate its re-birth. those who have become sickened of all that earth has for them at this stage of its evolution, may, and do, rest in states of existence far removed from earth scenes, until the race progresses far enough to afford the resting soul the opportunities and environments that it so earnestly craves. and more than this, when man reaches a certain stage, the process of metempsychosis no longer remains unconscious, but he enters into a conscious knowing, willing passage from one life to another. and when that stage is reached a full memory of the past lives is unfolded, and life to such a soul becomes as the life of a day, succeeded by a night, and then the awakening into another day with full knowledge and recollection of the events of the day before. we are in merely the babyhood of the race now, and the fuller life of the conscious soul lies before us. yea, even now it is being entered into by the few of the race that have progressed sufficiently far on the path. and you, student, who feel within you that craving for conscious re-birth and future spiritual evolution, and the distaste for, and horror of, a further blind, unconscious re-plunge into the earth-life--know you, that this longing on your part is but an indication of what lies before you. it is the strange, subtle, awakening of the nature within you, which betokens the higher state. just as the young person feels within his or her body strange emotions, longings and stirrings, which betoken the passage from the child state into that of manhood or womanhood, so do these spiritual longings, desires and cravings betoken the passage from unconscious re-birth into conscious knowing metempsychosis, when you have passed from the scene of your present labors. in our next lesson we shall consider the history of the race as its souls passed on from the savage tribes to the man of to-day. it is the history of the race--the history of the individual--your own history, student--the record of that through which you have passed to become that which you now are. and as you have climbed step after step up the arduous path, so will you, hereafter climb still higher paths, but no longer in unconsciousness, but with your spiritual eyes wide open to the rays of truth pouring forth from the great central sun--the absolute. concluding this lesson, we would quote two selections from the american poet, whitman, whose strange genius was undoubtedly the result of vague memories springing from a previous life, and which burst into utterances often not more than half understood by the mind that gave them birth. whitman says: "facing west from california's shores, inquiring, tireless, seeking what is yet unfound, a, a child, very old, over waves, toward the house of maternity, the land of migrations, look afar, look off the shores of my western sea, the circle almost circled: for starting westward from hindustan, from the vales of kashmere, from asia, from the north, from god, the sage, and the hero, from the south, from the flowery peninsulas and spice islands, long having wandered since, round the earth having wandered, now i face home again, very pleased and joyous. (but where is what i started for so long ago? and why is it yet unfound?)" * * * * * "i know i am deathless. i know that this orbit of mine cannot be swept by a carpenter's compass; and whether i come to my own to-day, or in ten thousand or ten million years, i can cheerfully take it now or with equal cheerfulness can wait." * * * * * "as to you, life, i reckon you are the leavings of many deaths. no doubt i have died myself ten thousand times before." * * * * * "births have brought us richness and variety, and other births have brought us richness and variety." * * * * * and this quotation from the american poet n.p. willis: "but what a mystery this erring mind? it wakes within a frame of various powers a stranger in a new and wondrous world. it brings an instinct from some other sphere, for its fine senses are familiar all, and with the unconscious habit of a dream it calls and they obey. the priceless sight springs to its curious organ, and the ear learns strangely to detect the articulate air in its unseen divisions, and the tongue gets its miraculous lesson with the rest, and in the midst of an obedient throng of well trained ministers, the mind goes forth to search the secrets of its new found home." the tenth lesson spiritual evolution. one of the things that repel many persons who have had their attention directed to the subject of metempsychosis for the first time, is the idea that they have evolved _as a soul_ from individual lowly forms, for instance that they have at one time been an individual plant, and then an individual animal form, and then an individual higher animal form, and so on until now they are the particular individual human form contemplating the subject. this idea, which has been taught by many teachers, is repellent to the average mind, for obvious reasons, and naturally so, for it has no foundation in truth. while this lesson is principally concerned with the subject of the spiritual evolution of the human soul, since it became a human soul, still it may be as well to mention the previous phase of evolution, briefly, in order to prevent misconception, and to dispel previously acquired error. the atom, although it possesses life and a certain degree of mind, and acts as an individual temporarily, has no permanent individuality that reincarnates. when the atom is evolved it becomes a centre of energy in the great atomic principle, and when it is finally dissolved it resolves itself back into its original state, and its life as an individual atom ceases, although the experience it has gained becomes the property of the entire principle. it is as if a body of water were to be resolved into millions of tiny dew-drops for a time, and each dew-drop was then to acquire certain outside material in solution. in that case, each dew-drop when it again returned to the body of water, would carry with it its foreign material, which would become the property of the whole. and subsequently formed dew-drops would carry in their substance a particle of the foreign matter brought back home by the previous generation of dewdrops, and would thus be a little different from their predecessors. and this process, continuing for many generations of dew-drops, would ultimately cause the greatest changes in the composition of the successive generations. this, in short, is the story of the change and improving forms of life. from the atoms into the elements; from the lower elements into those forming protoplasm; from the protoplasm to the lower forms of animal life; from these lower forms on to higher forms--this is the story. but it is all a counterpart of the dew-drop and the body of water, _until the human soul is evolved_. the plants and the lower forms of animal life are not permanent individual souls, but each family is a _group-soul_ corresponding to the body of water from which the dew-drop arose. from these family group-souls gradually break off minor groups, representing species, and so on into sub-species. at last when the forms reach the plane of man, the group-soul breaks itself up into _permanent individual souls_, and true metempsychosis begins. that is, _each individual human soul becomes a permanent individual entity_, destined to evolve and perfect itself along the lines of spiritual evolution. and from this point begins our story of spiritual evolution. the story of man, the individual, begins amidst humble surroundings. primitive man, but little above the level of the lower animals in point of intelligence, has nevertheless that distinguishing mark of individuality--"self-consciousness," which is the demarkation between beast and man. and even the lowest of the lowest races had at least a "trace" of this self-consciousness, which made of them individuals, and caused the fragment of the race-soul to separate itself from the general principle animating the race, and to fasten its "i" conscious upon itself, rather than upon the underlying race-soul, along instinctive lines. do you know just what this self-consciousness is, and how it differs from the physical consciousness of the lower animals? perhaps we had better pause a moment to consider it at this place. the lower animals are of course conscious of the bodies, and their wants, feelings, emotions, desires, etc., and their actions are in response to the animating impulses coming from this plane of consciousness. but it stops there. they "know," but they do not "know that they know"; that is, they have not yet arrived at a state in which they can think of themselves as "i," and to reason upon their thoughts and mental operations. it is like the consciousness of a very young child, which feels and knows its sensations and wants, but is unable to think of itself as "i," and to turn the mental gaze inward. in another book of these series we have used the illustration of the horse which has been left standing out in the cold sleet and rain, and which undoubtedly feels and knows the unpleasant sensations arising therefrom, and longs to get away from the unpleasant environment. but, still, he is unable to analyze his mental states and wonder whether his master will come out to him soon, or think how cruel it is to keep him out of his warm comfortable stable; or wonder whether he will be taken out in the cold rain again tomorrow; or feel envious of other horses who are indoors; or wonder why he is kept out cold nights, etc., etc. in short, the horse is unable to think as would a reasoning man under just the same circumstances. he is aware of the discomfort, just as would be the man; and he would run away home, if he were able, just as would the man. but he is not able to pity himself, nor to think about his personality, as would a man--he is not able to wonder whether life is worth the living, etc., as would a man. he "knows" but is not able to reflect upon the "knowing." in the above illustration, the principal point is that the horse does not "know himself" as an entity, while even the most primitive man is able to so recognize himself as an "i." if the horse were able to think in words, he would think "feel," "cold," "hurt," etc., but he would be unable to think "_i_ feel; _i_ am cold; _i_ am hurt," etc. the thought "i" would be missing. it is true that the "i" consciousness of the primitive man was slight, and was but a degree above the physical consciousness of the higher apes, but nevertheless it had sprung into being, never again to be lost. the primitive man was like a child a few years old--he was able to say "i," and to think "i." _he had become an individual soul._ and this individual soul inhabited and animated a body but little removed from that of an ape. but this new consciousness began to mould that rude body and the ascent was begun. each generation showed a physical improvement over that of the preceding one, according to the lines of physical evolution, and as the developing soul demanded more perfect and developed bodies the bodies were evolved to meet the demand, for the mental demand has ever been the cause of the physical form. the soul of the primitive man reincarnated almost immediately after the death of the physical body, because the experiences gained were mostly along the lines of the physical, the mental planes being scarcely brought into play, while the higher and spiritual faculties were almost entirely obscured from sight. life after life the soul of the primitive man lived out in rapid succession. but in each new embodiment there was a slight advance over that of the previous one. experience, or rather the result of experiences, were carried over, and profited by. new lessons were learned and unlearned, improved upon or discarded. and the race grew and unfolded. after a time the number of advancing souls which had outstripped their fellows in progress became sufficiently large for sub-races to be formed, and so the branching off process began. in this way the various races and types were formed, and the progress of mankind gained headway. at this point we may as well consider the history of the races of mankind, that we may see how the great tide-wave of soul has ever pressed onward, marking higher and still higher stages of progress, and also how the various minor waves of the great wave pushed in and then receded, only to be followed by still higher waves. the story is most interesting. the yogi teachings inform us that the grand cycle of man's life on the earth is composed of seven cycles, of which we are now living in the third-seventh part of the fifth cycle. these cycles may be spoken of as the great earth periods, separated from each other by some great natural cataclysm which destroyed the works of the previous races of men, and which started afresh the progress called "civilization," which, as all students know, manifests a rise and fall like unto that of the tides. man in the first cycle emerged from a gross animal-like state into a condition somewhat advanced. it was a slow progress, but nevertheless a distinct series of advances were made by the more progressive souls who passed over on to the second cycle, embodying themselves as the ruling races in the same, their less progressive brothers incarnating in the lower tribes of the second cycle. it must be remembered that the souls which do not advance during a cycle reincarnate in the next cycle among the lower races. so that even in this fifth cycle we have remnants of the previous cycles, the lives of the members of which give us an idea of what life in the earlier cycles must have been. the yogi teachings give us but little information regarding the people of the first and second cycles, because of the low state of these ages. the tale, if told, would be the story of the cave-dweller, and stone-age people; the fire-peoples, and all the rest of savage, barbarian crew; there was but little trace of anything like that which we call "civilization," although in the latter periods of the second cycle the foundations for the coming civilizations were firmly laid. after the cataclysm which destroyed the works of man of the second cycle, and left the survivors scattered or disorganized, awaiting the touch of the organizing urge which followed shortly afterward, there dawned the first period of the third cycle. the scene of the life of the third cycle was laid in what is known to occultists as lemuria. lemuria was a mighty continent situated in what is now known as the pacific ocean, and parts of the indian ocean. it included australia, australasia, and other portions of the pacific islands, which are in fact surviving portions of the great continent of lemuria, its highest points, the lower portion having sunk beneath the seas ages and ages ago. life in lemuria is described as being principally concerned with the physical senses, and sensual enjoyment, only a few developed souls having broken through the fetters of materiality and reached the beginnings of the mental and spiritual planes of life. some few indeed made great progress and were saved from the general wreck, in order to become the leaven which would lighten the mass of mankind during the next cycle. these developed souls were the teachers of the new races, and were looked upon by the latter as gods and supernatural beings, and legends and traditions concerning them are still existent among the ancient peoples of our present day. many of the myths of the ancient peoples arose in this way. the yogi traditions hold that just prior to the great cataclysm which destroyed the races of the second cycle, there was a body of the chosen ones which migrated from lemuria to certain islands of the sea which are now part of the main land of india. these people formed the nucleus of the occult teachings of the lemurians, and developed into the fount of truth which has been flowing ever since throughout the successive periods and cycles. when lemuria passed away, there arose from the depths of the ocean the continent which was to be the scene of the life and civilization of the fourth cycle--the continent of atlantis. atlantis was situated in a portion of what is now known as the atlantic ocean, beginning at what is now known as the caribbean sea and extending over to the region of what is now known as africa. what are now known as cuba and the west indies were among the highest points of the continent, and now stand like monuments to its departed greatness. the civilization of atlantis was remarkable, and its people attained heights which seem almost incredible to even those who are familiar with the highest achievements of man in our own times. the chosen ones preserved from the cataclysm which destroyed lemuria, and who lived to a remarkably old age, had stored up within their minds the wisdom and learning of the races that had been destroyed, and they thus gave the atlanteans an enormous starting-advantage. they soon attained great advancement along all the lines of human endeavor. they perfected mechanical inventions and appliances, reaching far ahead of even our present attainments. in the field of electricity especially they reached the stages that our present races will reach in about two or three hundred years from now. along the lines of occult attainment their progress was far beyond the dreams of the average man of our own race, and in fact from this arose one of the causes of their downfall, for they prostituted the power to base and selfish uses, and black magic. and, so the decline of atlantis began. but the end did not come at once, or suddenly, but gradually. the continent, and its surrounding islands gradually sank beneath the waves of the atlantic ocean, the process occupying over , years. the greeks and romans of our own cycle had traditions regarding the sinking of the continent, but their knowledge referred only to the disappearance of the small remainder--certain islands--the continent itself having disappeared thousands of years before their time. it is recorded that the egyptian priests had traditions that the continent itself had disappeared nine thousand years before their time. as was the case with the chosen ones of lemuria, so was it with the elect of atlantis, who were taken away from the doomed land some time prior to its destruction. the few advanced people left their homes and migrated to portions of what are now south america and central america, but which were then islands of the sea. these people have left their traces of their civilization and works, which our antiquaries are discovering to-day. when the fifth cycle dawned (our own cycle, remember) these brave and advanced souls acted as the race-teachers and became as "gods" to those who came afterward. the races were very prolific, and multiplied very rapidly under the most favorable conditions. the souls of the atlanteans were pressing forward for embodiment, and human forms were born to supply the demand. and now begins the history of our own cycle--the fifth cycle. but before we begin a consideration of the fifth cycle, let us consider for a moment a few points about the laws operating to cause these great changes. in the first place, each cycle has a different theatre for its work and action. the continent of lemuria was not in existence during the second cycle, and arose from the ocean bed only when its appointed time came. and, likewise the continent of atlantis reposed beneath the waves while the lemurian races manifested during the third cycle, rising by means of a convulsion of the earth's surface to play its part during its own period--the fourth cycle--only to sink again beneath the waves to make way for the birth of the fifth cycle with its races. by means of these cataclysms the races of each cycle were wiped out when the time came, the few elect or chosen ones, that is those who have manifested the right to live on, being carried away to some favorable environment where they became as leaven to the mass--as "gods" to the new races that quickly appear. it must be remembered, however, that these chosen ones are not the only ones saved from the destruction that overtakes the majority of the race. on the contrary a few survivors are preserved, although driven away from their former homes, and reduced to "first principles of living" in order to become the parents of the new races. the new races springing from the fittest of these survivors quickly form sub-races, being composed of the better adapted souls seeking reincarnation, while the less fit sink into barbarism, and show evidences of decay, although a remnant drags on for thousands of years, being composed of the souls of those who have not advanced sufficiently to take a part in the life of the new races. these "left-overs" are in evidence in our own times in the cases of the australian savages, and some of the african tribes, as well as among the digger indians and others of similar grade of intelligence. in order to understand the advance of each race it must be remembered that the more advanced souls, after passing out of the body, have a much longer period of rest in the higher planes, and consequently do not present themselves for reincarnation until a period quite late when compared with the hasty reincarnation of the less advanced souls who are hurried back to rebirth by reason of the strong earthly attachments and desires. in this way it happens that the earlier races of each cycle are more primitive folk than those who follow them as the years roll by. the soul of an earth-bound person reincarnates in a few years, and sometimes in a few days, while the soul of an advanced man may repose and rest on the higher planes for centuries--nay, even for thousands of years, until the earth has reached a stage in which the appropriate environment may be afforded it. observers, unconnected with occultism, have noted certain laws which seem to regulate the rise and fall of nations--the procession of ruling races. they do not understand the law of metempsychosis that alone gives the key to the problem, but nevertheless they have not failed to record the existence of the laws themselves. in order to show that these laws are recognized by persons who are not at all influenced by the occult teachings, we take the liberty of quoting from draper's "history of the intellectual development of europe." dr. draper writes as follows: "we are, as we often say, the creatures of circumstances. in that expression there is a higher philosophy than might at first appear. from this more accurate point of view we should therefore consider the course of these events, recognizing the principle that the affairs of men pass forward in a determinate way, expanding and unfolding themselves. and hence we see that the things of which we have spoken as if they were matters of choice, were in reality forced upon their apparent authors by the necessity of the times. but in truth they should be considered as the presentation of a certain phase of life which nations in their onward course sooner or later assume. to the individual, how well we know that a sober moderation of action, an appropriate gravity of demeanor, belonging to the mature period of life, change from the wanton willfulness of youth, which may be ushered in, or its beginnings marked by many accidental incidents; in one perhaps by domestic bereavements, in another by the loss of fortune, in a third by ill-health. we are correct enough in imputing to such trials the change of character; but we never deceive ourselves by supposing that it would have failed to take place had these incidents not occurred. there runs an irresistible destiny in the midst of these vicissitudes. there are analogies between the life of a nation, and that of an individual, who, though he may be in one respect the maker of his own fortunes, for happiness or for misery, for good or for evil, though he remains here or goes there as his inclinations prompt, though he does this or abstains from that as he chooses, is nevertheless held fast by an inexorable fate--a fate which brought him into the world involuntarily, so far as he was concerned, which presses him forward through a definite career, the stages of which are absolutely invariable,--infancy, childhood, youth, maturity, old age, with all their characteristic actions and passions,--and which removes him from the scene at the appointed time, in most cases against his will. so also is it with nations; the voluntary is only the outward semblance, covering but hardly hiding the predetermined. over the events of life we may have control, but none whatever over the law of its progress. there is a geometry that applies to nations an equation of their curve of advance. that no mortal man can touch." this remarkable passage, just quoted, shows how the close observers of history note the rise and fall of the tides of human race progress, although ignorant of the real underlying causing energy or force. a study of the occult teachings alone gives one the hidden secret of human actions and throws the bright light of truth upon the dark corners of phenomena. at the beginning of the fifth cycle (which is the present one), there were not only the beginnings of the new races which always spring up at the beginning of each new cycle and which are the foundations for the coming races which take advantage of the fresh conditions and opportunities for growth and development--but there were also the descendants of the elect saved from the destruction of atlantis by having been led away and colonized far from the scene of danger. the new races were the descendant of the scattered survivors of the atlantean peoples, that is, the common run of people of the time. but the elect few were very superior people, and imparted to their descendants their knowledge and wisdom. so that we see at the beginning of the fifth cycle hordes of new, primitive people in certain lands, and in other places advanced nations like the ancestors of the ancient egyptians, persians, chaldeans, hindus, etc. these advanced races were old souls--advanced souls--the progressed and developed souls of ancient lemuria and atlantis, who lived their lives and who are now either on higher planes of life, or else are among us to-day taking a leading part in the world's affairs, striving mightily to save the present races from the misfortunes which overtook their predecessors. the descendants of the people were the assyrians and babylonians. in due time the primitive new races developed and the great roman, grecian, and carthaginian peoples appeared. then came the rise of other peoples and nations down to the present time. each race or nation has its rise, its height of attainment, and its decline. when a nation begins to decline it is because its more advanced souls have passed on, and only the less progressive souls are left. the history of all nations show the truth of the occult the term. men are forsaking old ideals, creeds and dogmas, and are running hither and thither seeking something they feel to be necessary, but of the nature of which they know nothing. they are feeling the hunger for peace--the thirst for knowledge--and they are seeking satisfaction in all directions. this is not only the inevitable working of the law of evolution, but is also a manifestation of the power and love of the great souls that have passed on to higher planes of existence, and who have become as angels and arch-angels. these beings are filled with the love of the race, and are setting into motion influences that are being manifest in many directions, the tendency of which are to bring the race to a realization of its higher power, faculties, and destiny. as we have said in other places, one of the greatest difficulties in the way of the seeker after truth in his consideration of the question of spiritual evolution is the feeling that rebirth is being forced upon him, without any say on his part, and against his desires. but this is far from being correct. it is true that the whole process is according to the great law, but that law operates through the force of desire and attraction. the soul is attracted toward rebirth by reason of its desire or rather the essence of its desires. it is reborn only because it has within itself the desire for further experience, and opportunity for unfoldment. and it is reborn into certain environments solely because it has within itself unsatisfied desires for those environments, etc. the process is just as regular and scientific as is the attraction of one atom of matter for another. each soul has within itself certain elements of desire and attraction, and it attracts to itself certain conditions and experiences, and is in turn attracted by these things. this is the law of life, in the body and out of it. and there is no injustice in the law it is the essence of justice itself, for it gives to each just what is required to fill the indwelling desires, or else the conditions and experiences designed to burn out the desires which are holding one back, and the destruction of which will make possible future advancement. for instance, if one is bound by the inordinate desire for material wealth, the law of karma will attract him to a rebirth in conditions in which he will be surrounded by wealth and luxury until he becomes sickened with them and will find his heart filled with the desire to flee from them and toward higher and more satisfying things. of course the law of karma acts in other ways, as we shall see in our next lesson--it deals with one's debts and obligations, also. the law of karma is closely connected with metempsychosis, and one must be considered in connection with the other, always. not only is it true that man's rebirths are in strict accordance with the law of attraction and desire, but it is also true that after he attains a certain stage of spiritual unfoldment he enters into the conscious stage of rebirth, and thereafter he is reborn consciously and with full foreknowledge. many are now entering into this stage of development, and have a partial consciousness of their past lives, which also implies that they have had at least a partial consciousness of approaching rebirth, for the two phases of consciousness run together. those individuals of a race who have outstripped their fellows in spiritual unfoldment, are still bound by the karma of the particular race to which they belong, up to a certain point. and as the entire race, or at least a large proportion of it, must move forward as a whole, such individuals must needs wait also. but they are not compelled to suffer a tiresome round of continued rebirths amid environments and conditions which they have outgrown. on the contrary, the advanced individual soul is allowed to wait until the race reaches its own stage of advancement, when it again joins in the upward movement, in full consciousness, however. in the interim he may pass his well earned rest either on some of the higher planes of rest, or else in conscious temporary sojourn in other material spheres helping in the great work as a teacher and worker for good and spiritual evolution among those who need such help. in fact there are in the world to-day, individual souls which have reached similar stages on other planets, and who are spending their rest period here amidst the comparatively lower earth conditions, striving to lift up the earth souls to greater heights. so long as people allow themselves to become attached to material objects, so long will they be reborn in conditions in which these objects bind them fast. it is only when the soul frees itself from these entangling obstructions that it is born in conditions of freedom. some outgrow these material attachments by right thinking and reasoning, while others seem to be compelled to live them out, and thus outlive them, before they are free. at last when the soul realizes that these things are merely incidents of the lower personality, and have naught to do with the real individuality, then, and then only, do they fall from it like a wornout cloak, and are left behind while it bounds forward on the path fresh from the lighter weight being carried. the yogi philosophy teaches that man will live forever, ascending from higher to higher planes, and then on and on and on. death is but the physical symbol of a period of soul rest, similar to sleep of the tired body, and is just as much to be welcomed and greeted with thanks. life is continuous, and its object is development, unfoldment and growth. we are in eternity now as much as we ever shall be. our souls may exist out of the body as well as in it, although bodily incarnation is necessary at this stage of our development. as we progress on to higher planes of life, we shall incarnate in bodies far more ethereal than those now used by us, just as in the past we used bodies almost incredibly grosser and coarser than those we call our own to-day. life is far more than a thing of three-score and ten years--it is really a succession of such lives, on an ascending scale, that which we call our personal self to-day being merely the essence of the experiences of countless lives in the past. the soul is working steadily upward, from higher to higher, from gross to finer forms and manifestations. and it will steadily work for ages to come, always progressing, always advancing, always unfolding. the universe contains many worlds for the soul to inhabit, and then after it has passed on to other universes, there will still be infinitude before it. the destiny of the soul of man is of wondrous promise and possibilities--the mind to-day cannot begin to even dream of what is before the soul. those who have already advanced many steps beyond you--those elder brethren--are constantly extending to you aid in many directions. they are extending to you the unseen hand, which lifts you over many a hard place and dangerous crossing--but you recognize it not except in a vague way. there are now in existence, on planes infinitely higher than your own, intelligences of transcendent glory and magnificence--but they were once men even as you are to-day. they have so far progressed upon the path that they have become as angels and archangels when compared with you. and, blessed thought, even as these exalted ones were once even as you, so shall you, in due course of spiritual evolution, become even as these mighty ones. the yogi philosophy teaches that you who are reading these lines have lived many lives previous to the present one. you have lived in the lower forms, and have worked your way arduously along the path until now you are reaching the stage of spiritual consciousness in which the past and future will begin to appear plain to you for the first time. you have lived as the cave-man--the cliff-dweller--the savage--the barbarian. you have been the warrior--the priest--the medieval scholar and occultist--the prince--the pauper. you have lived in lemuria--in atlantis--in india--in persia--in egypt--in ancient rome and greece--and are now playing your part in the western civilization, associating with many with whom you have had relations in your past lives. in closing this lesson, let us quote from a previous writing from the same pen that writes this lesson: "toward what goal is all this spiritual evolution tending? what does it all mean? from the low planes of life to the highest--all are on the path. to what state or place does the path lead? let us attempt to answer by asking you to imagine a series of millions of circles, one within the other. each circle means a stage of life. the outer circles are filled with life in its lowest and most material stages--each circle nearer the centre holds higher and higher forms--until men (or what were once men) become as gods. still on, and on, and on. does the form of life grow higher, until the human mind cannot grasp the idea. but what is the centre? the mind of the entire spiritual body--the absolute! and we are traveling toward that centre!" and again from the same source: "but beyond your plane, and beyond mine, are plane after plane, connected with our earth, the splendors of which man cannot conceive. and there are likewise many planes around the other planets of our chain--and there are millions of other worlds--and there are chains of universes just as there are chains of planets--and then greater groups of these chains--and so on greater and grander beyond the power of man to imagine--on and on and on and on--higher and higher--to inconceivable heights. an infinity of infinities of worlds are before us. our world and our planetary system and our system of suns, and our system of solar systems, are but as grains of sand on the beach of the mighty ocean. but then you cry, 'but what am i--poor mortal thing--lost among all this inconceivable greatness?' the answer comes that you are that most precious thing--a living soul. and if you were destroyed the whole system of universes would crumble, for you are as necessary as the greatest part of it--it cannot do without you--you cannot be lost or destroyed--you are a part of it all, and are eternal. 'but,' you ask, 'beyond all of this of which you have told me, what is there--what is the centre of it all?' your teacher's face takes on a rapt expression--a light not of earth beams forth from his countenance. '_the absolute_!' he replies. the eleventh lesson. the law of karma. "karma" is a sanscrit term for that great law known to western thinkers as spiritual cause and effect, or causation. it relates to the complicated affinities for either good or evil that have been acquired by the soul throughout its many incarnations. these affinities manifest as characteristics enduring from one incarnation to another, being added to here, softened or altered there, but always pressing forward for expression and manifestation. and, so, it follows that what each one of us is in this life depends upon is what we have been and how we have acted in our past lives. throughout the operations of the law of karma the manifestation of perfect justice is apparent. we are not punished _for_ our sins, as the current beliefs have it, but instead we are punished _by_ our sins. we are not rewarded _for_ our good acts, but we received our reward _through and by_ characteristics, qualities, affinities, etc., acquired by reason of our having performed these good acts in previous lives. we are our own judges and executioners. in our present lives we are storing up good or bad karma which will stick to us closely, and which will demand expression and manifestation in lives to come. when we fasten around ourselves the evil of bad karma, we have taken to shelter a monster which will gnaw into our very vitals until we shake him off by developing opposite qualities. and when we draw to ourselves the good karma of duty well performed, kindness well expressed, and good deeds freely performed without hope of reward, then do we weave for ourselves the beautiful garments which we are destined to wear upon the occasion of our future lives. the yogi teachings relating to the law of karma do not teach us that sin is an offense against the power which brought us into being, so much as it is an offense against ourselves. we cannot injure the absolute, nor harm it in any way. but we may harm each other, and in so doing harm ourselves. the yogis teach that sin is largely a matter of ignorance and misunderstanding of our true nature, and that the lesson must be well learned until we are able to see the folly and error of our former course, and thus are able to remedy our past errors and to avoid their recurrence. by karma the effects arising from our sins cling to us, until we become sick and weary of them, and seek their cause in our hearts. when we have discovered the evil cause of these effects, we learn to hate it and tear it from us as a foul thing, and are thence evermore relieved of it. the yogis view the sinning soul as the parent does the child who will persist in playing with forbidden things. the parent cautions the child against playing with the stove, but still the child persists in its disobedience, and sooner or later receives a burn for its meddling. the burn is not a _punishment_ for the disobedience (although it may seem so to it) but comes in obedience to a natural law which is invariable. to child finds out that stoves and burns are connected, and begins to see some sense and reason in the admonitions of the parent. the love of the parent sought to save the child the pain of the burn, and yet the child-nature persisted in experimenting, and was taught the lesson. but the lesson once thoroughly learned, it is not necessary to forbid the child the stove, for it has learned the danger for itself and thereafter avoids it. and thus it is with the human soul passing on from one life to another. it learns new lessons, gathers new experiences, and learns to recognize the pain that invariably comes from wrong action, and the happiness that invariably comes from right action. as it progresses it learns how hurtful certain courses of action are, and like the burnt child it avoids them thereafter. if we will but stop to consider for a moment the relative degrees of temptation to us and to others, we may see the operations of past karma in former lives. why is it that this thing is "no temptation" to you, while it is the greatest temptation to another. why is it that certain things do not seem to have any attraction for him, and yet they attract you so much that you have to use all of your will power to resist them? it is because of the karma in your past lives. the things that do not now tempt you, have been outlived in some former life, and you have profited by your own experiences, or those of others, or else through some teaching given you by one who had been attracted to you by your unfolding consciousness of truth. we are profiting to-day by the lessons of our past lives. if we have learned them well we are receiving the benefit, while if we have turned our backs on the words of wisdom offered us, or have refused to learn the lesson perfectly, we are compelled to sit on the same old school-benches and hear the same old lesson repeated until it is fairly driven into our consciousness. we wonder why it is that other persons can perform certain evil acts that seem so repulsive to us, and are apt to pride ourselves upon our superior virtue. but those who know, realize that their unfortunate brethren have not paid sufficient attention to the lesson of the past, and are having it repeated to them in a more drastic form this time. they know that the virtuous ones are simply reaping the benefit of their own application in the past, but that their lesson is not over, and that unless they advance and hold fast to that which they have attained, as well, they will be outstripped by many of those whose failure they are now viewing with wonder and scorn. it is hard for us to fully realize that we are what we are because of our past experiences. it is difficult for us to value the experiences that we are now going through, because we do not fully appreciate the value of bitter experiences once lived out and outlived. let us look back over the experiences of this present life, for instance. how many bitter episodes are there which we wish had never happened, and how we wish we could tear them out of our consciousness. but we do not realize that from these same bitter experiences came knowledge and wisdom that we would not part with under any circumstances. and yet if we were to tear away from us the cause of these benefits, we would tear away the benefits also, and would find ourselves back just where we were before the experience happened to us. what we would like to do is to hold on to the benefits that came from the experience---the knowledge and wisdom that were picked from the tree of pain. but we cannot separate the effect from the cause in this way, and must learn to look back upon these bitter experiences as the causes from which our present knowledge, wisdom and attainment proceeded. then may we cease to hate these things, and to see that good may come from evil, under the workings of the law. and when we are able to do this, we shall be able to regard the painful experiences of our present day as the inevitable outcome of causes away back in our past, but which will work surely toward increased knowledge, wisdom and attainment, if we will but see the good underlying the working of the law. when we fall in with the working of the law of karma we recognize its pain not as an injustice or punishment, but as the beneficent operation of a law which, although apparently working evil, has for its end and aim ultimate good. many object to the teachings of the law of karma by saying that the experiences of each life not being remembered, must be useless and without value. this is a very foolish position to take concerning the matter. these experiences although not fully remembered, are not lost to us at all--they are made a part of the material of which our minds are composed. they exist in the form of feelings, characteristics, inclinations, likes and dislikes, affinities, attractions, repulsions, etc., etc., and are as much in evidence as are the experiences of yesterday which are fresh in our memory. look back over your present life, and try to remember the experiences of the past years. you will find that you remember but few of the events of your life. the pressing and constant experiences of each of the days that you have lived have been, for the most part, forgotten. though these experiences may have seemed very vivid and real to you when they occurred, still they have faded into nothingness now, and they are to all intents and purposes _lost_ to you. but _are_ they lost? not at all. you are what you are because of the results of these experiences. your character has been moulded and shaped, little by little, by these apparently forgotten pains, pleasures, sorrows and happinesses. this trial strengthened you along certain lines; that one changed your point of view and made you see things with a broader sweep of vision. this grief caused you to feel the pain of others; that disappointment spurred you on to new endeavors. and each and every one of them left a permanent mark upon your personality--upon your character. all men are what they are by reason of what they have lived through and out. and though these happenings, scenes, circumstances, occurrences, experiences, have faded from the memory, their effects are indelibly imprinted upon the fabric of the character, and the man of to-day is different from what he would have been had the happening or experience not entered into his life. and this same rule applies to the characteristics brought over from past incarnations. you have not the memory of the experiences, but you have the fruit in the shape of "characteristics," tastes, inclinations, etc. you have a tendency toward certain things, and a distaste for others. certain things attract, while others repel you. all of these things are the result of your experiences in former incarnations. your very taste and inclination toward occult studies which has caused you to read these lessons is your legacy from some former life in which some one spoke a word or two to you regarding the subject, and attracted your interest and desire. you learned some little about the subject then--perhaps much--and developed a desire for more knowledge along these lines, which manifesting in your present life has brought you in contact with further instruction. the same inclination will lead to further advancement in this life, and still greater opportunities in future incarnations. nearly every one who reads these lines has felt that much of this occult instruction imparted is but a "re-learning" of something previously known, although many of the things taught have never been heard before in this life. you pick up a book and read something, and know at once that it is so, because in some vague way you have a consciousness of having studied and worked out the problem in some past period of your lives. all this is the working of the law of karma, which caused you to attract that for which you have an affinity, and which also causes others to be attracted to you. many are the reunions of people who have been related to each other in previous lives. the old loves, and old hates work out their karmic results in our lives. we are bound to those whom we have loved, and also to those whom we may have injured. the story must be worked out to the end, although a knowledge of the law undoubtedly relieves one of many entangling attachments and karmic relationships, by pointing out the nature of the relation, and enabling one to free himself mentally from the bond, which process tends to dissolve much of the karmic entanglements. life is a great school for the learning of lessons. it has many grades, many classes, many scales of progress. and the lessons must be learned whether we will or no. if we refuse or neglect to learn the lesson we are sent back to accomplish the task, again and again, until the lesson is finally learned. nothing once learned is ever forgotten entirely. there is an indelible imprint of the lesson in our character, which manifests as predispositions, tastes, inclinations, etc. all that goes to make up that which we call "character" is the workings of the law of karma. there is no such thing as chance. nothing ever "happens." all is regulated by the law of cause and effect or karma. as a man sows so shall he reap, in a literal sense. you are what you are to-day, by reason of what you were in your last life. and in your next life you will be what you are making of yourself to-day. you are your own judge, and executioner--your own bestower of rewards. but the love of the absolute is ever working to lead you upward to the light, and to open your soul to that knowledge that, in the words of the yogis, "burns up karma," and enables you to throw off the burden of cause and effect that you have been carrying around with you, and which has weighted you down. in the fourteen lessons we quoted from mr. berry benson, a writer in the _century magazine_ for may, . the quotation fits so beautifully into this place, that we venture to reproduce it here once more, with your permission. it reads as follows: "a little boy went to school. he was very little. all that he knew he had drawn in with his mother's milk. his teacher (who was god) placed him in the lowest class, and gave him these lessons to learn: thou shalt not kill. thou shalt do no hurt to any living thing. thou shalt not steal. so the man did not kill; but he was cruel, and he stole. at the end of the day (when his beard was gray--when the night was come) his teacher (who was god) said: thou hast learned not to kill, but the other lessons thou hast not learned. come back tomorrow. "on the morrow he came back a little boy. and his teacher (who was god) put him in a class a little higher, and gave him these lessons to learn: thou shalt do no hurt to any living thing. thou shalt not steal. thou shalt not cheat. so the man did no hurt to any living thing; but he stole and cheated. and at the end of the day (when his beard was gray--when the night was come) his teacher (who was god) said: thou hast learned to be merciful. but the other lessons thou hast not learned. come back tomorrow. "again, on the morrow, he came back, a little boy. and his teacher (who was god) put him in a class yet a little higher, and gave him these lessons to learn: thou shalt not steal. thou shalt not cheat. thou shalt not covet. so the man did not steal; but he cheated and he coveted. and at the end of the day (when his beard was gray--when the night was come) his teacher (who was god) said: thou hast learned not to steal. but the other lessons thou hast not learned. come back, my child, tomorrow. "this is what i have read in the faces of men and women, in the book of the world, and in the scroll of the heavens, which is writ with stars." under the operation of the law of karma every man is master of his own destiny--he rewards himself--he punishes himself--he builds, tears down and develops his character, always, however, under the brooding influence of the absolute which is love infinite and which is constantly exerting the upward spiritual urge, which is drawing the soul toward its ultimate haven of rest. man must, and does, work out his own salvation and destiny, but the upward urge is always there--never tiring--never despairing--knowing always that ultimate victory belongs to the soul. under the law of karma every action, yea, every thought as well, has its karmic effect upon the future incarnations of the soul. and, not exactly in the nature of punishment or rewards, in the general acceptation of the term, but as the invariable operation of the law of cause and effect. the thoughts of a person are like seeds which seek to press forward into growth, bud, blossom and fruit. some spring into growth in this life, while others are carried over into future lives. the actions of this life may represent only the partial growth of the thought seed, and future lives may be necessary for its full blossoming and fruition. of course, the individual who understands the truth, and who has mentally divorced himself from the fruits of his actions--who has robbed material desire of its vital force by seeing it as it is, and not as a part of his real self--his seed-thoughts do not spring into blossom and fruit in future lives, for he has killed their germ. the yogis express this thought by the illustration of the baked-seeds. they show their pupils that while ordinary seeds sprout, blossom and bear fruit, still if one bakes the seeds their vitality is gone, and while they may serve the purposes of a nourishing meal still they can never cause sprout, blossom or fruit. then the pupil is instructed in the nature of desire, and shown how desires invariably spring into plant, blossom and fruit, the life of the person being the soil in which they flourish. but desires understood, and set off from the real man, are akin to baked-seeds--they have been subjected to the heat of spiritual wisdom and are thus robbed of their vitality, and are unable to bear fruit. in this way the understood and mastered desire bears no karmic fruit of future action. the yogis teach that there are two great principles at work in the matter of karmic law affecting the conditions of rebirth. the first principle is that whereby the prevailing desires, aspirations, likes, and dislikes, loves and hates, attractions and repulsions, etc., press the soul into conditions in which these characteristics may have a favorable and congenial soil for development. the second principle is that which may be spoken of as the urge of the unfolding spirit, which is always urging forward toward fuller expression, and the breaking down of confining sheaths, and which thus exerts a pressure upon the soul awaiting reincarnation which causes it to seek higher environments and conditions than its desires and aspiration, as well as its general characteristics, would demand. these two apparently conflicting (and yet actually harmonious) principles acting and reacting upon each other, determine the conditions of rebirth, and have a very material effect upon the karmic law. one's life is largely a conflict between these two forces, the one tending to hold the soul to the present conditions resulting from past lives, and the other ever at work seeking to uplift and elevate it to greater heights. the desires and characteristics brought over from the past lives, of course, seek fuller expression and manifestation upon the lines of the past lives. these tendencies simply wish to be let alone and to grow according to their own laws of development and manifestation. but the unfolding spirit, knowing that the soul's best interests are along the lines of spiritual unfoldment and growth, brings a steady pressure to bear, life after life, upon the soul, causing it to gradually kill out the lower desires and characteristics, and to develop qualities which tend to lead it upward instead of allowing it to remain on its present level, there to bring to blossom and fruit many low thoughts and desires. absolute justice reigns over the operations of the law of karma, but back of that and superior even to its might is found the infinite love of the absolute which tends to redeem the race. it is that love that is back of all the upward tendencies of the soul, and which we all feel within our inner selves in our best moments. the light of the spirit (love) is ever there. our relationship to others in past lives has its effect upon the working of the law of karma. if in the past we have formed attachments for other individuals, either through love or hate; either by kindness or cruelty; these attachments manifest in our present life, for these persons are bound to us, and we to them, by the bonds of karma, until the attachment is worn out. such people will in the present life have certain relationships to us, the object of which is the working out of the problems in which we are mutually concerned, the adjustment of relationship, the "squaring up" of accounts, the development of both. we are apt to be placed in a position to receive hurts from those whom we have hurt in past lives, and this not through the idea of revenge, but by the inexorable working out of the law of compensation in karmic adjustments. and when we are helped, comforted and receive favors from those who we helped in past lives, it is not merely a reward, but the operation of the same law of justice. the person who hurts us in this way may have no desire to do so, and may even be distressed because he is used as an instrument in this way, but the karmic law places him in a position where he unwittingly and without desire acts so that you receive pain through him. have you not felt yourselves hurting another, although you had no desire and intention of so doing, and, in fact, were sorely distressed because you could not prevent the pain? this is the operation of karma. have you not found yourself placed where you unexpectedly were made the bestower of favors upon some almost unknown persons? this is karma. the wheel turns slowly, but it makes the complete circle. karma is the companion law to metempsychosis. the two are inextricably connected, and their operations are closely interwoven. constant and unvarying in operation, karma manifests upon and in worlds, planets, races, nations, families and persons everywhere in space is the great law in operation in some form. the so-called mechanical operations called causation are as much a phase of karma as is the highest phases manifest on the higher planes of life, far beyond our own. and through it all is ever the urge toward perfection--the upward movement of all life. the yogi teachings regard the universe as a mighty whole, and the law of karma as the one great law operating and manifesting through that whole. how different is the workings of this mighty law from the many ideas advanced by man to account for the happenings of life. mere chance is no explanation, for the careful thinker must inevitably come to the conclusion that in an universe governed by law, there can be no room for chance. and to suppose that all rewards and punishments are bestowed by a personal deity, in answer to prayers, supplications, good behavior, offerings, etc., is to fall back into the childhood stage of the race thought. the yogis teach that the sorrow, suffering and affliction witnessed on all sides of us, as well as the joy, happiness and blessings also in evidence, are not caused by the will or whim of some capricious deity to reward his friends and punish his enemies--but by the working of an invariable law which metes out to each his measure of good and ill according to his karmic attachments and relationships. those who are suffering, and who see no cause for their pain, are apt to complain and rebel when they see others of no apparent merit enjoying the good things of life which have been denied their apparently more worthy brethren. the churches have no answer except "it is god's will," and that "the divine motive must not be questioned." these answers seem like mockery, particularly when the idea of divine justice is associated with the teaching. there is no other answer compatible with divine justice other than the law of karma, which makes each person responsible for his or her happiness or misery. and there is nothing so stimulating to one as to know that he has within himself the means to create for himself newer and better conditions of life and environment. we are what we are to-day by reason of what we were in our yesterdays. we will be in our tomorrows that which we have started into operation to-day. as we sow in this life, so shall we reap in the next--we are now reaping that which we have sown in the past. st. paul voiced a world truth when he said: "brethren, be not deceived. god is not mocked, for whatsoever a man soweth that shall he also reap." the teachers divide the operation of karma into three general classes, as follows: ( ) the karmic manifestations which are now under way in our lives, producing results which are the effects of causes set into motion in our past lives. this is the most common form, and best known phase of karmic manifestation. ( ) the karma which we are now acquiring and storing up by reason of our actions, deeds, thoughts and mental and spiritual relationships. this stored up karma will spring into operation in future lives, when the body and environments appropriate for its manifestation presents itself or is secured; or else when other karma tending to restrict its operations is removed. but one does not necessarily have to wait until a future life in order to set into operation and manifestation the karma of the present life. for there come times in which there being no obstructing karma brought over from a past life, the present life karma may begin to manifest. ( ) the karma brought over from past incarnations, which is not able to manifest at the present time owing to the opposition presented by other karma of an opposite nature, serves to hold the first in check. it is a well known physical law, which likewise manifests on the mental plane, that two opposing forces result in neutralization, that is, both of the forces are held in check. of course, though, a more powerful karma may manage to operate, while a weaker is held in check by it. not only have individuals their own karma, but families, races, nations and worlds have their collective karma. in the cases of races, if the race karma generated in the past be favorable on the whole, the race flourishes and its influence widens. if on the contrary its collective karma be bad, the race gradually disappears from the face of the earth, the souls constituting it separating according to their karmic attractions, some going to this race and some to another. nations are bound by their karma, as any student of history may perceive if he studies closely the tides of national progress or decline. the karma of a nation is made up of the collective karma of the individuals composing it, so far as their thoughts and acts have to do with the national spirit and acts. nations as nations cease to exist, but the souls of the individuals composing them still live on and make their influence felt in new races, scenes and environments. the ancient egyptians, persians, medes, chaldeans, romans, grecians and many other ancient races have disappeared, but their reincarnating souls are with us to-day. the modern revival of occultism is caused by an influx of the souls of these old peoples pouring in on the western worlds. the following quotation from _the secret doctrine_, that remarkable piece of occult literature, will be interesting at this point: "nor would the ways of karma be inscrutable were men to work in union and harmony instead of disunion and strife. for our ignorance of those ways--which one portion of mankind calls the ways of providence, dark and intricate, while another sees in them the action of blind fatalism, and a third simple chance with neither gods nor devils to guide them--would surely disappear if we would but attribute all these to their correct cause. with right knowledge, or at any rate with a confident conviction that our neighbors will no more work harm to us than we would think of harming them, two-thirds of the world's evil would vanish into thin air. were no man to hurt his brother, karma-nemesis would have neither cause to work for, nor weapons to act through ... we cut these numerous windings in our destinies daily with our own hands, while we imagine that we are pursuing a track on the royal road of respectability and duty, and then complain of those ways being so intricate and so dark. we stand bewildered before the mystery of our own making and the riddles of life that we will not solve, and then accuse the great sphinx of devouring us. but verily there is not an accident in our lives, not a misshapen day or a misfortune, that could not be traced back to our own doings in this or another life ... knowledge of karma gives the conviction that if-- 'virtue in distress and vice in triumph makes atheists of mankind,' it is only because that mankind has ever shut its eyes to the great truth that man is himself his own savior as his own destroyer; that he need not accuse heaven, and the gods, fates and providence, of the apparent injustice that reigns in the midst of humanity. but let him rather remember that bit of grecian wisdom which warns man to forbear accusing that which 'just though mysterious, leads us on unerring through ways unmarked from guilt to punishment'--which are now the ways and the high road on which move onward the great european nations. the western aryans have every nation and tribe like their eastern brethren of the fifth race, their golden and their iron ages, their period of comparative irresponsibility, or the satya age of purity, while now several of them have reached their iron age, the _kali yuga_, an age black with horrors. this state will last ... until we begin acting from within instead of ever following impulses from without. until then the only palliative is union and harmony--a brotherhood in _actu_ and _altruism_ not simply in name." edwin arnold, in his wonderful poem, "the light of asia," which tells the story of the buddha, explains the doctrine of karma from the buddhist standpoint. we feel that our students should become acquainted with this view, so beautifully expressed, and so we herewith quote the passages referred to: "karma--all that total of a soul which is the things it did, the thoughts it had, the 'self' it wove with woof of viewless time crossed on the warp invisible of acts. * * * * * "what hath been bringeth what shall be, and is, worse--better--last for first and first for last; the angels in the heavens of gladness reap fruits of a holy past. "the devils in the underworlds wear out deeds that were wicked in an age gone by. nothing endures: fair virtues waste with time, foul sins grow purged thereby. "who toiled a slave may come anew a prince for gentle worthiness and merit won; who ruled a king may wander earth in rags for things done and undone. "before beginning, and without an end, as space eternal and as surety sure, is fixed a power divine which moves to good, only its laws endure. "it will not be contemned of any one: who thwarts it loses, and who serves it gains; the hidden good it pays with peace and bliss, the hidden ill with pains. "it seeth everywhere and marketh all: do right--it recompenseth! do one wrong-- the equal retribution must be made, though dharma tarry long. "it knows not wrath nor pardon; utter-true its measures mete, its faultless balance weighs; times are as naught, to-morrow it will judge, or after many days. "by this the slayer's knife did stab himself; the unjust judge hath lost his own defender; the false tongue dooms its lie; the creeping thief and spoiler rob, to render. "such is the law which moves to righteousness, which none at last can turn aside or stay; the heart of it is love, the end of it is peace and consummation sweet. obey! * * * * * "the books say well, my brothers! each man's life the outcome of his former living is; the bygone wrongs bring forth sorrow and woes, the bygone right breeds bliss. "that which ye sow ye reap. see yonder fields! the sesamum was sesamum, the corn was corn. the silence and the darkness knew; so is a man's fate born. "he cometh, reaper of the things he sowed, sesamum, corn, so much cast in past birth; and so much weed and poison-stuff, which mar him and the aching earth. "if he shall labor rightly, rooting these, and planting wholesome seedlings where they grew, fruitful and fair and clean the ground shall be, and rich the harvest due. "if he who liveth, learning whence woe springs, endureth patiently, striving to pay his utmost debt for ancient evils done in love and truth always; if making none to lack, he thoroughly purge the lie and lust of self forth from his blood; suffering all meekly, rendering for offence nothing but grace and good: "if he shall day by day dwell merciful, holy and just and kind and true; and rend desire from where it clings with bleeding roots, till love of life have end: "he--dying--leaveth as the sum of him a life-count closed, whose ills are dead and quit, whose good is quick and mighty, far and near, so that fruits follow it. "no need hath such to live as ye name life; that which began in him when he began is finished: he hath wrought the purpose through of what did make him man. "never shall yearnings torture him, nor sins stain him, nor ache of earthly joys and woes invade his safe eternal peace; nor deaths and lives recur. he goes "unto nirvana. he is one with life yet lives not. he is blest, ceasing to be. om, mani padme om! the dewdrop slips into the shining sea! "this is the doctrine of the karma. learn! only when all the dross of sin is quit, only when life dies like a white flame spent. death dies along with it." and so, friends, this is a brief account of the operations of the law of karma. the subject is one of such wide scope that the brief space at our disposal enables us to do little more than to call your attention to the existence of the law, and some of its general workings. we advise our students to acquaint themselves thoroughly with what has been written on this subject by ourselves and others. in our first series of lessons--the _"fourteen lessons"_--the chapter or lesson on spiritual cause and effect was devoted to the subject of karma. we advise our students to re-study it. we also suggest that mr. sinnett's occult story entitled _"karma"_ gives its readers an excellent idea of the actual working of karma in the everyday lives of people of our own times. we recommend the book to the consideration of our students. it is published at a popular price, and is well worth the consideration of every one interested in this wonderful subject of reincarnation and karma. the twelfth lesson. occult miscellany. in this, the last lesson of this series, we wish to call your attention to a variety of subjects, coming under the general head of the yogi philosophy, and yet apparently separated from one another. and so we have entitled this lesson "occult miscellany," inasmuch as it is made up of bits of information upon a variety of subjects all connected with the general teaching of the series. the lesson will consist of answers to a number of questions, asked by various students of the courses in yogi philosophy coming from our pen. while these answers, of necessity, must be brief, still we will endeavor to condense considerable information into each, so that read as a whole the lesson will give to our students a variety of information upon several important subjects. question : _"are there any brotherhoods of advanced occultists in existence, in harmony with the yogi teachings? and if so, what information can you give regarding them?"_ answer: yes, there are a number of occult brotherhoods, of varying degrees of advancement, scattered through the various countries of the earth. these brotherhoods agree in principle with the yogi teachings, although the methods of interpretation may vary somewhat. there is but one truth, which becomes apparent to all deep students of occultism, and therefore all true occultists have a glimpse of that truth, and upon this glimpse is founded their philosophies and teachings. these occult brotherhoods vary in their nature. in some, the members are grouped together in retired portions of the earth, dwelling in the community life. in others the headquarters are in the large cities of the earth, their membership being composed of residents of those cities, with outlying branches. others have no meeting places, their work being managed from headquarters, their members being scattered all over the face of the earth, the communication being kept up by personal correspondence and privately printed and circulated literature. admission to these true occult brotherhoods is difficult. they seek their members, not the members them. no amount of money, or influence, or energy can gain entrance to these societies. they seek to impart information and instruction only to those who are prepared to receive it--to those who have reached that stage of spiritual unfoldment that will enable them to grasp and assimilate the teachings of the inner circles. while this is true, it is also true that these societies or brotherhoods are engaged in disseminating occult knowledge, suited to the minds of the public, through various channels, and cloaked in various disguises of name, authority and style. their idea is to gradually open the mind of the public to the great truths underlying and back of all of these various fragmentary teachings. and they recognize the fact that one mind may be reached in a certain way, and another mind in a second way, and so on. and, accordingly, they wrap their teachings in covers likely to attract the attention of various people, and to cause them to investigate the contents. but, under and back of all of these various teachings, is the great fundamental truth. it has often been asked of us how one might distinguish the real brotherhoods from the spurious ones which have assumed the name and general style of the true societies, for the purpose of exploiting the public, and making money from their interest in the great occult truths. answering this, we would say that the true occult brotherhoods and societies _never sell their knowledge_. it is given free as water to those who seek for it, and is never sold for money. the true adept would as soon think of selling his soul as selling spiritual knowledge for gain. while money plays its proper place in the world, and the laborer is worthy of his hire; and while the masters recognize the propriety of the sale of books on occultism (providing the price is reasonable and not in excess of the general market price of books) and while they also recognize the propriety of having people pay their part of the expenses of maintaining organizations, magazines, lecturers, instructors, etc., still the idea stops there--it does not extend to the selling of the inner secrets of occultism for silver or gold. therefore if you are solicited to become a member of any so-called brotherhood or occult society for a consideration of money, you will know at once that the organization is not a true occult society, for it has violated one of the cardinal principles at the start. remember the old occult maxim: "when the pupil is ready, the master appears"--and so it is with the brotherhoods and societies--if it is necessary for your growth, development, and attainment, to be connected with one of these organizations then, when the time comes--when you are ready--you will receive your call, and then will know for a certainty that those who call are the true messengers of truth. question ii: "_are there any exalted human beings called masters, or adepts, or are the tales regarding them mere fables, etc?_" answer: of a truth there are certain highly developed, advanced and exalted souls in the flesh, known as masters and adepts, although many of the tales told concerning them are myths, or pure fiction originating in the minds of some modern sensational writers. and, moreover, these souls are members of the great lodge, an organization composed of these almost super-human beings--these great souls that have advanced so very far on the path. before beginning to speak of them, let us answer a question often asked by western people, and that is, "why do not these people appear to the world, and show their powers?" each of you may answer that question from your own experiences. have you ever been foolish enough to open your soul to the crowd, and have it reveal the sacred truth that rests there? have you ever attempted to impart the highest teachings known to you, to persons who had not attained sufficient spiritual development to even understand the meaning of your words? have you ever committed the folly of throwing spiritual pearls to material swine? if you have had these experiences, you may begin to faintly imagine the reasons of these illumined souls for keeping away from the crowd--for dwelling away from the multitude. no one who has not suffered the pain of having the vulgar crowd revile the highest spiritual truths to him, can begin to understand the feelings of the spiritually illumined individuals. it is not that they feel that they are better or more exalted than the humblest man--for these feelings of the personality have long since left them. it is because they see the folly of attempting to present the highest truths to a public which is not prepared to understand even the elementary teachings. it is a feeling akin to that of the master of the highest musical conceptions attempting to produce his wonderful compositions before a crowd fit only for the "rag-time" and slangy songs of the day. then again, these masters have no desire to "work miracles" which would only cause the public to become still more superstitious than they now are. when one glances back over the field of religions, and sees how the miraculous acts of some of the great leaders have been prostituted and used as a foundation for the grossest credulity and basest superstition, he may understand the wisdom of the masters in this respect. there is another reason for the non-appearance of the masters, and that is that there is no occasion for it. the laws of spiritual evolution are as regular, constant and fixed as are the laws of physical evolution, and any attempt to unduly force matters only results in confusion, and the abortive results soon fade away. the world is not ready for the appearance of the masters. their appearance at this time would not be in accordance with the plan. the masters or adepts are human beings who have passed from lower to higher planes of consciousness, thus gaining wisdom, power and qualities that seem almost miraculous to the man of the ordinary consciousness. a hindu writer speaking of them has said: "to him who hath traveled far along the path, sorrow ceases to trouble; fetters cease to bind; obstacles cease to hinder. such an one is free. for him there is no more fever or sorrow. for him there are no more unconscious re-births. his old karma is exhausted, and he creates no new karma. his heart is freed from the desire for future life. no new longings arise within his soul. he is like a lamp which burneth from the oil of the spirit, and not from the oil of the outer world." lillie in his work on buddhism, tells his readers: "six supernatural faculties were expected of the ascetic before he could claim the grade of _arhat_. they are constantly alluded to in the _sutras_ as the six supernatural faculties, usually without further specification.... in this transitory body the intelligence of man is enchained. the ascetic finding himself thus confused, directs his mind to the creation of _manas_. he represents to himself, in thought, another body created from this material body,--a body with a form, members and organs. this body in relation to the material body is like a sword and the scabbard, or a serpent issuing from a basket in which it is confined. the ascetic then, purified and perfected, begins to practice supernatural faculties. he finds himself able to pass through material obstacles, walls, ramparts, etc.; he is able to throw his phantasmal appearance into many places at once. he acquires the power of hearing the sounds of the unseen world as distinctly as those of the phenomenal world--more distinctly in point of fact. also by the power of _manas_ he is able to read the most secret thoughts of others, and to tell their characters." these great masters are above all petty sectarian distinctions. they may have ascended to their exalted position along the paths of the many religions, or they may have walked the path of no-denomination, sect, or body. they may have mounted to their heights by philosophical reasoning alone, or else by scientific investigation. they are called by many names, according to the viewpoint of the speaker, but at the last they are of but one religion; one philosophy; one belief--truth. the state of adeptship is reached only after a long and arduous apprenticeship extending over many lives. those who have reached the pinnacle were once even as you who read these lines. and some of you--yes, perhaps even you who are now reading these words may have taken the first steps along the narrow path which will lead you to heights equally as exalted as those occupied by even the highest of these great beings of whom we are speaking. unconsciously to yourself, the urge of the spirit has set your feet firmly upon the path, and will push you forward to the end. in order to understand the occult custom that finds its full fruit in the seclusion of the masters, one needs to be acquainted with the universal habit among true occultists of refraining from public or vulgar displays of occult power. while the inferior occultists often exhibit some of the minor manifestations to the public, it is a fact that the true advanced occultists scrupulously refrain from so doing. in fact, among the highest teachers, it is a condition imposed upon the pupil that he shall refrain from exhibitions of his developing powers among the uninitiated public. "the neophyte is bound over to the most inviolable secrecy as to everything connected with his entrance and further progress in the schools. in asia, in the same way, the _chela_, or pupil of occultism, no sooner becomes a _chela_ than he ceases to be a witness on behalf of the reality of occult knowledge," says sinnett in his great work on "esoteric buddhism," and he then adds: "i have been astonished to find, since my own connection with the subject, how numerous such _chelas_ are. but it is impossible to imagine any human act more improbable than the unauthorized revelation by any such _chela_, to persons in the outer world, that he is one; and so the great esoteric school of philosophy guards its seclusion." question iii: "_does the yogi philosophy teach that there is a place corresponding to the 'heavens' of the various religions? is there any basis for the belief that there is a place resembling 'heaven'?_" answer: yes, the yogi philosophy _does_ teach that there is a real basis for the popular religious beliefs in "heaven," and that there are states of being, the knowledge of which has filtered through to the masses in the more or less distorted theories regarding "heavens." but the yogis do not teach that these "heavens" are _places_ at all. the teaching is that they are _planes of existence_. it is difficult to explain just what is meant by this word "plane." the nearest approach to it in english is the term or word "state." a portion of space may be occupied by several planes at the same time, just as a room may be filled with the rays of the sun, those of a lamp. x-rays, magnetic and electric vibrations and waves, etc., each interpenetrating each other and yet not affecting or interfering with each other. on the lower planes of the astral world there are to be found the earth-bound souls which have passed out from their former bodies, but which are attracted to the earthly scenes by strong attractions, which serve to weight them down and to prevent them from ascending to the higher planes. on the higher planes are souls that are less bound by earthly attractions, and who, accordingly, are relieved of the weight resulting therefrom. these planes rise in an ascending scale, each plane being higher and more spiritual than the one lower than itself. and dwelling on each plane are the souls fitted to occupy it, by reason of their degree of spiritual development, or evolution. when the soul first leaves the body it falls into a sleep-like stage, from which it awakens to find itself on the plane for which it is fitted, by reason of its development, attractions, character, etc. the particular plane occupied by each soul is determined by the progress and attainment it has made in its past lives. the souls on the higher planes may, and often do, visit the planes lower in the scale than their own, but those on the lower planes may not visit those higher than their own. quoting from our own writings on this subject, published several years ago, we repeat: this prohibition regarding the visiting of higher planes is not an arbitrary rule, but a law of nature. if the student will pardon the commonplace comparison, he may get an understanding of it, by imagining a large screen, or series of screens, such as used for sorting coal into sizes. the large coal is caught by the first screen; the next size by the second; and so on until the tiny coal is reached. now, the large coal cannot get into the receptacle of the smaller sizes, but the small sizes may easily pass through the screen and join the larger sizes, if force be imparted to them. just so in the astral world, the soul with the greatest amount of materiality, and gross nature, is stopped by the spiritual screen of a certain plane, and cannot pass on to the higher ones, while other souls have cast off some of the confining and retarding material sheaths, and readily pass on to higher and finer planes. and it may be readily seen that those souls which dwell on the higher planes are able to re-visit the lower and grosser planes, while the souls on the grosser cannot penetrate the higher boundries of their plane, being stopped by the spiritual screen. the comparison is a crude one, but it almost exactly pictures the existing conditions on the spiritual world. souls on the upper planes, may, and often do, journey to the lower planes for the purpose of "visiting" the souls of friends who may be dwelling there, and thus affording them comfort and consolation. in fact, the teaching is that in many cases a highly developed soul visits souls on the lower planes in whom it is interested, and actually imparts spiritual teaching and instruction to those souls, so that they may be re-born into much better conditions than would have been the case otherwise. all of the planes have spiritual instructors from very high planes, who sacrifice their well-earned rest and happiness on their own planes in order that they may work for the less-developed souls on the lower planes. as we have said, the soul awakens on the plane to which it is suited. it finds itself in the company of congenial souls, in whose company it is enabled to pursue those things which were dear to its heart when alive. it may be able to make considerable advancement during its sojourn in "heaven," which will result to its benefit when it is reborn on earth. there are countless sub-planes, adapted to the infinite requirements of the advancing souls in every degree of development, and each soul finds an opportunity to develop and enjoy to the fullest the highest of which it is capable, and to also perfect itself and to prepare itself for future development, so that it may be re-born under the very best possible conditions and circumstances in the next earth life. but, alas, even in this higher world, all souls do not live up to the best that is in them, and instead of making the best of their opportunities for development, and growing spiritually, they allow the attractions of their material natures to draw them downward, and too often spend much of their time on the planes beneath them, not to help and assist, but to live the less spiritual lives of their friends on the lower planes. in such cases the soul does not reap the benefit of the sojourn in the "after-life," but is born again according to the attractions of its lower, instead of its higher nature, and is compelled to learn its lesson over again. the yogi teachings inform us that the lower planes of the astral world are inhabited by souls of a very gross and degraded type, undeveloped and animal-like. these low souls live out the tendencies and characteristics of their former earth lives, and reincarnate rapidly in order to pursue their material attractions. of course, there is slowly working even in these undeveloped souls an upward tendency, but it is so slow as to be almost imperceptible. in time these undeveloped souls grow sick and tired of their materiality, and then comes the chance for a slight advance. of course these undeveloped souls have no access to the higher planes of the astral world, but are confined to their own degraded plane and to the sub-planes which separate the astral world from the material world. they cling as closely as possible to the earthly scenes, and are separated from the material world by only a thin screen (if we may use the word). they suffer the tantalizing condition of being within sight and hearing of their old material scenes and environments, and yet unable to manifest on them. these souls form the low class of "spirits" of which we hear so much in certain circles. they hang around their old scenes of debauchery and sense gratification, and often are able to influence the minds of living persons along the same line and plane of development. for instance, these creatures hover around low saloons and places of ill-repute, influencing the sodden brains of living persons to participate in the illicit gratifications of the lower sensual nature. souls on the higher planes are not bound by these earthly and material attractions, and take advantage of their opportunities to improve themselves and develop spiritually. it is a rule of the astral world that the higher the plane occupied by a soul, the longer the sojourn there between incarnations. a soul on the lowest planes may reincarnate in a very short time, while on the higher planes hundreds and even thousands of years may elapse before the soul is called upon to experience re-birth. but re-birth comes to all who have not passed on to other spheres of life. sooner or later the soul feels that inward urge toward re-birth and further experience, and becomes drowsy and falls into a state resembling sleep, when it is caught up in the current that is sweeping on toward re-birth, and is gradually carried on to re-birth in conditions chosen by its desires and characteristics, in connection with the operation of the laws of karma. from the soul-slumber it passes through what may be called a "death" on the astral plane, when it is re-born on the earth plane. but, remember this, the soul, when it is re-born on earth, does not fully awaken from its astral sleep. in infancy and in early childhood the soul is but slowly awakening, gradually from year to year, the brain being built to accommodate this growth. the rare instances of precocious children, and infant genius are cases in which the awakening has been more rapid than ordinary. on the other hand, cases are known where the soul does not awaken as rapidly as the average, and the result is that the person does not show signs of full intellectual activity until nearly middle age. cases are known when men seemed to "wake up" when they were forty years of age, or even later in life, and would then take on a freshened activity and energy, surprising those who had known them before. on some of the planes of the astral world the souls dwelling there do not seem to realize that they are "dead," but act and live as if they were in the flesh. they have a knowledge of the planes beneath them, just as we on earth know of conditions beneath us (spiritually), but they seem to be in almost absolute ignorance of the planes above them, just as many of us on earth cannot comprehend the existence of beings more highly developed spiritually than ourselves. this, of course, is only true of the souls who have not been made acquainted with the meaning and nature of life on the astral plane. those who have acquired this information and knowledge readily understand their condition and profit thereby. it will be seen from this that it is of the greatest importance for persons to become acquainted with the great laws of occultism in their present earth life, for the reason that when they pass out of the body and enter some one of the astral planes they will not be in ignorance of the condition, but will readily grasp the meaning and nature of their surroundings and take advantage of the same in order to develop themselves more rapidly. it will be seen from what has been written by us here and elsewhere that there are planes after planes on the astral side of life. all that has been dreamt of heaven, purgatory or hell has its correspondence there, although not in the literal sense in which these things have been taught. for instance, a wicked man dying immersed in his desires and longings of his lower nature, and believing that he will be punished in a future life for sins committed on earth--such a one is very apt to awaken on the lower planes or sub-planes, in conditions corresponding with his former fears. he finds the fire and brimstone awaiting him, although these things are merely figments of his own imagination, and having no existence in reality. murderers may roam for ages (apparently) pursued by the bleeding corpses of their victims, until such a horror of the crime arises in the mind that at last sinking from exhaustion into the soul-sleep, their souls pass into re-birth with such a horror of bloodshed and crime as to make them entirely different beings in the new life. and, yet the "hell" that they went through existed only in their imaginations. they were their own devil and hell. just as a man in earth life may suffer from _delirium tremens_, so some of these souls on the astral plane suffer agonies from their delirium arising from their former crimes, and the belief in the punishment therefor which has been inculcated in them through earth teachings. and these mental agonies, although terrible, really are for their benefit, for by reason of them the soul becomes so sickened with the thought and idea of crime that when it is finally re-born it manifests a marked repulsion to it, and flies to the opposite. in this connection we would say that the teaching is that although the depraved soul apparently experiences ages of this torment, yet, in reality, there is but the passage of but a short time, the illusion arising from the self-hypnotization of the soul, just as arises the illusion of the punishment itself. in the same way the soul often experiences a "heaven" in accordance with its hopes, beliefs and longings of earth-life. the "heaven" that it has longed for and believed in during its earth-life is very apt to be at least partially reproduced on the astral plane, and the pious soul of any and all religious denominations finds itself in a "heaven" corresponding to that in which it believed during its earth-life. the mohammedan finds his paradise; the christian finds his; the indian finds his--but the impression is merely an illusion created by the mental pictures of the soul. but the illusion tends to give pleasure to the soul, and to satisfy certain longings which in time fade away, leaving the soul free to reach out after higher conceptions and ideals. we cannot devote more space to this subject at this time, and must content ourselves with the above statements and explanations. the principal point that we desire to impress upon your minds is the fact that the "heaven-world" is not a place or state of permanent rest and abode for the disembodied soul, but is merely a place or temporary sojourn between incarnations, and thus serves as a place of rest wherein the soul may gather together its forces, energies, desires and attractions preparatory to re-birth. in this answer we have merely limited ourselves to a general statement of the states and conditions of the astral world, or rather of certain planes of that world. the subject itself requires far more extensive treatment. question iv: "_is nirvana a state of the total extinction of consciousness; and is it a place, state or condition?_" answer: the teaching concerning _nirvana_, the final goal of the soul, has been much misunderstood, and much error has crept into the teaching even among some very worthy teachers. to conceive of _nirvana_ as a state of extinction of consciousness would be to fall into the error of the pessimistic school of philosophy which thinks of life and consciousness as a curse, and regards the return into a total unconsciousness as the thing to be most desired. the true teaching is that _nirvana_ is a state of the fullest consciousness--a state in which the soul is relieved of all the illusion of separateness and relativity, and enters into a state of universal consciousness, or absolute awareness, in which it is conscious of infinity, and eternity--of all places and things and time. _nirvana_ instead of being a state of nothingness, is a state of "everythingness." as the soul advances along the path it becomes more and more aware of its connection with, relation to, and identity with the whole. as it grows, the self enlarges and transcends its former limited bounds. it begins to realize that it is more than the tiny separated atom that it had believed itself to be, and it learns to identify itself in a constantly increasing scale with the universal life. it feels a sense of oneness in a fuller degree, and it sets its feet firmly upon the path toward _nirvana_. after many weary lives on this and other planets--in this and other universes--after it has long since left behind it the scale of humanity, and has advanced into god-like states, its consciousness becomes fuller and fuller, and time and space are transcended in a wonderful manner. and at last the goal is attained--the battle is won--and the soul blossoms into a state of universal consciousness, in which time and place disappear and in which every place is here; every period of time is now; and everything is "i." this is _nirvana_. question v: "_what is that which occultists call 'an astral shell,' or similar name? is it an entity, or force, or being?_" answer: when the soul passes out from the body at the moment of death it carries with it the "astral body" as well as the higher mental and spiritual principles (see the first three lessons in the "fourteen lessons"). the astral body is the counterpart of the material or physical body, although it is composed of matter of a much finer and ethereal nature than is the physical body. it is invisible to the ordinary eye, but may be seen clairvoyantly. the astral body rises from the physical body like a faint, luminous vapor, and for a time is connected with the dying physical body by a thin, vapory cord or thread, which finally breaks entirely and the separation becomes complete. the astral body is some time afterward discarded by the soul as it passes on to the higher planes, as we have described a few pages further back, and the abandoned astral body becomes an "astral shell," and is subject to a slow disintegration, just as is the physical body. it is no more the soul than is the physical body--it is merely a cast off garment of fine matter. it will be seen readily that it is not an entity, force or being--it is only cast off matter--a sloughed skin. it has no life or intelligence, but floats around on the lower astral plane until it finally disintegrates. it has an attraction toward its late physical associate--the physical body--and often returns to the place where the latter is buried, where it is sometimes seen by persons whose astral sight is temporarily awakened, when it is mistaken for a "ghost" or "spirit" of the person. these astral shells are often seen floating around over graveyards, battlefields, etc. and sometimes these shells coming in contact with the psychic magnetism of a medium become "galvanized" into life, and manifest signs of intelligence, which, however, really comes from the mind of the medium. at some seances these re-vitalized shells manifest and materialize, and talk in a vague, meaningless manner, the shell receiving its vitality from the body and mind of the medium instead of speaking from any consciousness of its own. this statement is not to be taken as any denial of true "spirit return," but is merely an explanation of certain forms of so-called "spiritualistic phenomena" which is well understood by advanced "spiritualists," although many seekers after psychic phenomena are in ignorance of it. question vi: _what is meant by "the days and nights of brahm"; the "cycles"; the "chain of worlds", etc., etc.?_ answer: in lesson sixth, of the present series, you will find a brief mention of the "days and nights of brahm"--those vast periods of the in-breathing and out-breathing of the creative principle which is personified in the hindu conception of _brahma_. you will see mentioned there that universal philosophical conception of the universal rhythm, which manifests in a succession of periods of universal activity and inactivity. the yogi teachings are that all time is manifested in cycles. man calls the most common form of cyclic time by the name of "a day," which is the period of time necessary for the earth's revolution on its axis. each day is a reproduction of all previous days, although the incidents of each day differ from those of the other--all days are but periods of time marked off by the revolution of the earth on its axis. and each night is but the negative side of a day, the positive side of which is called "day." there is really no such thing as a day, that which we call a "day" being simply a record of certain physical changes in the earth's position relating to its own axis. the second phase of cyclic time is called by man by the name "a month," by which is meant certain changes in the relative positions of the moon and the earth. the true month consists of twenty-eight lunar days. in this cycle (the month) there is also a light-time or "day," and a dark-time or "night," the former being the fourteen days of the moon's visibility, and the second being the fourteen days of the moon's invisibility. the third phase of cyclic time is that which we call "a year," by which is meant the time occupied by the earth in its revolution around the sun. you will notice that the year has its positive and negative periods, also, known as summer and winter. but the yogis take up the story where the astronomers drop it, at the year. beyond the year there are other and greater phases of cyclic time. the yogis know many cycles of thousands of years in which there are marked periods of activity and inactivity. we cannot go into detail regarding these various cycles, but may mention another division common to the yogi teachings, beginning with the great year. the great year is composed of earth years. twelve thousand great years constitute what is known as a great cycle, which is seen to consist of , , earth years. seventy-one great cycles compose what is called a _manwantara_, at the end of which the earth becomes submerged under the waters, until not a vestige of land is left uncovered. this state lasts for a period equal to great cycles. a _kalpa_ is composed of manwantaras. the largest and grandest cycle manifested is known as the _maya-praylaya_, consisting of , _kalpas_ when the absolute withdraws into itself its entire manifestations, and dwells alone in its awful infinity and oneness, this period being succeeded by a period equally long--the two being known as the days and nights of brahm. you will notice that each of these great cycles has its "day" period and its "night" period--its period of activity. and its period of inactivity. from day to maya-praylaya, it is a succession of nights and days--creative activity and creative cessation. the "chain of worlds," is that great group of planets in our own solar system, seven in number, over which the procession of life passes, in cycles. from globe to globe the great wave of soul life passes in cyclic rhythm. after a race has passed a certain number of incarnations upon one planet, it passes on to another, and learns new lessons, and then on and on until finally it has learned all of the lessons possible on this universe, when it passes on to another universe, and so on, from higher to higher until the human mind is unable to even think of the grandeur of the destiny awaiting each human soul on the path. the various works published by the theosophical organizations go into detail regarding these matters, which require the space of many volumes to adequately express, but we think that we have at last indicated the general nature of the question, pointing out to the student the nature of the subject, and indicating lines for further study and investigation. conclusion. and now, dear students, we have reached the end of this series of lessons. you have followed us closely for the past four years, many of you having been with us as students from the start. we feel many ties of spiritual relationship binding you to us, and the parting, although but temporary, gives a little pang to us--a little pull upon our heart strings. we have tried to give to you a plain, practical and simple exposition of the great truths of this world-old philosophy--have endeavored to express in plain simple terms the greatest truths known to man on earth to-day, _the yogi philosophy_. and many have written us that our work has not been in vain, and that we have been the means of opening up new worlds of thought to them, and have aided them in casting off the old material sheaths that had bound them for so long, and the discarding of which enabled them to unfold the beautiful blossom of spirituality. be this as it may, we have been able merely to give you the most elementary instruction in this world-philosophy, and are painfully conscious of the small portion of the field that we have tilled, when compared with the infinite expanse of truth still untouched. but such are the limitations of man--he can speak only of that which lies immediately before him, leaving for others the rest of the work which is remote from his place of abode. there are planes upon planes of this truth which every soul among you will some day make his or her own. it is yours, and you will be impelled to reach forth and take that which is intended for you. be not in too much haste--be of great patience--and all will come to you, for it is your own. "mystic christianity." we have here to make an announcement that will please our readers, judging from the many letters that we have received during the several years of our work. we will now enter upon a new phase of our work of presenting the great truths underlying life, as taught by the great minds of centuries ago, and carefully transmitted from master to student from that time unto our own. we have concluded our presentation of the mystic teachings underlying the hindu philosophies, and shall now pass on to a consideration and presentation of the great mystic principles underlying that great and glorious creed of the western world--the religion, teachings, and philosophy of jesus the christ. these teachings, too, as we should remember, are essentially eastern in their origin, and source, although their effects are more pronounced in the western world. underlying the teaching and philosophy of the christ are to be found the same esoteric principles that underlie the other great systems of philosophies of the east. covered up though the truth be by the additions of the western churches and sects, still it remains there burning brightly as ever, and plainly visible to one who will brush aside the rubbish surrounding the sacred flame and who will seek beneath the forms and non-essentials for the mystic truths underlying christianity. we realize the importance of the work before us, but we shrink not from the task, for we know that when the bright light of the spirit, which is found as the centre of the christian philosophy, is uncovered, there will be great rejoicing from the many who while believing in and realizing the value of the eastern teachings, still rightly hold their love, devotion and admiration for him who was in very truth the son of god, and whose mission was to raise the world spiritually from the material quagmire into which it was stumbling. and now, dear pupils, we must close this series of lessons on the yogi philosophy. we must rest ere we so soon engage upon our new and great work. we must each take a little rest, ere we meet again on the path of attainment. each of these temporary partings are milestones upon our journey of spiritual life. let each find us farther advanced. and now we send you our wishes of peace. may the peace be with you all, now and forever, even unto nirvana, which is peace itself. the _complete works of_ yogi ramacharaka science of breath fourteen lessons--yogi philosophy advanced course in yogi philosophy raja yoga gnani yoga philosophies and religions of india hatha yoga psychic healing mystic christianity life beyond death bhagavad gita the spirit of the upanishads practical water cure wisdom, wit, and pathos of ouida. wisdom, wit, and pathos _selected from the works_ of ouida by f. sydney morris philadelphia j. b. lippincott & co. contents. _selections from_-- page ariadne chandos folle-farine idalia a village commune puck two little wooden shoes fame moths , in a winter city a leaf in the storm a dog of flanders a branch of lilac signa tricotrin a provence rose pipistrello held in bondage pascarÈl in maremma under two flags strathmore friendship wanda _ariadne._ one grows to love the roman fountains as sea-born men the sea. go where you will there is the water; whether it foams by trevi, where the green moss grows in it like ocean weed about the feet of the ocean god, or whether it rushes reddened by the evening light, from the mouth of an old lion that once saw cleopatra; whether it leaps high in air, trying to reach the gold cross on st. peter's or pours its triple cascade over the pauline granite; whether it spouts out of a great barrel in a wall in old trastevere, or throws up into the air a gossamer as fine as arachne's web in a green garden way where the lizards run, or in a crowded corner where the fruit-sellers sit against the wall;--in all its shapes one grows to love the water that fills rome with an unchanging melody all through the year. * * * and indeed i do believe all things and all traditions. history is like that old stag that charles of france found out hunting in the woods once, with the bronze collar round its neck on which was written, "cæsar mihi hoc donavit." how one's fancy loves to linger about that old stag, and what a crowd of mighty shades come thronging at the very thought of him! how wonderful it is to think of--that quiet grey beast leading his lovely life under the shadows of the woods, with his hinds and their fawns about him, whilst cæsar after cæsar fell and generation on generation passed away and perished! but the sciolist taps you on the arm. "deer average fifty years of life; it was some mere court trick of course--how easy to have such a collar made!" well, what have we gained? the stag was better than the sciolist. * * * life costs but little on these sunny, silent shores; four walls of loose stones, a roof of furze and brambles, a fare of fish and fruit and millet-bread, a fire of driftwood easily gathered--and all is told. for a feast pluck the violet cactus; for a holiday push the old red boat to sea, and set the brown sail square against the sun--nothing can be cheaper, perhaps few things can be better. to feel the western breezes blow over that sapphire sea, laden with the fragrance of a score of blossoming isles. to lie under the hollow rocks, where centuries before the fisher folk put up that painted tablet to the dear madonna, for all poor shipwrecked souls. to climb the high hills through the tangle of myrtle and tamarisk, and the tufted rosemary, with the kids bleating above upon some unseen height. to watch the soft night close in, and the warning lights shine out over shoals and sunken rocks, and the moon hang low and golden in the blue dusk at the end there under the arch of the boughs. to spend long hours in the cool, fresh, break of day, drifting with the tide, and leaping with bare free limbs into the waves, and lying outstretched upon them, glancing down to the depths below, where silvery fish are gliding and coral branches are growing, and pink shells are floating like rose-leaves, five fathoms low and more. oh! a good life, and none better, abroad in the winds and weather, as nature meant that every living thing should be, only, alas, the devil put it into the mind of man to build cities! a good life for the soul and the body: and from it this sea-born joy came to seek the ghetto! * * * with a visible and physical ill one can deal; one can thrust a knife into a man at need, one can give a woman money for bread or masses, one can run for medicine or a priest. but for a creature with a face like ariadnê's, who had believed in the old gods and found them fables, who had sought for the old altars and found them ruins, who had dreamed of imperial rome and found the ghetto--for such a sorrow as this, what could one do? * * * some said i might have been a learned man, had i taken more pains. but i think it was only their kindness. i have that twist in my brain, which is the curse of my countrymen--a sort of devilish quickness at doing well, that prevents us ever doing best; just the same sort of thing that makes our goatherds rhyme perfect sonnets, and keeps them dunces before the alphabet. * * * if our beloved leopardi, instead of bemoaning his fate in his despair and sickening of his narrow home, had tried to see how many fair strange things there lay at his house door, had tried to care for the troubles of the men that hung the nets on the trees, and the innocent woes of the girl that carried the grass to the cow, and the obscure martyrdom of maternity and widowhood that the old woman had gone through who sat spinning on the top of the stairs, he would have found that his little borgo that he hated so for its dulness had all the comedies and tragedies of life lying under the sound of its tolling bells. he would not have been less sorrowful, for the greater the soul the sadder it is for the unutterable waste, the unending pain of life. but he would never have been dull: he would never have despised, and despising missed, the stories and the poems that were round him in the millet fields and the olive orchards. there is only one lamp which we can carry in our hand, and which will burn through the darkest night, and make the light of a home for us in a desert place: it is sympathy with everything that breathes. * * * into other lands i wandered, then, and sought full half the world. when one wants but little, and has a useful tongue, and knows how to be merry with the young folk, and sorrowful with the old, and can take the fair weather with the foul, and wear one's philosophy like an easy boot, treading with it on no man's toe, and no dog's tail; why, if one be of this sort, i say, one is, in a great manner, independent of fortune; and the very little that one needs one can usually obtain. many years i strayed about, seeing many cities and many minds, like odysseus; being no saint, but, at the same time, being no thief and no liar. * * * art was dear to me. wandering through many lands, i had come to know the charm of quiet cloisters; the delight of a strange, rare volume; the interest of a quaint bit of pottery; the unutterable loveliness of some perfect painter's vision, making a glory in some dusky, world-forgotten church: and so my life was full of gladness here in rome, where the ass's hoof ringing on a stone may show you that vitruvius was right, where you had doubted him; or the sun shining down upon a cabbage garden, or a coppersmith's shreds of metal, may gleam on a signet ring of the flavian women, or a broken vase that may have served vile tullia for drink. * * * art is, after nature, the only consolation that one has at all for living. * * * i have been all my life blown on by all sorts of weather, and i know there is nothing so good as the sun and the wind for driving ill-nature and selfishness out of one. * * * anything in the open air is always well; it is because men now-a-days shut themselves up so much in rooms and pen themselves in stifling styes, where never the wind comes or the clouds are looked at, that puling discontent and plague-struck envy are the note of all modern politics and philosophies. the open air breeds leonidas, the factory room felix pyat. * * * i lit my pipe. a pipe is a pocket philosopher, a truer one than socrates. for it never asks questions. socrates must have been very tiresome when one thinks of it. * * * i have had some skill in managing the minds of crowds; it is a mere knack, like any other; it belongs to no particular character or culture. arnold of brescia had it, and so had masaniello. lamartine had it, and so had jack cade. * * * it is of use to have a reputation for queerness; it gains one many solitary moments of peace. * * * ersilia was a good soul, and full of kindliness; but charity is a flower not naturally of earthly growth, and it needs manuring with a promise of profit. * * * the soul of the poet is like a mirror of an astrologer: it bears the reflection of the past and of the future, and can show the secrets of men and gods; but all the same it is dimmed by the breath of those who stand by and gaze into it. * * * "you are not unhappy now?" i said to her in farewell. she looked at me with a smile. "you have given me hope; and i am in rome, and i am young." she was right. rome may be only a ruin, and hope but another name for deception and disappointment; but youth is supreme happiness in itself, because all possibilities lie in it, and nothing in it is as yet irrevocable. * * * there never was an Æneas; there never was a numa; well, what the better are we? we only lose the trojan ship gliding into tiber's mouth, when the woodland thickets that bloomed by ostia were reddening with the first warmth of the day's sun; we only lose the sabine lover going by the sacred way at night, and sweet egeria weeping in the woods of nemi; and are--by their loss--how much the poorer! perhaps all these things never were. the little stone of truth, rolling through the many ages of the world, has gathered and grown grey with the thick mosses of romance and superstition. but tradition must always have that little stone of truth as its kernel; and perhaps he who rejects all, is likelier to be wrong than even foolish folk like myself who love to believe all, and who tread the new paths, thinking ever of the ancient stories. * * * there can be hardly any life more lovely upon earth than that of a young student of art in rome. with the morning, to rise to the sound of countless bells and of innumerable streams, and see the silver lines of the snow new fallen on the mountains against the deep rose of the dawn, and the shadows of the night steal away softly from off the city, releasing, one by one, dome and spire, and cupola and roof, till all the wide white wonder of the place discloses itself under the broad brightness of full day; to go down into the dark cool streets, with the pigeons fluttering in the fountains, and the sounds of the morning chants coming from many a church door and convent window, and little scholars and singing children going by with white clothes on, or scarlet robes, as though walking forth from the canvas of botticelli or garofalo; to eat frugally, sitting close by some shop of flowers and birds, and watching all the while the humours and the pageants of the streets by quaint corners, rich with sculptures of the renaissance, and spanned by arches of architects that builded for agrippa, under grated windows with arms of frangipanni or colonna, and pillars that apollodorus raised; to go into the great courts of palaces, murmurous with the fall of water, and fresh with green leaves and golden fruit, that rob the colossal statues of their gloom and gauntness, and thence into the vast chambers where the greatest dreams that men have ever had, are written on panel and on canvas, and the immensity and the silence of them all are beautiful and eloquent with dead men's legacies to the living, where the hours and the seasons frolic beside the maries at the sepulchre, and adonis bares his lovely limbs, in nowise ashamed because s. jerome and s. mark are there; to study and muse, and wonder and be still, and be full of the peace which passes all understanding, because the earth is lovely as adonis is, and life is yet unspent; to come out of the sacred light, half golden, and half dusky, and full of many blended colours, where the marbles and the pictures live, sole dwellers in the deserted dwellings of princes; to come out where the oranges are all aglow in the sunshine, and the red camellias are pushing against the hoary head of the old stone hermes, and to go down the width of the mighty steps into the gay piazza, alive with bells tolling, and crowds laughing, and drums abeat, and the flutter of carnival banners in the wind; and to get away from it all with a full heart, and ascend to see the sun set from the terrace of the medici, or the pamfili, or the borghese woods, and watch the flame-like clouds stream homewards behind s. peter's, and the pines of monte mario grow black against the west, till the pale green of evening spreads itself above them, and the stars arise; and then, with a prayer--be your faith what it will--a prayer to the unknown god, to go down again through the violet-scented air and the dreamful twilight, and so, with unspeakable thankfulness, simply because you live, and this is rome--so homeward. * * * the strong instinctive veracity in her weighed the measure of her days, and gave them their right name. she was content, her life was full of the sweetness and strength of the arts, and of the peace of noble occupation and endeavour. but some true instinct in her taught her that this is peace, but is not more than peace. happiness comes but from the beating of one heart upon another. * * * there was a high wall near, covered with peach-trees, and topped with wistaria and valerian, and the handsome wild caperplant; and against the wall stood rows of tall golden sunflowers late in their blooming; the sun they seldom could see for the wall, and it was pathetic always to me, as the day wore on, to watch the poor stately amber heads turn straining to greet their god, and only meeting the stones and the cobwebs, and the peach-leaves of their inexorable barrier. they were so like us!--straining after the light, and only finding bricks and gossamer and wasps'-nests! but the sunflowers never made mistakes as we do: they never took the broken edge of a glass bottle or the glimmer of a stable lanthorn for the glory of helios, and comforted themselves with it--as we can do. * * * dear, where we love much we always forgive, because we ourselves are nothing, and what we love is all. * * * there is something in the silence of an empty room that sometimes has a terrible eloquence: it is like the look of coming death in the eyes of a dumb animal; it beggars words and makes them needless. * * * when you have said to yourself that you will kill any one, the world only seems to hold yourself and him, and god--who will see the justice done. * * * what is it that love does to a woman?--without it she only sleeps; with it, alone, she lives. * * * a great love is an absolute isolation, and an absolute absorption. nothing lives or moves or breathes, save one life: for one life alone the sun rises and sets, the seasons revolve, the clouds bear rain, and the stars ride on high; the multitudes around cease to exist, or seem but ghostly shades; of all the sounds of earth there is but one voice audible; all past ages have been but the herald of one soul; all eternity can be but its heritage alone. * * * is nature kind or cruel? who can tell? the cyclone comes, or the earthquake; the great wave rises and swallows the cities and the villages, and goes back whence it came; the earth yawns, and devours the pretty towns and the sleeping children, the gardens where the lovers were sitting, and the churches where women prayed, and then the morass dries up and the gulf unites again. men build afresh, and the grass grows, and the trees, and all the flowering seasons come back as of old. but the dead are dead: nothing changes that! as it is with the earth, so it is with our life; our own poor, short, little life, that is all we can really call our own. calamities shatter, and despair engulfs it; and yet after a time the chasm seems to close; the storm wave seems to roll back; the leaves and the grass return; and we make new dwellings. that is, the daily ways of living are resumed, and the common tricks of our speech and act are as they used to be before disaster came upon us. then wise people say, he or she has "got over it." alas, alas! the drowned children will not come back to us; the love that was struck down, the prayer that was silenced, the altar that was ruined, the garden that was ravished, they are all gone for ever,--for ever, for ever! yet we live; because grief does not always kill, and often does not speak. * * * i crept through the myrtles downward, away from the house where the statue lay shattered. the earliest of the nightingales of the year was beginning her lay in some leafy covert hard by, but never would he hear music in their piping again; never, never: any more than i should hear the song of the faun in the fountain. for the song that we hear with our ears is only the song that is sung in our hearts. and his heart, i knew, would be for ever empty and silent, like a temple that has been burned with fire, and left standing, pitiful and terrible, in mockery of a lost religion, and of a forsaken god. * * * men and women, losing the thing they love, lose much, but the artist loses far more; for him are slaughtered all the children of his dreams, and from him are driven all the fair companions of his solitude. * * * love art alone, forsaking all other loves, and she will make you happy, with a happiness that shall defy the seasons and the sorrows of time, the pains of the vulgar and the changes of fortune, and be with you day and night, a light that is never dim. but mingle with it any human love--and art will look for ever at you with the eyes of christ when he looked at the faithless follower as the cock crew. * * * and, indeed, there are always the poor: the vast throngs born century after century, only to know the pangs of life and of death, and nothing more. methinks that human life is, after all, but like a human body, with a fair and smiling face, but all the limbs ulcered and cramped and racked with pain. no surgery of statecraft has ever known how to keep the fair head erect, yet give the trunk and the limbs health. * * * for in a great love there is a self-sustaining strength by which it lives, deprived of everything, as there are plants that live upon our barren ruins burned by the sun, and parched and shelterless, yet ever lifting green leaves to the light. * * * and indeed after all there is nothing more cruel than the impotence of genius to hold and keep those commonest joys and mere natural affections which dullards and worse than dullards rejoice in at their pleasure; the common human things, whose loss makes the great possessions of its imperial powers all valueless and vain as harps unstrung, or as lutes that are broken. * * * "this world of our own immediate day is weak and weary, because it is no longer young; yet it possesses one noble attribute--it has an acute and almost universal sympathy, which does indeed often degenerate into a false and illogical sentiment, yet serves to redeem an age of egotism. we have escaped both the gem-like hardness of the pagan, and the narrowing selfishness of the christian and the israelite. we are sick for the woe of creation, and we wonder why such woe is ours, and why it is entailed on the innocent dumb beasts, that perish in millions for us, unpitied, day and night. rome had no altar to pity: it is the one god that we own. when that pity in us for all things is perfected, perhaps we shall have reached a religion of sympathy that will be purer than any religion the world has yet seen, and more productive. 'save my country!' cried the pagan to his deities. 'save my soul!' cries the christian at his altars. we, who are without a god, murmur to the great unknown forces of nature: 'let me save others some little portion of this pain entailed on all simple and guileless things, that are forced to live, without any fault of their own at their birth, or any will of their own in their begetting.'" * * * how should we have great art in our day? we have no faith. belief of some sort is the lifeblood of art. when athene and zeus ceased to excite any veneration in the minds of men, sculpture and architecture both lost their greatness. when the madonna and her son lost that mystery and divinity, which for the simple minds of the early painters they possessed, the soul went out of canvas and of wood. when we carve a venus now, she is but a light woman; when we paint a jesus now, it is but a little suckling, or a sorrowful prisoner. we want a great inspiration. we ought to find it in the things that are really beautiful, but we are not sure enough, perhaps, what is so. what does dominate us is a passion for nature; for the sea, for the sky, for the mountain, for the forest, for the evening storm, for the break of day. perhaps when we are thoroughly steeped in this we shall reach greatness once more. but the artificiality of all modern life is against it; so is its cynicism. sadness and sarcasm make a great lucretius as a great juvenal, and scorn makes a strong aristophanes; but they do not make a praxiteles and an apelles; they do not even make a raffaelle, or a flaxman. art, if it be anything, is the perpetual uplifting of what is beautiful in the sight of the multitudes--the perpetual adoration of that loveliness, material and moral, which men in the haste and the greed of their lives are everlastingly forgetting: unless it be that it is empty and useless as a child's reed-pipe when the reed is snapt and the child's breath spent. genius is obligation. * * * "no woman, i think, ever loved you as this woman does, whom you have left as i would not leave a dog," said maryx, and something of his old ardent eloquence returned to him, and his voice rose and rang clearer as the courage in him consummated the self-sacrifice that he had set himself for her sake. "have you ever thought what you have done? when you have killed art in an artist, you have done the cruellest murder that earth can behold. other and weaker natures than hers might forget, but she never. her fame will be short-lived as that rose, for she sees but your face, and the world will tire of that, but she will not. she can dream no more. she can only remember. do you know what that is to the artist?--it is to be blind and to weary the world; the world that has no more pity than you have! you think her consoled because her genius has not left her: are you a poet and yet do not know that genius is only a power to suffer more and to remember longer?--nothing else. you say to yourself that she will have fame, that will beguile her as the god came to ariadnê; perhaps; but across that fame, let it become what it may, there will settle for ever the shadow of the world's dishonour; it will be for ever poisoned, and cursed, and embittered by the scorn of fools, and the reproach of women, since by you they have been given their lashes of nettles, and by you have been given their by-word to hoot. she will walk in the light of triumph, you say, and therefore you have not hurt her; do you not see that the fiercer that light may beat on her, the sharper will the eyes of the world search out the brand with which you have burned her. for when do men forgive force in the woman? and when do women ever forgive the woman's greatness? and when does every cur fail to snarl at the life that is higher than its fellows? it is by the very genius in her that you have had such power to wound, such power to blight and to destroy. by so long as her name shall be spoken, so long will the wrong you have done her cling round it, to make it meet for reproach. a mere woman dies, and her woe and her shame die with her, and the earth covers her and them; but such shelter is denied for ever to the woman who has genius and fame; long after she is dead she will lie out on common soil, naked and unhouselled, for all the winds to blow on her and all the carrion birds to tear." * * * "no, no. that is accursed! to touch art without a right to touch it, merely as a means to find bread--you are too honest to think of such a thing. unless art be adored for its own sake and purely, it must be left alone. philip of macedon had every free man's child taught art! i would have every boy and girl taught its sacredness; so, we might in time get back some accuracy of taste in the public, some conscientiousness of production in the artist. if artistic creation be not a joy, an imperious necessity, an instinct of all the forces of the mind, let the boy go and plough, and the girl go and spin." * * * maybe you turn your back on happiness. i have heard that wise people often do that. they look up so at the sun and the stars, that they set their foot on the lark that would have sung to them and woke them brightly in the morning--and kill it. * * * landscape painting is the only original form of painting that modern times can boast. it has not exhausted itself yet; it is capable of infinite development. ruysdael, rembrandt, and the rest, did great scenes, it is true, but it has been left to our painters to put soul into the sunshine of a cornfield, and suggest a whole life of labour in a dull evening sky hanging over a brown ploughed upland, with the horses going tired homewards, and one grey figure trudging after them, to the hut on the edge of the moor. of course the modern fancy of making nature answer to all human moods, like an eölian harp, is morbid and exaggerated, but it has a beauty in it, and a certain truth. our tenderer souls take refuge in the country now, as they used to do in the cloister. * * * i think if people oftener saw the break of day they would vow oftener to keep that dawning day holy, and would not so often let its fair hours drift away with nothing done that were not best left undone. * * * we are the sons of our time: it is not for us to slay our mother. let us cover her dishonour if we see it, lest we should provoke the erinyes. * * * how one loves canova the man, and how one execrates canova the artist! surely never was a great repute achieved by so false a talent and so perfect a character. one would think he had been born and bred in versailles instead of treviso. he is called a naturalist! look at his graces! he is always coysevax and coustou at heart. never purely classic, never frankly modern. louis xiv. would have loved him better than bernini. * * * if alexander had believed himself a bubble of gas instead of the son of a god, he would not have changed the face of the world. negation cannot be the parent of heroism, though it will produce an indifference that counterfeits it not ill, since petronius died quite as serenely as ever did the martyrs of the church. * * * genius cannot escape the taint of its time more than a child the influence of its begetting. augustus could have horace and ovid; he could never have had homer and milton. * * * i do not think with you. talent takes the mark of its generation; genius stamps its time with its own impression. virgil had the sentiment of an united italy. * * * tell her that past she thinks so great was only very like the serapis which men worshipped so many ages in theophilis, and which, when the soldiers struck it down at last, proved itself only a hollow colossus with a colony of rats in its head that scampered right and left. * * * falconet struck the death-note of the plastic arts when he said, "our marbles have _almost_ colour." that is just where we err. we are incessantly striving to make sculpture at once a romance-writer and a painter, and of course she loses all dignity and does but seem the jay in borrowed plumes of sable. conceits are altogether out of keeping with marble. they suit a cabinet painting or a piece of china. bernini was the first to show the disease when he veiled the head of his nile to indicate that the source was unknown. * * * whosoever has any sort of fame has lighted a beacon that is always shining upon him, and can never more return into the cool twilight of privacy even when most he wishes. it is of these retributions--some call them compensations--of which life is full. * * * men have forgotten the virile pyrrhic dance, and have become incapable of the grace of the ionian; their only dance is a danse macabre, and they are always hand in hand with a skeleton. * * * by night rome is still a city for the gods; the shadows veil its wounds, the lustre silvers all its stones; its silence is haunted as no other silence is; if you have faith, there where the dark gloss of the laurel brushes the marble as in agrippa's time, you will see the immortals passing by chained with dead leaves and weeping. * * * a great love is an absolute isolation and an absolute absorption. nothing lives or moves or breathes save one life; for one life alone the sun rises and sets, the seasons revolve, the clouds bear rain, and the stars ride on high; the multitudes around cease to exist, or seem but ghostly shades; of all the sounds of earth there is but one voice audible; all past ages have been but the herald of one soul; all eternity can be but its heritage alone. * * * perhaps she was right: for a few hours of joy one owes the debt of years, and should give a pardon wide and deep as the deep sea. this love which she had made in his likeness, the tyrant and compeller of the world, was to her as the angel which brings perfect dreams and lets the tired sleeper visit heaven. * * * "and when the ship sails away without you?" i said brutally, and laughing still, because the mention of the schooner had broken the bonds of the silence that had held me against my will half paralysed, and i seemed to be again upon the tyrrhene shore, seeing the white sail fade against the sky. "and when that ship sails without you? the day will come. it always comes. you are my ariadnê; yet you forget naxos! oh, the day will come! you will kiss the feet of your idol then, and they will not stay; they will go away, away, away, and they will not tarry for your prayers or your tears--ay, it is always so. two love, and one tires. and you know nothing of that; you who would have love immortal." and i laughed again, for it seemed to me so horrible, and i was half mad. no doubt it would have been kinder had i struck my knife down into her breast with her words unspoken. all shade of colour forsook her face; only the soft azure of the veins remained, and changed to an ashen grey. she shook with a sudden shiver from head to foot as the name she hated, the name of ariadnê, fell upon her ear. the icebolt had fallen in her paradise. a scared and terrible fear dilated her eyes, that opened wide in the amaze of some suddenly stricken creature. "and when he leaves you?" i said, with cruel iteration. "do you remember what you told me once of the woman by the marshes by the sea, who had nothing left by which to remember love save wounds that never healed? that is all his love will leave you by-and-by." "ah, never!" she spoke rather to herself than me. the terror was fading out of her eyes, the blood returning to her face; she was in the sweet bewildered trance of that blind faith which goes wherever it is led, and never asks the end nor dreads the fate. her love was deathless: how could she know that his was mortal? "you are cruel," she said, with her mouth quivering, but the old, soft, grand courage in her eyes. "we are together for ever; he has said so. but even if--if--i only remembered him by wounds, what would that change in me? he would _have_ loved me. if he would wish to wound me, so he should. i am his own as the dogs are. think!--he looked at me, and all the world grew beautiful; he touched me, and i was happy--i, who never had been happy in my life. you look at me strangely; you speak harshly. why? i used to think, surely you would be glad----" i gripped my knife and cursed him in my soul. how could one say to her the thing that he had made her in man's and woman's sight? "i thought you would be glad," she said, wistfully, "and i would have told you long ago--myself. i do not know why you should look so. perhaps you are angered because i seemed ungrateful to you and maryx. perhaps i was so. i have no thought--only of him. what he wished, that i did. even rome itself was for me nothing, and the gods--there is only one for me; and he is with me always. and i think the serpents and the apes are gone for ever from the tree, and he only hears the nightingales--now. he tells me so often. very often. do you remember i used to dream of greatness for myself--ah, what does it matter! i want nothing now. when he looks at me--the gods themselves could give me nothing more." and the sweet tranquil radiance came back into her eyes, and her thoughts wandered into the memories of this perfect passion which possessed her, and she forgot that i was there. my throat was choking; my eyes felt blind; my tongue clove to my mouth. i, who knew what that end would be as surely as i knew the day then shining would sink into the earth, i was dumb, like a brute beast--i, who had gone to take his life. before this love which knew nothing of the laws of mankind, how poor and trite and trivial looked those laws! what could i dare to say to her of shame? ah! if it had only been for any other's sake! but he,--perhaps he did not lie to her; perhaps he did only hear the nightingales with her beside him; but how soon their song would pall upon his ear, how soon would he sigh for the poisonous kiss of the serpents! i knew! i knew! i stood heart-broken in the warm light that was falling through the casement and streaming towards her face. what could i say to her? men harder and sterner and surer in every way of their own judgment than i was of mine no doubt would have shaken her with harsh hands from that dream in which she had wandered to her own destruction. no doubt a sterner moralist than i would have had no pity, and would have hurled on her all the weight of those bitter truths of which she was so ignorant; would have shown her that pit of earthly scorn upon whose brink she stood; would have torn down all that perfect, credulous faith of hers, which could have no longer life nor any more lasting root than the flowering creeper born of a summer's sun, and gorgeous as the sunset's hues, and clinging about a ruin-mantling decay. oh yes, no doubt. but i am only weak, and of little wisdom, and never certain that the laws and ways of the world are just, and never capable of long giving pain to any harmless creature, least of all to her. she seemed to rouse herself with effort to remember i was there, and turned on me her eyes that were suffused and dreamful with happiness, like a young child's with sleep. "i must have seemed so thankless to you: you were so very good to me," she said, with that serious sweetness of her rare smile that i had used to watch for, as an old dog watches for his young owner's--an old dog that is used to be forgotten, but does not himself forget, though he is old. "i must have seemed so thankless; but he bade me be silent, and i have no law but him. after that night when we walked in nero's fields, and i went home and learned he loved me;--do you not see i forgot that there was any one in all the world except himself and me? it must always be so--at least, so i think. oh, how true that poem was! do you remember how he read it that night after mozart amongst the roses by the fire? what use was endless life and all the lore of the spirits and seers to sospitra? i was like sospitra, till he came; always thinking of the stars and the heavens in the desert all alone, and always wishing for life eternal, when it is only life _together_ that is worth a wish or a prayer. but why do you look at me so? perhaps you do not understand. perhaps i am selfish." this was all that it seemed to her--that i did not understand. could she see the tears of blood that welled up in my eyes? could she see the blank despair that blinded my sight? could she see the frozen hand that i felt clutching at my heart and benumbing it? i did not understand; that was all that it seemed to her. she was my ariadnê, born again to suffer the same fate. i saw the future: she could not. i knew that he would leave her as surely as the night succeeds the day. i knew that his passion--if passion, indeed, it were, and not only the mere common vanity of subjugation and possession--would pall on him and fade out little by little, as the stars fade out of the grey morning skies. i knew, but i had not the courage to tell her. men were faithful only to the faithless. but what could she know of this? "thinking of the stars and of the heavens in the desert all alone! yes!" i cried; and the bonds of my silence were unloosed, and the words rushed from my lips like a torrent from between the hills. "yes; and never to see the stars any more, and to lose for ever the peace of the desert--that, you think, is gain! oh, my dear! what can i say to you? what can i say? you will not believe if i tell you. i shall seem a liar and a prophet of false woe. i shall curse when i would bless. what can i say to you? athene watched over you. you were of those who dwell alone, but whom the gods are with. you had the clue and the sword, and they are nothing to you; you lose them both at his word, at the mere breath of his lips, and know no god but his idle law, that shifts as the winds of the sea. and you count that gain? oh, just heaven! oh, my dear, my heart is broken; how can i tell you? one man loved you who was great and good, to whom you were a sacred thing, who would have lifted you up in heaven, and never have touched too roughly a single hair of your head; and you saw him no more than the very earth that you trod; he was less to you than the marbles he wrought in; and he suffers: and what do you care? you have had the greatest wrong that a woman can have, and you think it the greatest good, the sweetest gift! he has torn your whole life down as a cruel hand tears a rose in the morning light, and you rejoice! for what do you know? he will kill your soul, and still you will kiss his hand. some women are so. when he leaves you, what will you do? for you there will only be death. the weak are consoled, but the strong never. what will you do? what will you do? you are like a child that culls flowers at the edge of a snake's breeding-pit. he waked you--yes!--to send you in a deeper sleep, blind and dumb to everything but his will. nay, nay! that is not your fault. love does not come at will; and of goodness it is not born, nor of gratitude, nor of any right or reason on the earth. only that you should have had no thought of us--no thought at all--only of him by whom your ruin comes; that seems hard! ay, it is hard. you stood just so in my dream, and you hesitated between the flower of passion and the flower of death. ah, well might love laugh. they grow on the same bough; love knows that. oh, my dear, my dear, i come too late! look! he has done worse than murder, for that only kills the body; but he has killed the soul in you. he will crush out all that came to you from heaven; all your mind and your hopes and your dreams, and all the mystery in you, that we poor half-dumb fools call genius, and that made the common daylight above you full of all beautiful shapes and visions that our duller eyes could not see as you went. he has done worse than murder, and i came to take his life. ay, i would slay him now as i would strangle the snake in my path. and even for this i come too late. i cannot do you even this poor last service. to strike him dead would only be to strike you too. i come too late! take my knife, lest i should see him--take it. till he leaves you i will wait." i drew the fine, thin blade across my knee and broke it in two pieces, and threw the two halves at her feet. then i turned without looking once at her, and went away. i do not know how the day waned and passed; the skies seemed red with fire, and the canals with blood. i do not know how i found my road over the marble floors and out into the air. i only remember that i felt my way feebly with my hands, as though the golden sunlight were all darkness, and that i groped my way down the steps and out under an angle of the masonry, staring stupidly upon the gliding waters. i do not know whether a minute had gone by or many hours, when some shivering sense of sound made me look up at the casement above, a high, vast casement fretted with dusky gold and many colours, and all kinds of sculptured stone. the sun was making a glory as of jewels on its painted panes. some of them were open; i could see within the chamber hilarion's fair and delicate head, and his face drooped with a soft smile. i could see her, with all her loveliness, melting, as it were, into his embrace, and see her mouth meet his. if i had not broken the steel!---- i rose from the stones and cursed them, and departed from the place as the moon rose. * * * he was silent; the moonlight poured down between us white and wide; there lay a little dead bird on the stones, i remember, a redbreast, stiff and cold. the people traffic in such things here, in the square of agrippa; it had fallen, doubtless, off some market stall. poor little robin! all the innocent sweet woodland singing-life of it was over, over in agony, and not a soul in all the wide earth was the better for its pain; not even the huckster who had missed making his copper coin by it. woe is me; the sorrow of the world is great. i pointed to it where it lay, poor little soft huddled heap of bright feathers; there is no sadder sight than a dead bird, for what lovelier life can there be than a bird's life, free in the sun and the rain, in the blossom and foliage? "make the little cold throat sing at sunrise," i said to him. "when you can do that, then think to undo what you have done." "she will forget:--" "you know she never will forget. there is your crime." "she will have her art----" "will the dead bird sing?" * * * here, if anywhere in the "divine city of the vatican"--for in truth a city and divine it is, and well has it been called so--here, if anywhere, will wake the soul of the artist; here, where the very pavement bears the story of odysseus, and each passage-way is a via sacra, and every stone is old with years whose tale is told by hundreds or by thousands, and the wounded adonis can be adored beside the tempted christ of sistine, and the serious beauty of the erythean sibyl lives beside the laughing grace of ivy-crowned thalia, and the jupiter maximus frowns on the mortals made of earth's dust, and the jehovah who has called forth woman meets the first smile of eve. a divine city indeed, holding in its innumerable chambers and its courts of granite and of porphyry all that man has ever dreamed of, in his hope and in his terror, of the unknown god. * * * the days of joyous, foolish mumming came--the carnival mumming that as a boy i had loved so well, and that, ever since i had come and stitched under my apollo and crispin, i had never been loth to meddle and mix in, going mad with my lit taper, like the rest, and my whistle of the befana, and all the salt and sport of a war of wits such as old rome has always heard in midwinter since the seven nights of the saturnalia. dear lord! to think that twice a thousand years ago and more, along these banks of tiber, and down in the velabrum and up the sacred way, men and women and children were leaping, and dancing, and shouting, and electing their festal king, and exchanging their new-year gifts of wax candles and little clay figures: and that now-a-days we are doing just the same thing in the same season, in the same places, only with all the real faunic joyfulness gone out of it with the old slain saturn, and a great deal of empty and luxurious show come in instead! it makes one sad, mankind looks such a fool. better be heine's fool on the seashore, who asks the winds their "wherefore" and their "whence." you remember heine's poem--that one in the "north sea" series, that speaks of the man by the shore, and asks what is man, and what shall become of him, and who lives on high in the stars? and tells how the waves keep on murmuring and the winds rising, the clouds scudding before the breeze, and the planets shining so cold and so far, and how on the shore a fool waits for an answer, and waits in vain. it is a terrible poem, and terrible because it is true. every one of us stands on the brink of the endless sea that is time and is death; and all the blind, beautiful, mute, majestic forces of creation move around us and yet tell us nothing. it is wonderful that, with this awful mystery always about us, we can go on on our little lives as cheerfully as we do; that on the edge of that mystical shore we yet can think so much about the crab in the lobster-pot, the eel in the sand, the sail in the distance, the child's face at home. well, no doubt it is heaven's mercy that we can do so; it saves from madness such thinking souls as are amongst us. * * * "my dear, of love there is very little in the world. there are many things that take its likeness: fierce unstable passions and poor egotisms of all sorts, vanities too, and many other follies--apatê and philotês in a thousand masquerading characters that gain great love discredit. the loves of men, and women too, my dear, are hardly better very often than minos' love for skylla; you remember how he threw her down from the stern of his vessel when he had made the use of her he wished, and she had cut the curls of nisias. a great love does not of necessity imply a great intelligence, but it must spring out of a great nature, that is certain; and where the heart has spent itself in much base petty commerce, it has no deep treasury of gold on which to draw; it is bankrupt from its very over-trading. a noble passion is very rare; believe me; as rare as any other very noble thing." * * * "do you call him a poet because he has the trick of a sonorous cadence and of words that fall with the measure of music, so that youths and maidens recite them for the vain charm of their mere empty sound? it is a lie--it is a blasphemy. a poet! a poet suffers for the meanest thing that lives; the feeblest creature dead in the dust is pain to him; his joy and his sorrow alike outweigh tenfold the joys and the sorrows of men; he looks on the world as christ looked on jerusalem, and weeps; he loves, and all heaven and all hell are in his love; he is faithful unto death, because fidelity alone can give to love the grandeur and the promise of eternity; he is like the martyrs of the church who lay upon the wheel with their limbs racked, yet held the roses of paradise in their hands and heard the angels in the air. that is a poet; that is what dante was, and shelley and milton and petrarca. but this man? this singer of the senses, whose sole lament is that the appetites of the body are too soon exhausted; this languid and curious analysist who rends the soul aside with merciless cruelty, and puts away the quivering nerves with cold indifference, once he has seen their secrets?--this a poet? then so was nero harping! accursed be the book and all the polished vileness that his verses ever palmed off on men by their mere tricks of sound. this a poet! as soon are the swine that rout the garbage, the lions of the apocalypse by the throne of god!" * * * the glad water sparkles and ripples everywhere; above the broad porphyry basins butterflies of every colour flutter, and swallows fly; lovers and children swing balls of flowers, made as only our romans know how to make them; the wide lawns under the deep-shadowed avenues are full of blossoms; the air is full of fragrance; the palms rise against a cloudless sky; the nights are lustrous; in the cool of the great galleries the statues seem to smile: so spring had been to me always; but now the season was without joy, and the scent of the flowers on the wind hurt me as it smote my nostrils. for a great darkness seemed always between me and the sun, and i wondered that the birds could sing, and the children run amongst the blossoms--the world being so vile. * * * women hope that the dead love may revive; but men know that of all dead things none are so past recall as a dead passion. the courtesan may scourge it with a whip of nettles back into life; but the innocent woman may wet it for ever with her tears, she will find no resurrection. * * * art is an angel of god, but when love has entered the soul, the angel unfolds its plumes and takes flight, and the wind of its wings withers as it passes. he whom it has left misses the angel at his ear, but he is alone for ever. sometimes it will seem to him then that it had been no angel ever, but a fiend that lied, making him waste his years in a barren toil, and his nights in a joyless passion; for there are two things beside which all art is but a mockery and a curse: they are a child that is dying and a love that is lost. * * * love art alone, forsaking all other loves, and she will make you happy, with a happiness that shall defy the seasons and the sorrows of time, the pains of the vulgar and the changes of fortune, and be with you day and night, a light that is never dim. but mingle with it any human love--and art will look for ever at you with the eyes of christ when he looked at the faithless follower as the cock crew. * * * the little garden of the rospigliosi seems to have all mediæval rome shut in it, as you go up the winding stairs with all their lichens and water-plants and broken marbles, into the garden itself, with its smooth emerald turf and spreading magnolias, and broad fish-ponds, and orange and citron trees, and the frescoed building at the end where guido's aurora floats in unchanging youth, and the buoyant hours run before the sun. myself i own i care not very much for that aurora; she is no incarnation of the morning, and though she floats wonderfully and does truly seem to move, yet is she in nowise ethereal nor suggestive of the dawn either of day or life. when he painted her, he must have been in love with some lusty taverner's buxom wife busked in her holiday attire. but whatever one may think of the famed aurora, of the loveliness of her quiet garden home, safe in the shelter of the stately palace walls, there can be no question; the little place is beautiful, and sitting in its solitude with the brown magnolia fruit falling on the grass, and the blackbirds pecking between the primroses, all the courtly and superb pageant of the dead ages will come trooping by you, and you will fancy that the boy metastasio is reciting strophes under yonder spanish chestnut-tree, and cardinals, and nobles, and gracious ladies, and pretty pages are all listening, leaning against the stone rail of the central water. for this is the especial charm and sorcery of rome, that, sitting idly in her beautiful garden-ways, you can turn over a score of centuries and summon all their pomp and pain before you, as easily as little children can turn over the pages of a coloured picture-book until their eyes are dazzled. _chandos._ it is so easy for the preacher, when he has entered the days of darkness, to tell us to find no flavour in the golden fruit, no music in the song of the charmer, no spell in eyes that look love, no delirium in the soft dreams of the lotus--so easy when these things are dead and barren for himself, to say they are forbidden! but men must be far more or far less than mortal ere they can blind their eyes, and dull their senses, and forswear their nature, and obey the dreariness of the commandment; and there is little need to force the sackcloth and the serge upon us. the roses wither long before the wassail is over, and there is no magic that will make them bloom again, for there is none that renews us--youth. the helots had their one short, joyous festival in their long year of labour; life may leave us ours. it will be surely to us, long before its close, a harder tyrant and a more remorseless taskmaster than ever was the lacedemonian to his bond-slaves,--bidding us make bricks without straw, breaking the bowed back, and leaving us as our sole chance of freedom the hour when we shall turn our faces to the wall--and die. * * * society, that smooth and sparkling sea, is excessively difficult to navigate; its surf looks no more than champagne foam, but a thousand quicksands and shoals lie beneath: there are breakers ahead for more than half the dainty pleasure-boats that skim their hour upon it; and the foundered lie by millions, forgotten, five fathoms deep below. the only safe ballast upon it is gold dust; and if stress of weather come on you, it will swallow you without remorse. trevenna had none of this ballast; he had come out to sea in as ticklish a cockle-shell as might be; he might go down any moment, and he carried no commission, being a sort of nameless, unchartered rover: yet float he did, securely. * * * corals, pink and delicate, rivet continents together; ivy tendrils, that a child may break, bold norman walls with bonds of iron; a little ring, a toy of gold, a jeweller's bagatelle, forges chains heavier than the galley-slave's: so a woman's look may fetter a lifetime. * * * he had passed through life having escaped singularly all the shadows that lie on it for most men; and he had, far more than most, what may be termed the faculty for happiness--a gift, in any temperament, whose wisdom and whose beauty the world too little recognises. * * * a temperament that is _never_ earnest is at times well-nigh as wearisome as a temperament that is never gay; there comes a time when, if you can never touch to any depth, the ceaseless froth and brightness of the surface will create a certain sense of impatience, a certain sense of want. * * * a straw misplaced will make us enemies; a millstone of benefits hung about his neck may fail to anchor down by us a single friend. we may lavish what we will--kindly thought, loyal service, untiring aid, and generous deed--and they are all but as oil to the burning, as fuel to the flame, when spent upon those who are jealous of us. * * * truth is a rough, honest, helter-skelter terrier, that none like to see brought into their drawing-rooms, throwing over all their dainty little ornaments, upsetting their choicest dresden, that nobody guessed was cracked till it fell with the mended side uppermost, and keeping every one in incessant tremor lest the next snap should be at their braids or their boots, of which neither the varnish nor the luxuriance will stand rough usage. * * * when will men learn to know that the power of genius, and the human shell in which it chances to be harboured, are as distinct as is the diamond from the quartz-bed in which they find it? * * * had he embraced dishonour, and accepted the rescue that a lie would have lent him, this misery in its greatest share had never been upon him. he would have come hither with riches about him, and the loveliness he had worshipped would have been his own beyond the touch of any rival's hand. choosing to cleave to the old creeds of his race, and passing, without a backward glance, into the paths of honour and of justice, it was thus with him now. verily, virtue must be her own reward, as in the socratic creed; for she will bring no other dower than peace of conscience in her gift to whosoever weds her. "i have loved justice, and fled from iniquity; wherefore here i die in exile," said hildebrand upon his death-bed. they will be the closing words of most lives that have followed truth. * * * there are liberties sweeter than love; there are goals higher than happiness. some memory of them stirred in him there, with the noiseless flow of the lingering water at his feet, and above the quiet of the stars; the thoughts of his youth came back to him, and his heart ached with their longing. out of the salt depths of their calamity men had gathered the heroisms of their future; out of the desert of their exile they had learned the power to return as conquerors. the greater things within him awakened from their lethargy; the innate strength so long untried, so long lulled to dreamy indolence and rest, uncoiled from its prostration; the force that would resist and, it might be, survive, slowly came upon him, with the taunts of his foe. it was possible that there was that still in him which might be grander and truer to the ambitions of his imaginative childhood under adversity, than in the voluptuous sweetness of his rich and careless life. it was possible, if--if he could once meet the fate he shuddered from, once look at the bitterness of the life that waited for him, and enter on its desolate and arid waste without going back to the closed gates of his forfeited paradise to stretch his limbs within their shadow once more ere he died. there is more courage needed oftentimes to accept the onward flow of existence, bitter as the waters of marah, black and narrow as the channel of jordan, than there is ever needed to bow down the neck to the sweep of the death-angel's sword. * * * he accepted the desolation of his life, for the sake of all beyond life, greater than life, which looked down on him from the silence of the night. * * * it was sunset in venice,--that supreme moment when the magical flush of light transfigures all, and wanderers whose eyes have long ached with the greyness and the glare of northward cities gaze and think themselves in heaven. the still waters of the lagunes, the marbles and the porphyry and the jasper of the mighty palaces, the soft grey of the ruins all covered with clinging green and the glowing blossoms of creepers, the hidden antique nooks where some woman's head leaned out of an arched casement, like a dream of the dandolo time when the adriatic swarmed with the returning galleys laden with byzantine spoil, the dim, mystic, majestic walls that towered above the gliding surface of the eternal water, once alive with flowers, and music, and the gleam of golden tresses, and the laughter of careless revellers in the venice of goldoni, in the venice of the past;--everywhere the sunset glowed with the marvel of its colour, with the wonder of its warmth. then a moment, and it was gone. night fell with the hushed shadowy stillness that belongs to venice alone; and in the place of the riot and luxuriance of colour there was the tremulous darkness of the young night, with the beat of an oar on the water, the scent of unclosing carnation-buds, the white gleam of moonlight, and the odour of lilies-of-the-valley blossoming in the dark archway of some mosaic-lined window. * * * the ruin that had stripped him of all else taught him to fathom the depths of his own attainments. he had in him the gifts of a goethe; but it was only under adversity that these reached their stature and bore their fruit. * * * the words were true. the bread of bitterness is the food on which men grow to their fullest stature; the waters of bitterness are the debatable ford through which they reach the shores of wisdom; the ashes boldly grasped and eaten without faltering are the price that must be paid for the golden fruit of knowledge. the swimmer cannot tell his strength till he has gone through the wild force of opposing waves; the great man cannot tell the might of his hand and the power of his resistance till he has wrestled with the angel of adversity, and held it close till it has blessed him. * * * the artist was true to his genius; he knew it a greater gift than happiness; and as his hands wandered by instinct over the familiar notes, the power of his kingdom came to him, the passion of his mistress was on him, and the grandeur of the melody swelled out to mingle with the night, divine as consolation, supreme as victory. * * * the man who puts chains on another's limbs is only one shade worse than he who puts fetters on another's free thoughts and on another's free conscience. * * * one fetter of tradition loosened, one web of superstition broken, one ray of light let in on darkness, one principle of liberty secured, are worth the living for, he mused. fame!--it is the flower of a day, that dies when the next sun rises. but to do something, however little, to free men from their chains, to aid something, however faintly, the rights of reason and of truth, to be unvanquished through all and against all, these may bring one nearer the pure ambitions of youth. happiness dies as age comes to us; it sets for ever, with the suns of early years: yet perhaps we may keep a higher thing beside which it holds but a brief loyalty, if to ourselves we can rest true, if for the liberty of the world we can do anything. * * * do not believe that happiness makes us selfish; it is a treason to the sweetest gift of life. it is when it has deserted us that it grows hard to keep all the better things in us from dying in the blight. * * * "coleridge cried, 'o god, how glorious it is to live!' renan asks, 'o god, when will it be worth while to live?' in nature we echo the poet; in the world we echo the thinker." * * * "yet you are greater than you were then," he said, slowly. "i know it,--i who am but a wine-cup rioter and love nothing but my summer-day fooling. you are greater; but the harvest you sow will only be reaped over your grave." "i should be content could i believe it would be reaped then." "be content then. you may be so." "god knows! do you not think marsy and delisle de sales and linguet believed, as they suffered in their dungeons for mere truth of speech, that the remembrance of future generations would solace them? bichât gave himself to premature death for science' sake; does the world once in a year speak his name? yet how near those men are to us, to be forgotten! a century, and history will scarce chronicle them." "then why give the wealth of your intellect to men?" "are there not higher things than present reward and the mere talk of tongues? the _monstrari digito_ were scarce a lofty goal. we may love truth and strive to serve her, disregarding what she brings us. those who need a bribe from her are not her true believers." philippe d'orvâle tossed his silvery hair from his eyes,--eyes of such sunny lustre still. "ay! and those who held that sublime code of yours, that cleaving to truth for truth's sake, where are they? how have they fared in every climate and in every age? stoned, crucified, burned, fettered, broken on the vast black granite mass of the blind multitude's brutality, of the priesthood's curse and craft!" "true! yet if through us, ever so slightly, the bondage of the creeds' traditions be loosened from the lives they stifle, and those multitudes--so weary, so feverish, so much more to be pitied than condemned--become less blind, less brute, the sacrifice is not in vain." "in your sense, no. but the world reels back again into darkness as soon as a hand has lifted it for a while into light. men hold themselves purified, civilised; a year of war,--and lust and bloodthirst rage untamed in all their barbarism; a taste of slaughter,--and they are wolves again! there was truth in the old feudal saying, 'oignez vilain, il vous poindra; poignez vilain, il vous oindra.' beat the multitudes you talk of with a despot's sword, and they will lick your feet; touch them with a christ-like pity, and they will nail you to the cross." there was terrible truth in the words: this man of princely blood, who disdained all sceptres and wanted nothing of the world, could look through and through it with his bold sunlit eyes, and see its rottenness to the core. chandos sighed as he heard. "you are right,--only too right. yet even while they crouch to the tyrant's sabre, how bitterly they need release! even while they crucify their teachers and their saviours, how little they know what they do! they may forsake themselves; but they should not be forsaken." philippe d'orvâle looked on him with a light soft as woman's tears in his eyes, and dashed his hand down on the alabaster. "chandos, you live twenty centuries too late. you would have been crowned in athens, and throned in asia. but here, as a saving grace, they will call you--'mad!'" "well, if they do? the title has its honours. it was hooted against solon and socrates." * * * "i would do all in the world to please _you_, monseigneur," he answered, sadly; "but i cannot change my nature. the little aziola loves the shade, and shrinks from noise and glare and all the ways of men; i am like it. you cannot make the aziola a bird for sunlight; you cannot make me as others are." chandos looked down on him with an almost tender compassion. to him, whose years were so rich in every pleasure and every delight that men can enjoy, the loneliness and pain of lulli's life, divorced from all the living world, made it a marvel profoundly melancholy, profoundly formed to claim the utmost gentleness and sympathy. "i would not have you as others are, lulli," he said, softly. "if in all the selfishness and pleasures of our world there were not some here and there to give their lives to high thoughts and to unselfish things, as you give yours, we should soon, i fear, forget that such existed. but for such recluse's devotion to an art as yours, the classics would have perished; without the cloister-penmen, the laws of science would never have broken the bondage of tradition." lulli looked up eagerly; then his head drooped again with the inexpressible weariness of that vain longing which "toils to reach the stars." "ah, what is the best that i reach?--the breath of the wind which passes, and sighs, and is heard no more." * * * "how crabbed a scroll!" he went on, throwing himself down a moment on the thyme and grass. "the characters must baffle even you; the years that have yellowed the vellum have altered the fashion. whose is it?" "an old elizabethan musician's," answered lulli, as he looked up. "yes; the years take all,--our youth, our work, our life, even our graves." something in his provençal cadence gave a rhythm to his simplest speech: the words fell sadly on his listener's ear, though on the sensuous luxuriance of his own existence no shadow ever rested, no skeleton ever crouched. "yes: the years take all," he said, with a certain sadness on him. "how many unperfected resolves, unachieved careers, unaccomplished ambitions, immatured discoveries, perish under the rapidity of time, as unripe fruits fall before their season! bichât died at thirty-one:--if he had lived, his name would now have outshone aristotle's." "we live too little time to do anything even for the art we give our life to," murmured lulli. "when we die, our work dies with us: our better self must perish with our bodies; the first change of fashion will sweep it into oblivion." "yet something may last of it," suggested chandos, while his hand wandered among the blue bells of the curling hyacinths. "because few save scholars read the '_defensio populi_' now, the work it did for free thought cannot die. none the less does the cathedral enrich cologne because the name of the man who begot its beauty has passed unrecorded. none the less is the world aided by the effort of every true and daring mind because the thinker himself has been crushed down in the rush of unthinking crowds." "no, if _it_ could live!" murmured lulli, softly, with a musing pain in the broken words. "but look! the scroll was as dear to its writer as his score to beethoven,--the child of his love, cradled in his thoughts night and day, cherished as never mother cherished her first-born, beloved as wife or mistress, son or daughter, never were. perhaps he denied himself much to give his time more to his labour; and when he died, lonely and in want, because he had pursued that for which men called him a dreamer, his latest thought was of the work which never could speak to others as it spoke to him, which he must die and leave, in anguish that none ever felt to sever from a human thing. yet what remains of his love and his toil? it is gone, as a laugh or a sob dies off the ear, leaving no echo behind. his name signed here tells nothing to the men for whom he laboured, adds nothing to the art for which he lived. as it is with him, so will it be with me." his voice, that had risen in sudden and untutored eloquence, sank suddenly into the sadness and the weariness of the man whose highest joy is but relief from pain; and in it was a keener pang still,--the grief of one who strives for what incessantly escapes him. "wait," said chandos, gently. "are we sure that nothing lives of the music you mourn? it may live on the lips of the people, in those old-world songs whose cause we cannot trace, yet which come sweet and fresh transmitted to every generation. how often we hear some nameless melody echo down a country-side! the singers cannot tell you whence it came; they only know their mothers sang it by their cradles, and they will sing it by their children's. but in the past the song had its birth in genius." guido lulli bent his head. "true: such an immortality were all-sufficient: we could well afford to have our names forgotten----" * * * "let that fellow alone, cos," laughed chandos, to avert the stormy element which seemed to threaten the serenity of his breakfast-party. "trevenna will beat us all with his tongue, if we tempt him to try conclusions. he should be a chancellor of the exchequer or a cheap john; i am not quite clear which as yet." "identically the same things!" cried trevenna. "the only difference is the scale they are on; one talks from the bench, and the other from the benches; one cheapens tins, and the other cheapens taxes; one has a salve for an incurable disease, and the other a salve for the national debt; one rounds his periods to put off a watch that won't go, and the other to cover a deficit that won't close; but they radically drive the same trade, and both are successful if the spavined mare trots out looking sound, and the people pay up. 'look what i save you,' cry cheap john and chancellor; and while they shout their economics, they pocket their shillings. ah, if i were sure i could bamboozle a village, i should know i was qualified to make up a budget." * * * "most impudent of men! when will you learn the first lesson of society, and decently and discreetly _apprendre à vous effacer_?" "_a m'effacer_? the advice lady harriet vandeleur gave cecil. very good for mediocre people, i dare say; but it wouldn't suit _me_. there are some people, you know, that won't iron down for the hardest rollers. _m'effacer_? no! i'd rather any day be an ill-bred originality than a well-bred nonentity." "then you succeed perfectly in being what you wish! don't you know, monsieur, that to set yourself against conventionalities is like talking too loud?--an impertinence and an under-breeding that society resents by exclusion." "yes, i know it. but a duke may bawl, and nobody shuts out _him_; a prince might hop on one leg, and everybody would begin to hop too. now, what the ducal lungs and the princely legs might do with impunity, i declare i've a right to do, if i like." "_bécasse_! no one can declare his rights till he can do much more, and--purchase them. have a million, and we may perhaps give you a little license to be unlike other persons: without the million it is an ill-bred _gaucherie_." "ah, i know! only a nobleman may be original; a poor penniless wretch upon town must be humbly and insignificantly commonplace. what a pity for the success of the aristocratic monopolists that nature puts clever fellows and fools just in the reverse order! but then nature's a shocking socialist." "and so are you." trevenna laughed. "hush, madame. pray don't destroy me with such a whisper." * * * talent wears well; genius wears itself out; talent drives a brougham in fact, genius a sun-chariot in fancy; talent keeps to earth and fattens there, genius soars to the empyrean, to get picked by every kite that flies; talent is the part and the venison, genius the seltzer and souffle of life. the man who has talent sails successfully on the top of the wave; the man with genius beats himself to pieces, fifty to one, on the first rock he meets. * * * one innocent may be wrongly suspected until he is made the thing that the libel called him. * * * men shut out happiness from their schemes for the world's happiness. they might as well try to bring flowers to bloom without the sun. * * * the most dastardly sin on earth is the desertion of the fallen. * * * let the world abandon you, but to yourself be true. * * * the bread of bitterness is the food on which men grow to their fullest stature. * * * youth without faith is a day without sun. * * * i detest posterity--every king hates his heir. * * * scandals are like dandelion seeds; they are arrow-headed and stick when they fall, and bring forth and multiply fourfold. * * * the puff perfect is the puff personal--adroitly masked. * * * i wear the bonnet rouge discreetly weighed down with a fine tassel of british prudence. * * * he was a master of the great art of banter. it is a marvellous force; it kills sanctity, unveils sophistry, travesties wisdom, cuts through the finest shield, and turns the noblest impulses to hopeless ridicule. * * * immortality is dull work--a hideous statue that gets black as soot in no time; funeral sermons that make you out a vial of revelations and discuss the probabilities of your being in the realms of satan; a bust that slants you off at the shoulders and sticks you up on a bracket; a tombstone for the canes of the curious to poke at; an occasional attention in the way of withered immortelles or biographical billingsgate, and a partial preservation shared in common with mummies, auks' eggs, snakes in bottles, and deformities in spirits of wine:--that's posthumous fame. i must say i don't see much fun in it. * * * it were hard not to be wrong in philosophies when the body starves on a pinch of oatmeal. it is the law of necessity, the balance of economy; human fuel must be used up that the machine of the world may spin on; but it is not, perhaps, marvellous that the living fuel is sometimes unreconciled to that symmetrical rule of waste and repair, of consumer and consumed. * * * it is many centuries since caius gracchus called the mercantile classes to aid the people against the patricians, and found too late that they were deadlier oppressors than all the optimates; but the error still goes on, and the moneymakers churn it into gold, as they churned it then into the asiatic revenues and the senatorial amulets. * * * the love of a people is the most sublime crown that can rest on the brow of any man, but the love of a mob is a mongrel that fawns and slavers one moment, to rend and tear the next. _folle-farine._ in this old-world district, amidst the pastures and corn-lands of normandy, superstition had taken a hold which the passage of centuries and the advent of revolution had done very little to lessen. few of the people could read, and fewer still could write. they knew nothing but what their priests and politicians told them to believe. they went to their beds with the poultry, and rose as the cock crew: they went to mass, as their ducks to the osier and weed ponds; and to the conscription as their lambs to the slaughter. they understood that there was a world beyond them, but they remembered it only as the best market for their fruit, their fowls, their lace, their skins. their brains were as dim as were their oil-lit streets at night; though their lives were content and mirthful, and for the most part pious. they went out into the summer meadows chanting aves, in seasons of drought to pray for rain on their parching orchards, in the same credulity with which they groped through the winter-fog bearing torches, and chanting dirges to gain a blessing at seed-time on their bleak, black fallows. the beauty and the faith of the old mediæval life were with them still; and with its beauty and its faith were its bigotry and cruelty likewise. they led simple and contented lives; for the most part honest, and amongst themselves cheerful and kindly: preserving much grace of colour, of costume, of idiosyncrasy, because apart from the hueless communism and characterless monotony of modern cities. but they believed in sorcery and in devilry: they were brutal to their beasts, and could be as brutal to their foes: they were steeped in legend and tradition from their cradles; and all the darkest superstitions of dead ages still found home and treasury in their hearts and at their hearths. they had always been a religious people in this birth country of the flamma race: the strong poetic reverence of their forefathers, which had symbolised itself in the carving of every lintel, corbel or buttress in their streets, and the fashion of every spire on which a weather-vane could gleam against the sun, was still in their blood; the poetry had departed, but the bigotry remained. * * * "the earth and the air are good," she thought, as she lay there watching the dark leaves sway in the foam and the wind, and the bright-bosomed birds float from blossom to blossom. for there was latent in her, all untaught, that old pantheistic instinct of the divine age, when the world was young, to behold a sentient consciousness in every leaf unfolded to the light; to see a soul in every created thing the day shines on; to feel the presence of an eternal life in every breeze that moves, in every grass that grows; in every flame that lifts itself to heaven; in every bell that vibrates on the air; in every moth that soars to reach the stars. pantheism is the religion of the poet; and nature had made her a poet, though man as yet had but made of her an outcast, a slave, and a beast of burden. "the earth and the air are good," she thought, watching the sun-rays pierce the purple hearts of a passion-flower, the shadows move across the deep brown water, the radiant butterfly alight upon a lily, the scarlet-throated birds dart in and out through the yellow feathery blossoms of the limes. * * * when a man clings to life for life's sake, because it is fair and sweet, and good in the sight and the senses, there may be weakness in his shudder at its threatening loss. but when a man is loth to lose life although it be hard, and joyless, and barren of all delights, because this life gives him power to accomplish things greater than he, which yet without him must perish, there is the strength in him, as there is the agony of prometheus. with him it must die also: that deep dim greatness within him, which moves him, despite himself; that nameless unspeakable force which compels him to create and to achieve; that vision by which he beholds worlds beyond him not seen by his fellows. weary of life he may be; of life material, and full of subtlety; of passion, of pleasure, of pain; of the kisses that burn, of the laugh that rings hollow, of the honey that so soon turns to gall, of the sickly fatigues, and the tired, cloyed hunger, that are the portion of men upon earth. weary of these he may be; but still if the gods have breathed on him, and made him mad with the madness that men have called genius, there will be that in him greater than himself, which he knows,--and cannot know without some fierce wrench and pang,--will be numbed and made impotent, and drift away, lost for evermore, into that eternal night, which is all that men behold of death. * * * the grass of the holy river gathers perfume from the marvellous suns, and the moonless nights, and the gorgeous bloom of the east, from the aromatic breath of the leopard, and the perfume of the fallen pomegranate, and the sacred oil that floats in the lamps, and the caress of the girl-bather's feet, and the myrrh-dropping unguents that glide from the maiden's bare limbs in the moonlight,--the grass holds and feeds on them all. but not till the grass has been torn from the roots, and been crushed, and been bruised and destroyed, can the full odours exhale of all it has tasted and treasured. even thus the imagination of man may be great, but it can never be at its greatest until one serpent, with merciless fangs, has bitten it through and through, and impregnated it with passion and with poison,--that one deathless serpent which is memory. * * * and, indeed, to those who are alive to the nameless, universal, eternal soul which breathes in all the grasses of the fields, and beams in the eyes of all creatures of earth and air, and throbs in the living light of palpitating stars, and thrills through the young sap of forest trees, and stirs in the strange loves of wind-borne plants, and hums in every song of the bee, and burns in every quiver of the flame, and peoples with sentient myriads every drop of dew that gathers on a hare-bell, every bead of water that ripples in a brook--to them the mortal life of man can seem but little, save at once the fiercest and the feeblest thing that does exist; at once the most cruel and the most impotent; tyrants of direst destruction, and bondsmen of lowest captivity. * * * the earth has always most charm, and least pain, to the poet or the artist when men are hidden away under their roofs. then they do not break its calm with either their mirth or their brutality; then the vile and revolting coarseness of their works, that blot it with so much deformity, is softened and obscured in the purple breaths of shadow, and the dim tender gleam of stars. * * * when the world was in its youth, it had leisure to treasure its recollections; even to pause and look back; to see what flower of a fair thought, what fruit of a noble art, it might have overlooked or left down-trodden. but now it is so old, and is so tired; it is purblind, and heavy of foot; it does not notice what it destroys; it desires rest and can find none; nothing can matter greatly to it; its dead are so many that it cannot count them; and being thus worn and dulled with age, and suffocated under the weight of its innumerable memories, it is very slow to be moved, and swift--terribly swift--to forget. why should it not be? it has known the best, it has known the worst that ever can befall it. and the prayer that to the heart of man seems so freshly born from his own desire, what is it on the weary ear of the world, save the same old, old cry which it has heard through all the ages, empty as the sound of the wind, and for ever--for ever--unanswered? * * * for there is nothing so cruel in life as a faith;--the faith, whatever its name may be, that draws a man on all his years through on one narrow path, by one tremulous light, and then at the last, with a laugh--drowns him. * * * i think i see!--the great god walked by the edge of the river, and he mused on a gift to give man, on a joy that should be a joy on the earth for ever; and he passed by the lily white as snow, by the thyme that fed the bees, by the gold heart in the arum flower, by the orange flame of the tall sandrush, by all the great water-blossoms which the sun kissed and the swallows loved, and he came to the one little reed pierced with the snake's-tongues, and all alone amidst millions. then he took it up, and cut it to the root, and killed it; killed it as a reed--but breathed into it a song audible and beautiful to all the ears of men. was that death to the reed?--or life? would a thousand summers of life by the waterside have been worth that one thrill of song when a god first spoke through it? * * * it is odd that you should live in a palace, and he should want for bread; but then he can create things, and you can only buy them. so it is even, perhaps. * * * a word that needs compelling is broken by the heart before the lips give it. it is to plant a tree without a root to put faith in a man that needs a bond. * * * "you are glad since you sing!" said the old man to her as she passed him again on her homeward way and paused again beside him. "the birds in cages sing," she answered him, "but think you they are glad?" "are they not?" she sat down a moment beside him, on the bank which was soft with moss, and odorous with wild flowers curling up the stems of the poplars and straying over into the corn beyond. "are they? look. yesterday i passed a cottage, it is on the great south road; far away from here. the house was empty; the people no doubt were gone to labour in the fields; there was a wicker cage hanging to the wall, and in the cage there was a blackbird. the sun beat on his head; his square of sod was a dry clod of bare earth; the heat had dried every drop of water in his pan; and yet the bird was singing. singing how? in torment, beating his breast against the bars till the blood started, crying to the skies to have mercy on him and to let the rain fall. his song was shrill; it had a scream in it; still he sang. do you say the merle was glad?" "what did you do?" asked the old man, still breaking his stones with a monotonous rise and fall of his hammer. "i took the cage down and opened the door." "and he?" "he shot up in the air first, then dropped down amidst the grasses, where a little brook which the drought had not dried was still running; and he bathed and drank, and bathed again, seeming mad with the joy of the water. when i lost him from sight he was swaying among the leaves on a bough over the river; but then he was silent." "and what do you mean by that?" her eyes clouded; she was mute. she vaguely knew the meaning it bore to herself, but it was beyond her to express it. all things of nature had voices and parables for her, because her fancy was vivid, and her mind was still too dark, and too profoundly ignorant, for her to be able to shape her thoughts into metaphor or deduction. the bird had spoken to her; by his silence as by his song; but what he had uttered she could not well utter again. save indeed that song was not gladness, and neither was silence pain. * * * "the future?" she said at last, "that means something that one has not, and that is to come--is it so?" "something that one never has, and that never comes," muttered the old man, wearily cracking the flints in two; "something that one possesses in one's sleep, and that is farther off each time that one awakes; and yet a thing that one sees always, sees even when one lies a dying they say--for men are fools." * * * in one of the most fertile and most fair districts of northern france there was a little norman town, very, very old, and beautiful exceedingly by reason of its ancient streets, its high peaked roofs, its marvellous galleries and carvings, its exquisite greys and browns, its silence and its colour, and its rich still life. its centre was a great cathedral, noble as york or chartres; a cathedral, whose spire shot to the clouds, and whose innumerable towers and pinnacles were all pierced to the day, so that the blue sky shone and the birds of the air flew all through them. a slow brown river, broad enough for market boats and for corn barges, stole through the place to the sea, lapping as it went the wooden piles of the houses, and reflecting the quaint shapes of the carvings, the hues of the signs and the draperies, the dark spaces of the dormer windows, the bright heads of some casement-cluster of carnations, the laughing face of a girl leaning out to smile on her lover. all around it lay the deep grass unshaven, the leagues on leagues of fruitful orchards, the low blue hills tenderly interlacing one another, the fields of colza, where the white head-dress of the women-workers flashed in the sun like a silvery pigeon's wing. to the west there were the deep green woods, and the wide plains golden with gorse of arthur's and of merlin's lands; and beyond, to the northward, was the dim stretch of the ocean breaking on a yellow shore, whither the river ran, and whither led straight shady roads, hidden with linden and with poplar trees, and marked ever and anon by a wayside wooden christ, or by a little murmuring well crowned with a crucifix. a beautiful, old, shadowy, ancient place: picturesque everywhere; often silent, with a sweet sad silence that was chiefly broken by the sound of bells or the chaunting of choristers. a place of the middle ages still. with lanterns swinging on cords from house to house as the only light; with wondrous scroll-works and quaint signs at the doors of all its traders; with monks' cowls and golden croziers and white-robed acolytes in its streets; with the subtle smoke of incense coming out from the cathedral door to mingle with the odours of the fruits and flowers in the market-place; with great flat-bottomed boats drifting down the river under the leaning eaves of its dwellings; and with the galleries of its opposing houses touching so nearly that a girl leaning in one could stretch a provence rose or toss an easter egg across to her neighbour in the other. doubtless there were often squalor, poverty, dust, filth, and uncomeliness within these old and beautiful homes. doubtless often the dwellers therein were housed like cattle and slept like pigs, and looked but once out to the woods and waters of the landscapes round for one hundred times that they looked at their hidden silver in an old delf jug, or at their tawdry coloured prints of st. victorian or st. scævola. but yet much of the beauty and the nobility of the old, simple, restful, rich-hued life of the past still abode there, and remained with them. in the straight, lithe form of their maidens, untrammelled by modern garb, and moving with the free majestic grace of forest does. in the vast, dim, sculptured chambers, where the grandam span by the wood fire, and the little children played in the shadows, and the lovers whispered in the embrasured window. in the broad market-place, where the mules cropped the clover, and the tawny awnings caught the sunlight, and the white caps of the girls framed faces fitted for the pencils of missal painters, and the flush of colour from mellow wall-fruits and grape-clusters glanced amidst the shelter of deepest, freshest green. in the perpetual presence of their cathedral, which, through sun and storm, through frost and summer, through noon and midnight, stood there amidst them, and watched the galled oxen tread their painful way, and the scourged mules droop their humble heads, and the helpless, harmless flocks go forth to the slaughter, and the old weary lives of the men and women pass through hunger and cold to the grave, and the sun and the moon rise and set, and the flowers and the children blossom and fade, and the endless years come and go, bringing peace, bringing war; bringing harvest, bringing famine; bringing life, bringing death; and, beholding these, still said to the multitude in its terrible irony, "lo! your god is love." this little town lay far from the great paris highway and all greatly frequented tracks. it was but a short distance from the coast, but near no harbour of greater extent than such as some small fishing village had made in the rocks for the trawlers. few strangers ever came to it, except some wandering painters or antiquaries. it sent its apples and eggs, its poultry and honey, its colza and corn to the use of the great cities; but it was rarely that any of its own people went thither. now and then some one of the oval-faced, blue-eyed, lithe-limbed maidens of its little homely households would sigh and flush and grow restless, and murmur of paris; and would steal out in the break of a warm grey morning whilst only the birds were still waking; and would patter away in her wooden shoes over the broad, white, southern road, with a stick over her shoulder, and a bundle of all her worldly goods upon the stick. and she would look back often, often, as she went; and when all was lost in the blue haze of distance save the lofty spire which she still saw through her tears, she would say in her heart, with her lips parched and trembling, "i will come back again. i will come back again." but none such ever did come back. they came back no more than did the white sweet sheaves of the lilies which the women gathered and sent to be bought and sold in the city--to gleam one faint summer night in a gilded balcony, and to be flung out the next morning, withered and dead. one amongst the few who had thus gone whither the lilies went, and of whom the people would still talk as their mules paced homewards through the lanes at twilight, had been reine flamma, the daughter of the miller of yprés. * * * "there are only two trades in a city," said the actors to her, with a smile as bitter as her own, "only two trades--to buy souls and to sell them. what business have you here, who do neither the one nor the other?" there was music still in this trampled reed of the river, into which the gods had once bidden the stray winds and the wandering waters breathe their melody; but there, in the press, the buyers and sellers only saw in it a frail thing of the sand and the stream, only made to be woven for barter, or bind together the sheaves of the roses of pleasure. * * * art was to him as mother, brethren, mistress, offspring, religion--all that other men hold dear. he had none of these, he desired none of them; and his genius sufficed to him in their stead. it was an intense and reckless egotism, made alike cruel and sublime by its intensity and purity, like the egotism of a mother in her child. to it, as the mother to her child, he would have sacrificed every living creature; but to it also, like her, he would have sacrificed his very existence as unhesitatingly. but it was an egotism which, though merciless in its tyranny, was as pure as snow in its impersonality; it was untainted by any grain of avarice, of vanity, of selfish desire; it was independent of all sympathy; it was simply and intensely the passion for immortality:--that sublime selfishness, that superb madness, of all great minds. art had taken him for its own, as demeter, in the days of her desolation, took the child demophoon to nurture him as her own on the food of gods, and to plunge him through the flames of a fire that would give him immortal life. as the pusillanimous and sordid fears of the mortal mother lost to the child for evermore the possession of olympian joys and of perpetual youth, so did the craven and earthly cares of bodily needs hold the artist back from the radiance of the life of the soul, and drag him from the purifying fires. yet he had not been utterly discouraged; he strove against the metanira of circumstance; he did his best to struggle free from the mortal bonds that bound him; and, as the child demophoon mourned for the great goddess that had nurtured him, refusing to be comforted, so did he turn from the base consolations of the senses and the appetites, and beheld ever before his sight the ineffable majesty of that mater dolorosa who once and for ever had anointed him as her own. * * * men did not believe in him; what he wrought saddened and terrified them; they turned aside to those who fed them on simpler and on sweeter food. his works were great, but they were such as the public mind deems impious. they unveiled human corruption too nakedly, and they shadowed forth visions too exalted, and satires too unsparing, for them to be acceptable to the multitude. they were compounded of an idealism clear and cold as crystal, and of a reality cruel and voluptuous as love. they were penetrated with an acrid satire and an intense despair: the world caring only for a honied falsehood and a gilded gloss in every art, would have none of them. * * * "see you--what he lacks is only the sinew that gold gives. what he has done is great. the world rightly seeing must fear it; and fear is the highest homage the world ever gives. but he is penniless; and he has many foes; and jealousy can with so much ease thrust aside the greatness which it fears into obscurity, when that greatness is marred by the failures and the feebleness of poverty. genius scorns the power of gold: it is wrong; gold is the war-scythe on its chariot, which mows down the millions of its foes and gives free passage to the sun-coursers with which it leaves those heavenly fields of light for the gross battle-fields of earth." * * * it is true that the great artist is as a fallen god who remembers a time when worlds arose at his breath, and at his bidding the barren lands blossomed into fruitfulness; the sorcery of the thyrsus is still his, though weakened. the powers of lost dominions haunt his memory; the remembered glory of an eternal sun is in his eyes, and makes the light of common day seem darkness; the heart sickness of a long exile weighs on him; incessantly he labours to overtake the mirage of a loveliness which fades as he pursues it. in the poetic creation by which the bondage of his material life is redeemed, he finds at once ecstasy and disgust, because he feels at once his strength and weakness. for him all things of earth and air, and sea and cloud, have beauty; and to his ear all voices of the forest land and water world are audible. he is as a god, since he can call into palpable shape dreams born of impalpable thought; as a god, since he has known the truth divested of lies, and has stood face to face with it, and been not afraid; a god thus. but a cripple inasmuch as his hand can never fashion the shapes that his vision beholds; an alien because he has lost what he never will find upon earth; a beast, since ever and again his passions will drag him to wallow in the filth of sensual indulgence; a slave, since oftentimes the divinity that is in him breaks and bends under the devilry that also is in him, and he obeys the instincts of vileness, and when he would fain bless the nations he curses them. * * * "i do not know," she said, wearily afresh. "marcellin says that every god is deaf. he must be deaf--or very cruel. look; everything lives in pain; and yet no god pities and makes an end of the earth. i would--if i were he. look--at dawn, the other day, i was out in the wood. i came upon a little rabbit in a trap; a little, pretty, soft black-and-white thing, quite young. it was screaming in its horrible misery; it had been screaming all night. its thighs were broken in the iron teeth; the trap held it tight; it could not escape, it could only scream--scream--scream. all in vain. when i had set it free it was mangled as if a wolf had gnawed it; the iron teeth had bitten through the fur, and the flesh, and the bone; it had lost so much blood, and it was in so much pain, that it could not live. i laid it down in the bracken, and put water to its mouth, and did what i could; but it was of no use. it had been too much hurt. it died as the sun rose; a little, harmless, shy, happy thing, you know, that never killed any creature, and only asked to nibble a leaf or two, or sleep in a little round hole, and run about merry and free. how can one care for a god since he lets these things be?" arslàn smiled as he heard. "child,--men care for a god only as a god means a good to them. men are heirs of heaven, they say; and, in right of their heritage, they make life hell to every living thing that dares dispute the world with them. you do not understand that,--tut! you are not human then. if you were human, you would begrudge a blade of grass to a rabbit, and arrogate to yourself a lease of immortality." * * * "of a winter night," she said, slowly, "i have heard old pitchou read aloud to flamma, and she reads of their god, the one they hang everywhere on the crosses here; and the story ran that the populace scourged and nailed to death the one whom they knew afterwards, when too late, to have been the great man that they looked for, and that, being bidden to make their choice of one to save, they chose to ransom and honour a thief: one called barabbas. is it true?--if the world's choice were wrong once, why not twice?" arslàn smiled; the smile she knew so well, and which had no more warmth than the ice floes of his native seas. "why not twice? why not a thousand times? a thief has the world's sympathies always. it is always the barabbas--the trickster in talent, the forger of stolen wisdom, the bravo of political crime, the huckster of plundered thoughts, the charlatan of false art, whom the vox populi elects and sets free, and sends on his way rejoicing. 'will ye have christ or barabbas?' every generation is asked the same question, and every generation gives the same answer; and scourges the divinity out of its midst, and finds its idol in brute force and low greed." she only dimly comprehended, not well knowing why her words had thus roused him. she pondered awhile, then her face cleared. "but the end?" she asked. "the dead god is the god of all these people round us now, and they have built great places in his honour, and they bow when they pass his likeness in the highway or the market-place. but with barabbas--what was the end? it seems that they loathe and despise him?" arslàn laughed a little. "his end? in syria may be the vultures picked his bones, where they lay whitening on the plains--those times were primitive, the world was young. but in our day barabbas lives and dies in honour, and has a tomb that stares all men in the face, setting forth his virtues, so that all who run may read. in our day barabbas--the barabbas of money-greeds and delicate cunning, and the theft which has risen to science, and the assassination that kills souls and not bodies, and the crime that deals moral death and not material death--our barabbas, who is crowned fraud in the place of mailed force, lives always in purple and fine linen, and ends in the odours of sanctity with the prayers of priests over his corpse." he spoke with a certain fierce passion that rose in him whenever he thought of that world which had rejected him, and had accepted so many others, weaker in brain and nerve, but stronger in one sense, because more dishonest; and as he spoke he went straight to a wall on his right, where a great sea of grey paper was stretched, untouched and ready to his hand. she would have spoken, but he made a motion to silence. "hush! be quiet," he said to her, almost harshly, "i have thought of something." and he took the charcoal and swept rapidly with it over the dull blank surface till the vacancy glowed with life. a thought had kindled in him; a vision had arisen before him. the scene around him vanished utterly from his sight. the grey stone walls, the square windows through which the fading sun-rays fell; the level pastures and sullen streams, and paled skies without, all faded away as though they had existed only in a dream. all the empty space about him became peopled with many human shapes that for him had breath and being, though no other eye could have beheld them. the old syrian world of eighteen hundred years before arose and glowed before him. the things of his own life died away, and in their stead he saw the fierce flame of eastern suns, the gleaming range of marble palaces, the purple flush of pomegranate flowers, the deep colour of oriental robes, the soft silver of hills olive crested, the tumult of a city at high festival. and he could not rest until all he thus saw in his vision he had rendered as far as his hand could render it; and what he drew was this. a great thirsty, heated, seething crowd; a crowd that had manhood and womanhood, age and infancy, youths and maidens within its ranks; a crowd in whose faces every animal lust and every human passion were let loose; a crowd on which a noon sun without shadow streamed; a sun which parched and festered and engendered all corruption in the land on which it looked. this crowd was in a city, a city on whose flat roofs the myrtle and the cistus bloomed; above whose walls the plumes of olives waved; upon whose distant slopes the darkling cedar groves rose straight against the sky, and on whose lofty temple plates of gold glistened against the shining heavens. this crowd had scourges, and stones, and goads in their hands; and in their midst they led one clothed in white, whose head was thorn-crowned, and whose eyes were filled with a god's pity and a man's reproach; and him they stoned, and lashed, and hooted. and triumphant in the throng, whose choice he was, seated aloft upon men's shoulders, with a purple robe thrown on his shoulders, there sat a brawny, grinning, bloated, jibbering thing, with curled lips and savage eyes, and satyr's leer: the creature of greed, of lust, of obscenity, of brutality, of avarice, of desire. this thing the people followed, rejoicing exceedingly, content in the guide whom they had chosen, victorious in the fiend for whom they spurned a deity; crying, with wide open throats and brazen lungs,--"barabbas!" there was not a form in all this close-packed throng which had not a terrible irony in it, which was not in itself a symbol of some appetite or of some vice, for which women and men abjure the godhead in them. a gorged drunkard lay asleep with his amphora broken beneath him, the stream of the purple wine lapped eagerly by ragged children. a money-changer had left the receipt of custom, eager to watch and shout, and a thief clutched both hands full of the forsaken coins and fled. a miser had dropped a bag of gold, and stopped to catch at all the rolling pieces, regardless in his greed how the crowd trampled and trod on him. a mother chid and struck her little brown curly child, because he stretched his arms and turned his face towards the thorn-crowned captive. a priest of the temple, with a blood-stained knife thrust in his girdle, dragged beside him, by the throat, a little tender lamb doomed for the sacrifice. a dancing woman with jewels in her ears, and half naked to the waist, sounding the brazen cymbals above her head, drew a score of youths after her in barabbas' train. on one of the flat roof tops, reclining on purple and fine linen, looking down on the street below from the thick foliage of her citron boughs and her red syrian roses, was an egyptian wanton; and leaning beside her, tossing golden apples in her bosom, was a young centurion of the roman guard, languid and laughing, with his fair chest bare to the heat, and his armour flung in a pile beside him. and thus, in like manner, every figure bore its parable; and above all was the hard, hot, cruel, cloudless sky of blue, without one faintest mist to break its horrible serenity, whilst high in the azure ether and against the sun, an eagle and a vulture fought, locked close, and tearing at each other's breasts. six nights this conception occupied him. his days were not his own, he spent them in a rough mechanical labour which his strength executed while his mind was far away from it; but the nights were all his, and at the end of the sixth night the thing arose, perfect as far as his hand could perfect it; begotten by a chance and ignorant word as have been many of the greatest works the world has seen;--oaks sprung from the acorn that a careless child has let fall. when he had finished it his arm dropped to his side, he stood motionless; the red glow of the dawn lighting the depths of his sleepless eyes. * * * it was a level green silent country which was round her, with little loveliness and little colour; but as she went she laughed incessantly in the delirious gladness of her liberty. she tossed her head back to watch the flight of a single swallow; she caught a handful of green leaves and buried her face in them. she listened in a very agony of memory to the rippling moisture of a little brook. she followed with her eyes the sweeping vapours of the rain-clouds, and when a west wind rose and blew a cluster of loose apple blossoms between her eyes--she could no longer bear the passionate pain of all the long-lost sweetness, but flinging herself downward, sobbed with the ecstasy of an exile's memories. the hell in which she had dwelt had denied them to her for so long. "ah god!" she thought, "i know now--one cannot be utterly wretched whilst one has still the air and the light and the winds of the sky." and she arose, calmer, and went on her way; wondering, even in that hour, why men and women trod the daily measures of their lives with their eyes downward and their ears choked with the dust; hearkening so little to the sound of the breeze in the grasses, looking so little to the passage of the clouds against the sun. * * * the ground ascended as it stretched seaward, but on it there were only wide dull fields of colza or of grass lying, sickly and burning, under the fire of the late afternoon sun. the slope was too gradual to break their monotony. above them was the cloudless weary blue; below them was the faint parched green; other colour there was none; one little dusky panting bird flew by pursued by a kite; that was the only change. she asked him no questions; she walked mutely and patiently by his side; she hated the dull heat, the colourless waste, the hard scorch of the air, the dreary changelessness of the scene. but she did not say so. he had chosen to come to them. a league onward the fields were merged into a heath, uncultivated and covered with short prickly furze; on the brown earth between the stunted bushes a few goats were cropping the burnt-up grasses. here the slope grew sharper, and the earth seemed to rise up between the sky and them, steep and barren as a house-roof. once he asked her-- "are you tired?" she shook her head. her feet ached, and her heart throbbed; her limbs were heavy like lead in the heat and the toil. but she did not tell him so. she would have dropped dead from exhaustion rather than have confessed to him any weakness. he took the denial as it was given, and pressed onward up the ascent. the sun was slanting towards the west; the skies seemed like brass; the air was sharp, yet scorching; the dull brown earth still rose up before them like a wall; they climbed it slowly and painfully, their hands and their teeth filled with its dust, which drifted in a cloud before them. he bade her close her eyes, and she obeyed him. he stretched his arm out and drew her after him up the ascent, which was slippery from drought and prickly from the stunted growth of furze. on the summit he stood still and released her. "now look." she opened her eyes with the startled, half-questioning stare of one led out from utter darkness into a full and sudden light. then, with a great cry, she sank down on the rock, trembling, weeping, laughing, stretching out her arms to the new glory that met her sight, dumb with its grandeur, delirious with its delight. for what she saw was the sea. before her dazzled sight all its beauty stretched, the blueness of the waters meeting the blueness of the skies; radiant with all the marvels of its countless hues; softly stirred by a low wind that sighed across it; bathed in a glow of gold that streamed on it from the westward; rolling from north to south in slow, sonorous measure, filling the silent air with the ceaseless melody of its wondrous voice. the lustre of the sunset beamed upon it; the cool fresh smell of its waters shot like new life through all the scorch and stupor of the day; its white foam curled and broke on the brown curving rocks and wooded inlets of the shores; innumerable birds, that gleamed like silver, floated or flew above its surface; all was still, still as death, save only for the endless movement of those white swift wings and the murmur of the waves, in which all meaner and harsher sounds of earth seemed lost and hushed to slumber and to silence. the sea alone reigned, as it reigned in the young years of the earth when men were not; as, may be, it will be its turn to reign again in the years to come, when men and all their works shall have passed away and be no more seen nor any more remembered. arslàn watched her in silence. he was glad that it should awe and move her thus. the sea was the only thing for which he cared, or which had any power over him. in the northern winters of his youth he had known the ocean, in one wild night's work, undo all that men had done to check and rule it, and burst through all the barriers that they had raised against it, and throw down the stones of the altar and quench the fires of the hearth, and sweep through the fold and the byre, and flood the cradle of the child and the grave of the grandsire. he had seen its storms wash away at one blow the corn harvests of years, and gather in the sheep from the hills, and take the life of the shepherd with the life of the flock. he had seen it claim lovers locked in each other's arms, and toss the fair curls of the first-born as it tossed the riband weeds of its deeps. and he had felt small pity; it had rather given him a certain sense of rejoicing and triumph to see the water laugh to scorn those who were so wise in their own conceit, and bind beneath its chains those who held themselves masters over all beasts of the field and birds of the air. other men dreaded the sea and cursed it; but he in his way loved it almost with passion, and could he have chosen the manner of his death would have desired that it should be by the sea and through the sea; a death cold and serene and dreamily voluptuous: a death on which no woman should look and in which no man should have share. he watched her now for some time without speaking. when the first paroxysm of her emotion had exhausted itself, she stood motionless, her figure like a statue of bronze against the sun, her head sunk upon her breast, her arms outstretched as though beseeching that wondrous brightness which she saw to take her to itself and make her one with it. her whole attitude expressed an unutterable worship. she was like one who for the first time hears of god. "what is it you feel?" he asked her suddenly. he knew without asking; but he had made it his custom to dissect all her joys and sufferings with little heed whether he thus added to either. at the sound of his voice she started, and a shiver shook her as she answered him slowly, without withdrawing her gaze from the waters. "it has been there always--always--so near me?" "before the land, the sea was." "and i never knew!"-- her head drooped on her breast; great tears rolled silently down her cheeks; her arms fell to her sides; she shivered again and sighed. she knew all that she had lost--this is the greatest grief that life holds. "you never knew," he made answer. "there was only a sand-hill between you and all this glory; but the sand-hill was enough. many people never climb theirs all their lives long." the words and their meaning escaped her. she had for once no remembrance of him, nor any other sense save of this surpassing wonder that had thus burst on her--this miracle that had been near her for so long, yet of which she had never in all her visions dreamed. she was quite silent; sunk there on her knees, motionless, and gazing straight, with eyes unblenching, at the light. there was no sound near them, nor was there anything in sight except where above against the deepest azure of the sky two curlews were circling around each other, and in the distance a single ship was gliding, with sails silvered by the sun. all signs of human life lay far behind; severed from them by those steep scorched slopes swept only by the plovers and the bees. and all the while she looked slow tears gathered in her eyes and fell, and the loud hard beating of her heart was audible in the hushed stillness of the upper air. he waited awhile: then he spoke to her. "since it pains you, come away." a great sob shuddered through her. "give me that pain," she muttered, "sooner than any joy. pain? pain?--it is life, heaven--liberty!" for suddenly those words which she had heard spoken around her, and which had been to her like the mutterings of the deaf and the dumb, became real to her with thousand meanings. the seagulls were lost in the heights of the air; the ship sailed on into the light till the last gleam of its canvas vanished; the sun sank westward lower and lower till it glowed in a globe of flame upon the edge of the water: she never moved; standing there on the summit of the cliff, with her head drooped upon her breast, her form thrown out dark and motionless against the gold of the western sky, on her face still that look of one who worships with intense honour and passionate faith an unknown god. the sun sank entirely, leaving only a trail of flame across the heavens; the waters grew grey and purple in the shadows; one boat, black against the crimson reflections of the west, swept on swiftly with the in-rushing tide; the wind rose and blew long curls of seaweed on the rocks; the shores of the bay were dimmed in a heavy mist, through which the lights of the little hamlets dimly glowed, and the distant voices of fishermen calling to each other as they drew in their deep-sea nets came faint and weirdlike. * * * what she wanted was to live. live as the great moor bird did that she had seen float one day over these pale, pure, blue skies, with its mighty wings outstretched in the calm grey weather; which came none knew whence, and which went none knew whither; which poised silent and stirless against the clouds; then called with a sweet wild love-note to its mate, and waited for him as he sailed in from the misty shadows where the sea lay; and with him rose yet higher and higher in the air; and passed westward, cleaving the fields of light, and so vanished;--a queen of the wind, a daughter of the sun; a creature of freedom, of victory, of tireless movement, and of boundless space, a thing of heaven and of liberty. * * * in the springtime of the year three gods watched by the river. the golden flowers of the willows blew in the low winds; the waters came and went; the moon rose full and cold over a silvery stream; the reeds sighed in the silence. two winters had drifted by and one hot drowsy summer since their creator had forsaken them, and all the white still shapes upon the walls already had been slain by the cold breath of time. the green weeds waved in the empty casements; the chance-sown seeds of thistles and of bell-flowers were taking leaf between the square stones of the paven places; on the deserted threshold lichens and brambles climbed together; the filmy ooze of a rank vegetation stole over the loveliness of persephone and devoured one by one the divine offspring of zeus; about the feet of the bound sun king in pheroe and over the calm serene mockery of hermes' smile the grey nets of the spiders' webs had been woven to and fro, across and across, with the lacing of a million threads, as fate weaves round the limbs and covers the eyes of mortals as they stumble blindly from their birthplace to their grave. all things, the damp and the dust, the frost and the scorch, the newts and the rats, the fret of the flooded waters, and the stealing sure inroad of the mosses that everywhere grew from the dews and the fogs, had taken and eaten, in hunger or sport, or had touched, and thieved from, then left, gangrened and ruined. the three gods alone remained; who being the sons of eternal night, are unharmed, unaltered, by any passage of the years of earth. the only gods who never bend beneath the yoke of years; but unblenchingly behold the nations wither as uncounted leaves, and the lands and the seas change their places, and the cities and the empires pass away as a tale that is told; and the deities that are worshipped in the temples alter in name and attributes and cultus, at the wanton will of the age which begot them. in the still, cold, moonlit air their shadows stood together. hand in hand; looking outward through the white night-mists. other gods perished with the faith of each age as it changed; other gods lived by the breath of men's lips, the tears of prayer, the smoke of sacrifice. but they,--their empire was the universe. in every young soul that leaps into the light of life rejoicing blindly, oneiros has dominion; and he alone. in every creature that breathes, from the conqueror resting on a field of blood to the nest bird cradled in its bed of leaves, hypnos holds a sovereignty which nothing mortal can long resist and live. and thanatos,--to him belongs every created thing, past, present, and to come; beneath his feet all generations lie; and in the hollow of his hand he holds the worlds; though the earth be tenantless, and the heavens sunless, and the planets shrivel in their courses, and the universe be shrouded in an endless night, yet through the eternal desolation thanatos still will reign, and through the eternal darkness, through the immeasurable solitudes, he alone will wander, and he still behold his work. deathless as themselves their shadows stood; and the worm and the lizard and the newt left them alone and dared not wind about their calm clear brows, and dared not steal to touch the roses at their lips, knowing that ere the birth of the worlds these were, and when the worlds shall have perished these still will reign on:--the slow, sure, soundless, changeless ministers of an eternal rest, of an eternal oblivion. a late light strayed in from the grey skies, pale as the primrose flowers that grew amongst the reeds upon the shore; and found its way to them, trembling; and shone in the far-seeing depths of their unfathomable eyes. the eyes which spake and said: "sleep, dreams, and death:--we are the only gods that answer prayer." * * * night had come; a dark night of earliest spring. the wild day had sobbed itself to sleep after a restless life with fitful breath of storm and many sighs of shuddering breezes. the sun had sunk, leaving long tracks of blood-red light across one-half the heavens. there was a sharp crisp coldness as of lingering frost in the gloom and the dulness. heavy clouds, as yet unbroken, hung over the cathedral and the clustering roofs around it in dark and starless splendour. over the great still plains which stretched eastward and southward, black with the furrows of the scarce-budded corn, the wind blew hard; blowing the river and the many streamlets spreading from it into foam; driving the wintry leaves which still strewed the earth thickly, hither and thither in legions; breaking boughs that had weathered the winter hurricanes, and scattering the tender blossoms of the snowdrops and the earliest crocuses in all the little moss-grown garden ways. the smell of wet grass, of the wood-born violets, of trees whose new life was waking in their veins, of damp earths turned freshly upwards by the plough, were all blown together by the riotous breezes. now and then a light gleamed through the gloom where a little peasant boy lighted home with a torch some old priest on his mule, or a boat went down the waters with a lamp hung at its prow. for it grew dark early, and people used to the river read a threat of a flood on its face. a dim glow from the west, which was still tinged with the fire of the sunset, fell through a great square window set in a stone building, and striking across the sicklier rays of an oil lamp reached the opposing wall within. it was a wall of grey stone, dead and lustreless like the wall of a prison-house, over whose surface a spider as colourless as itself dragged slowly its crooked hairy limbs loaded with the moisture of the place, which was an old tower, of which the country folk told strange tales, where it stood among the rushes on the left bank of the stream. a man watched the spider as it went. it crept on its heavy way across the faint crimson reflection from the glow of the sunken sun. it was fat, well-nourished, lazy, content; its home of dusky silver hung on high, where its pleasure lay in weaving, clinging, hoarding, breeding. it lived in the dark; it had neither pity nor regret; it troubled itself neither for the death it dealt to nourish itself, nor for the light without, into which it never wandered; it spun and throve and multiplied. it was an emblem of the man who is wise in his generation; of the man whom cato the elder deemed divine; of the majority and the mediocrity who rule over the earth and enjoy its fruits. this man knew that it was wise; that those who were like to it were wise also: wise with the holy wisdom which is honoured of other men. he had been unwise--always; and therefore he stood watching the sun die, with hunger in his soul, with famine in his body. for many months he had been half famished, as were the wolves in his own northern mountains in the winter solstice. for seven days he had only been able to crush a crust of hard black bread between his teeth. for twenty hours he had not done even so much as this. the trencher on his tressel was empty; and he had not wherewithal to re-fill it. he might have found some to fill it for him no doubt. he lived amidst the poor, and the poor to the poor are good, though they are bad and bitter to the rich. but he did not open either his lips or his hand. he consumed his heart in silence; and his vitals preyed in anguish on themselves without his yielding to their torments. he was a madman; and cato, who measured the godliness of man by what they gained, would have held him accursed;--the madness that starves and is silent for an idea is an insanity, scouted by the world and the gods. for it is an insanity unfruitful; except to the future. and for the future who cares,--save these madmen themselves? he watched the spider as it went. it could not speak to him as its fellow once spoke in the old scottish story. to hear as that captive heard, the hearer must have hope, and a kingdom,--if only in dreams. this man had no hope; he had a kingdom indeed, but it was not of earth; and, in an hour of sheer cruel bodily pain, earth alone has dominion and power and worth. the spider crawled across the grey wall; across the glow from the vanished sun; across a coil of a dead passion-vine, that strayed loose through the floor; across the classic shapes of a great cartoon drawn in chalks upon the dull rugged surface of stone. nothing arrested it; nothing retarded it, as nothing hastened it. it moved slowly on; fat, lustreless, indolent, hueless; reached at length its den, and there squatted aloft, loving the darkness; its young swarming around, its prey held in its forceps, its nets cast about. through the open casement there came on the rising wind of the storm, in the light of the last lingering sunbeam, a beautiful night-moth, begotten by some cruel hot-house heat in the bosom of some frail exiled tropical flower. it swam in on trembling pinions, and alighted on the golden head of a gathered crocus that lay dying on the stones--a moth that should have been born to no world save that of the summer world of a midsummer night's dream. a shape of ariel and oberon; slender, silver, purple, roseate, lustrous-eyed, and gossamer-winged. a creature of woodland waters, and blossoming forests; of the yellow chalices of kingcups and the white breasts of river lilies, of moonbeams that strayed through a summer world of shadows, and dew-drops that glistened in the deep folded hearts of roses. a creature to brush the dreaming eyes of a poet, to nestle on the bosom of a young girl sleeping: to float earthwards on a falling star, to slumber on a lotus leaf. a creature that amidst the still soft hush of woods and waters still tells, to those who listen, of the world when the world was young. the moth flew on, and poised on the fading crocus leaves, which spread out their pale gold on the level of the grey floor. it was weary, and its delicate wings drooped; it was storm-tossed, wind-beaten, drenched with mist and frozen with the cold; it belonged to the moon, to the dew, to the lilies, to the forget-me-nots, and to the night; and it found that the hard grip of winter had seized it whilst yet it had thought that the stars and the summer were with it. it lived before its time,--and it was like the human soul, which being born in the darkness of the world dares to dream of light, and, wandering in vain search of a sun that will never rise, falls and perishes in wretchedness. it was beautiful exceedingly, with the brilliant tropical beauty of a life that is short-lived. it rested a moment on the stem of the pale flower, then with its radiant eyes fastened on the point of light which the lamp thrust upward, it flew on high; and, spreading out its transparent wings and floating to the flame, kissed it, quivered once, and died. there fell among the dust and cinder of the lamp a little heap of shrunken, fire-scorched, blackened ashes. the wind whirled them upward from their rest, and drove them forth into the night to mingle with the storm-scourged grasses, the pale dead violets, the withered snow-flowers, with all things frost-touched and forgotten. the spider sat aloft, sucking the juices from the fettered flies, teaching its spawn to prey and feed; content in squalor and in plenitude; in sensual sloth, and in the increase of its body and its hoard. he watched them both: the success of the spider, the death of the moth; trite as a fable; ever repeated as the tides of the sea; the two symbols of humanity; of the life which fattens on greed and gain, and the life which perishes of divine desire. * * * there were no rare birds, no birds of moor and mountain, in that cultivated and populous district; but to her all the little home-bred things of pasture and orchard were full of poetry and of character. the robins, with that pretty air of boldness with which they veil their real shyness and timidity; the strong and saucy sparrows, powerful by the strength of all mediocrities and majorities; all the dainty families of finches in their gay apparellings; the plain brown bird that filled the night with music; the gorgeous oriole ruffling in gold, the gilded princeling of them all; the little blue warblers, the violets of the air; the kingfishers who had hovered so long over the forget-me-nots upon the rivers that they had caught the colours of the flowers on their wings; the bright blackcaps green as the leaves, with their yellow waistcoats and velvet hoods, the innocent freebooters of the woodland liberties: all these were her friends and lovers, various as any human crowds of court or city. she loved them; they and the fourfooted beasts were the sole things that did not flee from her; and the woeful and mad slaughter of them by the peasants was to her a grief passionate in its despair. she did not reason on what she felt; but to her a bird slain was a trust betrayed, an innocence defiled, a creature of heaven struck to earth. suddenly on the silence of the garden there was a little shrill sound of pain; the birds flew high in air, screaming and startled; the leaves of a bough of ivy shook as with a struggle. she rose and looked; a line of twine was trembling against the foliage; in its noosed end the throat of the mavis had been caught; it hung trembling and clutching at the air convulsively with its little drawn-up feet. it had flown into the trap as it had ended its joyous song and soared up to join its brethren. there were a score of such traps set in the miller's garden. she unloosed the cord from about its tiny neck, set it free, and laid it down upon the ivy. the succour came too late; the little gentle body was already without breath; the feet had ceased to beat the air; the small soft head had drooped feebly on one side; the lifeless eyes had started from their sockets; the throat was without song for evermore. "the earth would be good but for men," she thought, as she stood with the little dead bird in her hand. its mate, which was poised on a rose bough, flew straight to it, and curled round and round about the small slain body, and piteously bewailed its fate, and mourned, refusing to be comforted, agitating the air with trembling wings, and giving out vain cries of grief. vain; for the little joyous life was gone; the life that asked only of god and man a home in the green leaves; a drop of dew from the cup of a rose; a bough to swing on in the sunlight; a summer day to celebrate in song. all the winter through, it had borne cold and hunger and pain without lament; it had saved the soil from destroying larvæ, and purified the trees from all foul germs; it had built its little home unaided, and had fed its nestlings without alms; it had given its sweet song lavishly to the winds, to the blossoms, to the empty air, to the deaf ears of men; and now it lay dead in its innocence; trapped and slain because a human greed begrudged it a berry worth the thousandth part of a copper coin. out from the porch of the mill-house claudis flamma came, with a knife in his hand and a basket, to cut lilies for one of the choristers of the cathedral, since the morrow would be the religious feast of the visitation of mary. he saw the dead thrush in her hand, and chuckled to himself as he went by. "the tenth bird trapped since sunrise," he said, thinking how shrewd and how sure in their make were these traps of twine that he set in the grass and the leaves. she said nothing; but the darkness of disgust swept over her face, as he came in sight in the distance. she knelt down and scraped a hole in the earth; and laid moss in it, and put the mavis softly on its green and fragrant bier, and covered it with handfuls of fallen rose leaves, and with a sprig or two of thyme. around her head the widowed thrush flew ceaselessly, uttering sad cries;--who now should wander with him through the sunlight?--who now should rove with him above the blossoming fields?--who now should sit with him beneath the boughs hearing the sweet rain fall between the leaves?--who now should wake with him whilst yet the world was dark, to feel the dawn break ere the east were red, and sing a welcome to the unborn day? * * * and, indeed, to those who are alive to the nameless, universal, eternal soul which breathes in all the grasses of the fields, and beams in the eyes of all creatures of earth and air, and throbs in the living light of palpitating stars, and thrills through the young sap of forest trees, and stirs in the strange loves of wind-borne plants, and hums in every song of the bee, and burns in every quiver of the flame, and peoples with sentient myriads every drop of dew that gathers on a harebell, every bead of water that ripples in a brook--to these the mortal life of man can seem but little, save at once the fiercest and the feeblest thing that does exist; at once the most cruel and the most impotent; tyrant of direst destruction and bondsman of lowest captivity. hence, pity entered very little into his thoughts at any time; the perpetual torture of life did indeed perplex him, as it perplexes every thinking creature, with wonder at the universal bitterness that taints all creation, at the universal death whereby all forms of life are nurtured, at the universal anguish of all existence which daily and nightly assails the unknown god in piteous protest at the inexorable laws of inexplicable miseries and mysteries. but because such suffering was thus universal, therefore he almost ceased to feel pity for it; of the two he pitied the beasts far more than the human kind:--the horse staggering beneath the lash in all the feebleness of hunger, lameness, and old age; the ox bleeding from the goad on the hard furrows, or stumbling through the hooting crowd, blind, footsore, and shivering, to its last home in the slaughter-house; the dog, yielding up its noble life inch by inch under the tortures of the knife, loyally licking the hand of the vivisector while he drove his probe through its quivering nerves; the unutterable hell in which all these gentle, kindly, and long-suffering creatures dwelt for the pleasure or the vanity, the avarice or the brutality of men,--these he pitied perpetually, with a tenderness for them that was the softest thing in all his nature. * * * "there lived once in the east, a great king; he dwelt far away, amongst the fragrant fields of roses, and in the light of suns that never set. "he was young, he was beloved, he was fair of face and form; and the people, as they hewed stone, or brought water, said amongst themselves, 'verily, this man is as a god; he goes where he lists, and he lies still or rises up as he pleases; and all fruits of all lands are culled for him; and his nights are nights of gladness, and his days, when they dawn, are all his to sleep through or spend as he wills.' but the people were wrong. for this king was weary of his life. "his buckler was sown with gems, but his heart beneath it was sore. for he had been long bitterly harassed by foes who descended on him as wolves from the hills in their hunger, and he had been long plagued with heavy wars and with bad rice harvests, and with many troubles to his nation that kept it very poor, and forbade him to finish the building of new marble palaces, and the making of fresh gardens of delight, on which his heart was set. so he, being weary of a barren land and of an empty treasury, with all his might prayed to the gods that all he touched might turn to gold, even as he had heard had happened to some magician long before in other ages. and the gods gave him the thing he craved; and his treasury overflowed. no king had ever been so rich, as this king now became in the short space of a single summer-day. "but it was bought with a price. "when he stretched out his hand to gather the rose that blossomed in his path, a golden flower scentless and stiff was all he grasped. when he called to him the carrier-dove that sped with a scroll of love words across the mountains, the bird sank on his breast a carven piece of metal. when he was athirst and shouted to his cupbearer for drink, the red wine ran a stream of molten gold. when he would fain have eaten, the pulse and the pomegranate grew alike to gold between his teeth. and lo! at eventide, when he sought the silent chambers of his harem, saying, 'here at least shall i find rest,' and bent his steps to the couch whereon his best-beloved slave was sleeping, a statue of gold was all he drew into his eager arms, and cold shut lips of sculptured gold were all that met his own. "that night the great king slew himself, unable any more to bear this agony; since all around him was desolation, even though all around him was wealth. "now the world is too like that king, and in its greed of gold it will barter its life away. "look you,--this thing is certain--i say that the world will perish, even as that king perished, slain as he was slain, by the curse of its own fulfilled desire. "the future of the world is written. for god has granted their prayer to men. he has made them rich, and their riches shall kill them. "when all green places have been destroyed in the builder's lust of gain:--when all the lands are but mountains of brick, and piles of wood and iron:--when there is no moisture anywhere; and no rain ever falls:--when the sky is a vault of smoke; and all the rivers reek with poison:--when forest and stream, and moor and meadow, and all the old green wayside beauty are things vanished and forgotten:--when every gentle timid thing of brake and bush, of air and water, has been killed because it robbed them of a berry or a fruit:--when the earth is one vast city, whose young children behold neither the green of the field nor the blue of the sky, and hear no song but the hiss of the steam, and know no music but the roar of the furnace:--when the old sweet silence of the country-side, and the old sweet sounds of waking birds, and the old sweet fall of summer showers, and the grace of a hedgerow bough, and the glow of the purple heather, and the note of the cuckoo and cushat, and the freedom of waste and of woodland, are all things dead, and remembered of no man:--then the world, like the eastern king, will perish miserably of famine and of drought, with gold in its stiffened hands, and gold in its withered lips, and gold everywhere:--gold that the people can neither eat nor drink, gold that cares nothing for them, but mocks them horribly:--gold for which their fathers sold peace and health, and holiness and liberty:--gold that is one vast grave." * * * the earth is crowded full with clay gods and false prophets, and fresh legions for ever arriving to carry on the old strife for supremacy; and if a man pass unknown all the time that his voice is audible, and his hand visible, through the sound and smoke of the battle, he will dream in vain of any remembrance when the gates of the grave shall have closed on him and shut him for ever from sight. when the world was in its youth, it had leisure to treasure its recollections; even to pause and look back, and to see what flower of a fair thought, what fruit of a noble art it might have overlooked or left down-trodden. but now it is so old, and is so tired; it is purblind and heavy of foot; it does not notice what it destroys; it desires rest, and can find none; nothing can matter greatly to it; its dead are so many that it cannot count them; and being thus worn and dulled with age, and suffocated under the weight of its innumerable memories, it is very slow to be moved, and swift--terribly swift--to forget. why should it not be? it has known the best, it has known the worst, that ever can befall it. and the prayer that to the heart of a man seems so freshly born from his own desire, what is it on the weary ear of the world, save the same old old cry which it has heard through all the ages, empty as the sound of the wind, and for ever--for ever--unanswered? * * * there is no more terrible woe upon earth than the woe of the stricken brain, which remembers the days of its strength, the living light of its reason, the sunrise of its proud intelligence, and knows that these have passed away like a tale that is told; like a year that is spent; like an arrow that is shot to the stars, and flies aloft, and falls in a swamp; like a fruit that is too well loved of the sun, and so, over-soon ripe, is dropped from the tree and forgot on the grasses, dead to all joys of the dawn and the noon and the summer, but still alive to the sting of the wasp, to the fret of the aphis, to the burn of the drought, to the theft of the parasite. she only dimly understood, and yet she was smitten with awe and reverence at that endless grief which had no taint of cowardice upon it, but was pure as the patriot's despair, impersonal as the prophet's agony. for the first time the intellect in her consciously awoke. for the first time she heard a human mind find voice even in its stupor and its wretchedness to cry aloud, in reproach to its unknown creator: "i am _yours_! shall i perish with the body? why have you ever bade me desire the light and seek it, if for ever you must thrust me into the darkness of negation? shall i be nothing?--like the muscle that rots, like the bones that crumble, like the flesh that turns to ashes, and blows in a film on the winds? shall i die so? i?--the mind of a man, the breath of a god?" * * * he could not bear to die without leaving behind his life some work the world would cherish. call it folly, call it madness, it is both: the ivory zeus that was to give its sculptor immortality, lives but in tradition; the bronze athene, that was to guard the piræus in eternal liberty, has long been levelled with the dust; yet with every age the artist still gives life for fame, still cries, "let my body perish, but make my soul immortal!" * * * the spider had drawn his dusty trail across them; the rat had squatted at their feet; the darkness of night had enshrouded and defaced them; yet with the morning they arose, stainless, noble, undefiled. amongst them there was one colossal form, on which the sun poured with its full radiance. this was the form of a captive grinding at a millstone; the majestic, symmetrical, supple form of a man who was also a god. in his naked limbs there was a supreme power; in his glance there was a divine command; his head was lifted as though no yoke could ever lie on that proud neck; his foot seemed to spurn the earth as though no mortal tie had ever bound him to the sod that human steps bestrode: yet at the corn-mill he laboured, grinding wheat like the patient blinded oxen that toiled beside him. for it was the great apollo in pheræ. the hand which awoke the music of the spheres had been blood-stained with murder; the beauty which had the light and lustre of the sun had been darkened with passion and with crime; the will which no other on earth or in heaven could withstand had been bent under the chastisement of zeus. he whose glance had made the black and barren slopes of delos to laugh with fruitfulness and gladness--he whose prophetic sight beheld all things past, present, and to come, the fate of all unborn races, the doom of all unspent ages--he, the far-striking king, laboured here beneath the curse of crime, greatest of all the gods, and yet a slave. in all the hills and vales of greece his io pæan sounded still. upon his holy mountains there still arose the smoke of fires of sacrifice. with dance and song the delian maidens still hailed the divinity of lêtô's son. the waves of the pure ionian air still rang for ever with the name of delphinios. at pytho and at clarus, in lycia and in phokis, his oracles still breathed forth upon their fiat terror or hope into the lives of men; and still in all the virgin forests of the world the wild beasts honoured him wheresoever they wandered, and the lion and the boar came at his bidding from the deserts to bend their free necks and their wills of fire meekly to bear his yoke in thessaly. yet he laboured here at the corn-mill of admetus; and watching him at his bondage there stood the slender, slight, wing-footed hermes, with a slow, mocking smile upon his knavish lips, and a jeering scorn in his keen eyes, even as though he cried: "o brother, who would be greater than i! for what hast thou bartered to me the golden rod of thy wealth and thy dominion over the flocks and the herds? for seven chords strung on a shell--for a melody not even thine own! for a lyre outshone by my syrinx hast thou sold all thine empire to me. will human ears give heed to thy song now thy sceptre has passed to my hands? immortal music only is left thee, and the vision foreseeing the future. o god! o hero! o fool! what shall these profit thee now?" thus to the artist by whom they had been begotten the dim white shapes of the deities spoke. thus he saw them, thus he heard, whilst the pale and watery sunlight lit up the form of the toiler in pheræ. for even as it was with the divinity of delos, so is it likewise with the genius of a man, which, being born of a god, yet is bound as a slave to the grindstone. since even as hermes mocked the lord of the unerring bow, so is genius mocked of the world, when it has bartered the herds, and the grain, and the rod that metes wealth, for the seven chords that no ear, dully mortal, can hear. and as he looked upon this symbol of his life, the captivity and the calamity, the strength and the slavery of his existence overcame him; and for the first hour since he had been born of a woman arslàn buried his face in his hands and wept. he could bend great thoughts to take the shapes that he chose, as the chained god in pheræ bound the strong kings of the desert and forest to carry his yoke; yet, like the god, he likewise stood fettered to the mill to grind for bread. * * * one evening, a little later, he met her in the fields on the same spot where marcellin first had seen her as a child amongst the scarlet blaze of the poppies. the lands were all yellow with saffron and emerald with the young corn; she balanced on her head a great brass jar; the red girdle glowed about her waist as she moved: the wind stirred the folds of her garments; her feet were buried in the shining grass; clouds tawny and purple were behind her; she looked like some moorish phantom seen in a dream under a sky of spain. he paused and gazed at her with eyes half content, half cold. she was of a beauty so uncommon, so strange, and all that was his for his art:--a great artist, whether in words, in melody, or in colour, is always cruel, or at the least seems so, for all things that live under the sun are to him created only to minister to his one inexorable passion. art is so vast, and human life is so little. it is to him only supremely just that the insect of an hour should be sacrificed to the infinite and eternal truth which must endure until the heavens themselves shall wither as a scroll that is held in a flame. it might have seemed to arslàn base to turn her ignorance, and submission to his will, for the gratification of his amorous passions; but to make these serve the art to which he had himself abandoned every earthly good was in his sight justified, as the death agonies of the youth whom they decked with roses and slew in sacrifice to the sun, were in the sight of the mexican nation. the youth whom the mexicans slew, on the high hill of the city, with his face to the west, was always the choicest and the noblest of all the opening flower of their manhood: for it was his fate to be called to enter into the realms of eternal light, and to dwell face to face with the unbearable brightness without whose rays the universe would have perished frozen in perpetual night. so the artist, who is true to his art, regards every human sacrifice that he renders up to it; how can he feel pity for a thing which perishes to feed a flame that he deems the life of the world? the steel that he draws out from the severed heart of his victim he is ready to plunge into his own vitals: no other religion can vaunt as much of its priests. "what are you thinking of to-night?" he asked her where she came through the fields by the course of a little flower-sown brook, fringed with tall bulrushes and waving willow-stems. she lifted her eyelids with a dreamy and wistful regard. "i was thinking--i wonder what the reed felt that you told me of--the one reed that a god chose from all its millions by the waterside and cut down to make into a flute." "ah?--you see there are no reeds that make music now-a-days; the reeds are only good to be woven into kreels for the fruits and the fish of the market." "that is not the fault of the reeds?" "not that i know; it is the fault of men, most likely, who find the chink of coin in barter sweeter music than the song of the syrinx. but what do you think the reed felt then?--pain to be so sharply severed from its fellows?" "no--or the god would not have chosen it." "what then?" a troubled sigh parted her lips; these old fables were fairest truths to her, and gave a grace to every humblest thing that the sun shone on, or the waters begat from their foam, or the winds blew with their breath into the little life of a day. "i was trying to think. but i cannot be sure. these reeds have forgotten. they have lost their soul. they want nothing but to feed among the sand and the mud, and grow in millions together, and shelter the toads and the newts,--there is not a note of music in them all--except when the wind rises and makes them sigh, and then they remember that long, long-ago the breath of a great god was in them." arslàn looked at her where she stood; her eyes resting on the reeds, and the brook at her feet; the crimson heat of the evening all about her, on the brazen amphora, on the red girdle on her loins, on the thoughtful parted lips, on the proud bent brows above which a golden butterfly floated as above the brows of psyche. he smiled; the smile that was so cold to her. "look: away over the fields, there comes a peasant with a sickle; he comes to mow down the reeds to make a bed for his cattle. if he heard you, he would think you mad." "they have thought me many things worse. what matter?" "nothing at all;--that i know. but you seem to envy that reed--so long ago--that was chosen?" "who would not?" "are you so sure? the life of the reed was always pleasant;--dancing there in the light, playing with the shadows, blowing in the winds; with the cool waters all about it all day long, and the yellow daffodils and the blue bell-flowers for its brethren." "nay;--how do you know?" her voice was low, and thrilled with a curious eager pain. "how do you know?" she murmured. "rather,--it was born in the sands, amongst the stones, of the chance winds, of the stray germs,--no one asking, no one heeding, brought by a sunbeam, spat out by a toad--no one caring where it dropped. rather,--it grew there by the river, and such millions of reeds grew with it, that neither waters nor winds could care for a thing so common and worthless, but the very snakes twisting in and out despised it, and thrust the arrows of their tongues through it in scorn. and then--i think i see!--the great god walked by the edge of the river, and he mused on a gift to give man, on a joy that should be a joy on the earth for ever; and he passed by the lily white as snow, by the thyme that fed the bees, by the gold heart in the arum flower, by the orange flame of the tall sandrush, by all the great water-blossoms which the sun kissed, and the swallows loved, and he came to the one little reed pierced with the snakes' tongues, and all alone amidst millions. then he took it up, and cut it to the root, and killed it;--killed it as a reed,--but breathed into it a song audible and beautiful to all the ears of men. was that death to the reed?--or life? would a thousand summers of life by the waterside have been worth that one thrill of song when a god first spoke through it?" her face lightened with a radiance to which the passion of her words was pale and poor; the vibrations of her voice grew sonorous and changing as the sounds of music itself; her eyes beamed through unshed tears as planets through the rain. * * * of all the forms with which he had peopled its loneliness, these had the most profound influence on her in their fair, passionless, majestic beauty, in which it seemed to her that the man who had forgotten them had repeated his own likeness. for they were all alike, yet unlike; of the same form and feature, yet different even in their strong resemblance, like elder and younger brethren who hold a close companionship. for hypnos was still but a boy with his blue-veined eyelids closed, and his mouth rosy and parted like that of a slumbering child, and above his golden head a star rose in the purple night. oneiros standing next was a youth whose eyes smiled as though they beheld visions that were welcome to him; in his hand, amongst the white roses, he held a black wand of sorcery, and around his bended head there hovered a dim silvery nimbus. thanatos alone was a man fully grown; and on his calm and colourless face there were blended an unutterable sadness, and an unspeakable peace; his eyes were fathomless, far-reaching, heavy laden with thought, as though they had seen at once the heights of heaven and the depths of hell; and he, having thus seen, and knowing all things, had learned that there was but one good possible in all the universe,--that one gift which his touch gave, and which men in their blindness shuddered from and cursed. and above him and around him there was a great darkness. so the gods stood, and so they spoke, even to her; they seemed to her as brethren, masters, friends--these three immortals who looked down on her in their mute majesty. they are the gods of the poor, of the wretched, of the outcast, of the proscribed,--they are the gods who respect not persons nor palaces,--who stay with the exile and flee from the king,--who leave the tyrant of a world to writhe in torment, and call a smile beautiful as the morning on the face of a beggar child,--who turn from the purple beds where wealth and lust and brutal power lie, and fill with purest visions the darkest hours of the loneliest nights, for genius and youth,--they are the gods of consolation and of compensation,--the gods of the exile, of the orphan, of the outcast, of the poet, of the prophet, of all whose bodies ache with the infinite pangs of famine, and whose hearts ache with the infinite woes of the world, of all who hunger with the body or the soul. * * * it became mid-april. it was market-day for all the country lying round that wondrous cathedral-spire, which shot into the air far-reaching and ethereal, like some fountain whose column of water had been arrested aloft and changed to ice. the old quiet town was busy, with a rich sunshine shed upon it, in which the first yellow butterflies of the year had begun to dance. it was high noon, and the highest tide of the market. flower-girls, fruit-girls, egg-sellers, poultry-hucksters, crowds of women, old and young, had jolted in on their docile asses, throned on their sheepskin saddles; and now, chattering and chaffering, drove fast their trade. on the steps of the cathedral boys with birds'-nests, knife-grinders making their little wheels fly, cobblers hammering, with boards across their knees, travelling pedlars with knapsacks full of toys and mirrors, and holy images, and strings of beads, sat side by side in amicable competition. here and there a priest passed, with his black robe and broad hat, like a dusky mushroom amongst a bed of many-hued gillyflowers. here and there a soldier, all colour and glitter, showed like a gaudy red tulip in bloom amidst tufts of thyme. the old wrinkled leathern awnings of the market-stalls glowed like copper in the brightness of noon. the red tiles of the houses edging the great square were gilded with yellow houseleeks. the little children ran hither and thither with big bunches of primroses or sheaves of blue wood-hyacinths, singing. the red and blue serges of the young girls' bodices were like the gay hues of the anemones in their baskets. the brown faces of the old dames under the white roofing of their headgear were like the russet faces of the home-kept apples which they had garnered through all the winter. everywhere in the shade of the flapping leather, and the darkness of the wooden porches, there were the tender blossoms of the field and forest, of the hedge and garden. the azure of the hyacinths, the pale saffron of the primroses, the cool hues of the meadow daffodils, the ruby eyes of the cultured jonquils, gleamed amongst wet rushes, grey herbs, and freshly budded leafage. plovers' eggs nestled in moss-lined baskets; sheaves of velvet-coated wallflowers poured fragrance on the air; great plumes of lilac nodded on the wind, and amber feathers of laburnum waved above the homelier masses of mint and marjoram, and sage and chervil. _idalia._ whatever fate rose for them with the dawn, this night at least was theirs: there is no love like that which lives victorious even beneath the shadow of death: there is no joy like that which finds its paradise even amid the cruelty of pain, the fierce long struggle of despair. never is the voluptuous glory of the sun so deep, so rich, as when its last excess of light burns above the purple edge of the tempest-cloud that soars upward to cover and devour it. * * * "and we reign still!" she turned, as she spoke, towards the western waters, where the sea-line of the Ægean lay, while in her eyes came the look of a royal pride and of a deathless love. "greece cannot die. no matter what the land be now, greece--_our_ greece--must live for ever. her language lives; the children of europe learn it, even if they halt it in imperfect numbers. the greater the scholar, the humbler he still bends to learn the words of wisdom from her school. the poet comes to her for all his fairest myths, his noblest mysteries, his greatest masters. the sculptor looks at the broken fragments of her statues, and throws aside his calliope in despair before those matchless wrecks. from her soldiers learn how to die, and nations how to conquer and to keep their liberties. no deed of heroism is done but, to crown it, it is named parallel to hers. they write of love, and who forgets the lesbian? they dream of freedom, and to reach it they remember salamis. they talk of progress, and while they talk they sigh for all that they have lost in academus. they seek truth, and while they seek, wearily long, as little children, to hear the golden speech of socrates, that slave, and fisherman, and sailor, and stonemason, and date-seller were all once free to hear in her agora. but for the light that shone from greece in the breaking of the renaissance, europe would have perished in its gothic darkness. they call her dead: she can never die while her life, her soul, her genius breathe fire into the new nations, and give their youth all of greatness and of grace that they can claim. greece dead! she reigns in every poem written, in every art pursued, in every beauty treasured, in every liberty won, in every god-like life and godlike death, in your fresh lands, which, but for her, would be barbarian now." where she stood, with her eyes turned westward to the far-off snows of cithæron and mount ida, and the shores which the bronze spear of pallas athene once guarded through the night and day, the dark light in her eyes deepened, and the flush of a superb pride was on her brow--it seemed aspasia who lived again, and who remembered pericles. * * * the chant of the imaum rang up from the shore, deep and sonorous, calling on the faithful to prayer, an hour before midnight. she listened dreamily to the echoes that seemed to linger among the dark foliage. "i like those national calls to prayer," she said, as she leaned over the parapet, while the fire-flies glittered among the mass of leaves as the diamond sprays glistened in her hair. "the ave maria, the vespers, the imaum's chant, the salutation of the dawn or of the night, the hymn before sleep, or before the sun;--you have none of those in your chill islands? you have only weary rituals, and stuccoed churches, where the 'pharisees for a pretence make long prayers!' as if _that_ was not the best--the only--temple!" she glanced upward at the star-studded sky, and on her face was that graver and gentler look which had come there when she sang. "i have held it so many a time," he answered her, lying awake at night among the long grass of the andes, or under the palms of the desert. it was a strange delusion to build shrines to the honour of god while there are still his own--the forests and the mountains. * * * "it was a fair heritage to lose through a feeble vanity--that beautiful constantinople!" she said musingly. "the east and the west--what an empire! more than alexander ever grasped at--what might not have been done with it? asian faith and oriental sublimity, with roman power and gothic force; if there had been a hand strong enough to weld all these together, what a world there might have been!" "but to have done that would have been to attain the impossible," he answered her. "oil and flame, old and new, living and dying, tradition and scepticism, iconoclast and idolater, you cannot unite and harmonise these antagonisms?" she gave a sign of dissent. "the prophet or the hero unites all antagonisms, because he binds them all to his own genius. the byzantine empire had none such; the nearest was julian, but he believed less in himself than in the gods; the nearest after him was belisarius--the fool of a courtesan, and he was but a good soldier; he was no teacher, no liberator, no leader for the nations. john vatices came too late. a man must be his own convert before he can convert others. zoroaster, christ, mahommed, cromwell, napoleon, believed intensely in their own missions; hence their influence on the peoples. how can we tell what byzantium might have become under one mighty hand? it was torn in pieces among courtesans, and parasites, and christian fanatics, and houmousians and houmoiousians! i have the blood of the commneni in me. i think of it with shame when i remember what they might have been." "you come from the roman emperors?" "the roman emperors?" she repeated. "when the name was a travesty, an ignominy, a reproach! when barbarians thronged the forum, and the representative of galilee fishermen claimed power in the capitol? yes; i descend, they say, from the commneni; but i am far prouder that, on the other hand, i come from pure athenians. i belong to two buried worlds. but the stone throne of the areopagus was greater than the gold one of manuel." * * * "that animal life is to be envied perhaps," she said. "their pride is centred in a silver hairpin; their conscience is committed to a priest; their credulity is contented with tradition; their days are all the same, from the rising of one sun to another; they do not love, they do not hate; they are like the ass that they drive, follow one patient routine, and only take care for their food. perhaps they are to be envied!" "you would not lose 'those thoughts that wander through eternity,' to gain in exchange the peace from ignorance of the peasant or the dullard?" she turned her face to him, with its most beautiful smile on her lips and in her eyes. "no, i would not: you are right. better to know the secrets of the gods, even though with pain, than to lead the dull, brute life, though painless. it is only in our dark hours that we would sell our souls for a dreamless ease." "dark hours! _you_ should not know them. ah, if you would but trust me with some confidence! if there were but some way in which i could serve you!" her eyes met his with gratitude, even while she gave him a gesture of silence. she thought how little could the bold, straight stroke of this man's frank chivalry cut through the innumerable and intricate chains that entangled her own life. the knightly excalibur could do nothing to sever the filmy but insoluble meshes of secret intrigues. "it is a saint's-day: i had forgotten it," she said to turn his words from herself, while the bell of the campanile still swung through the air. "i am a pagan, you see: i do not fancy that you care much for creeds yourself." "creeds? i wish there were no such word. it has only been a rallying-cry for war, an excuse for the bigot to burn his neighbour." "no. long ago, under the andes, nezahualcoytl held the same faith that socrates had vainly taught in the agora; and zengis khan knew the truth of theism like plato; yet the world has never generally learnt it. it is the religion of nature--of reason. but the faith is too simple and too sublime for the multitude. the mass of minds needs a religion of mythics, legend, symbolism, and fear. what is impalpable escapes it; and it must give an outward and visible shape to its belief, as it gives in its art a human form to its deity. come, since we agree in our creed, i will take you to my temple--a temple not made by hands." * * * "i never had a fair field!"--it may be sometimes a coward's apology; but it is many a time the epitome of a great, cramped, tortured, wasted life, which strove like a caged eagle to get free, and never could beat down the bars of the den that circumstances and prejudice had forged. the world sees the few who do reach freedom, and, watching their bold upright flight, says rashly, "will can work all things." but they who perish by the thousand, the fettered eagles who never see the sun; who pant in darkness, and wear their breasts bare beating on the iron that will never yield; who know their strength, yet cannot break their prison; who feel their wings, yet never can soar up to meet the sweet wild western winds of liberty; who lie at last beaten, and hopeless, and blind, with only strength enough to long for death to come and quench all sense and thought in its annihilation,--who thinks of them--who counts them? * * * the earliest dawn had broken eastward, where the mountains stretched--the dawn of a southern summer, that almost touches the sunset of the past night--but under the dense shadows of the old woods that had sheltered the mystic rites of gnostics and echoed with the latin hymns to pan, no light wandered. there was only a dim silvery haze that seemed to float over the whiteness of the tall-stemmed arum lilies and the foam-bells of the water that here and there glimmered under the rank vegetation, where it had broken from its hidden channels up to air and space. not a sound disturbed the intense stillness; that the night waned and the world wakened, brought no change to the solitudes that men had forgotten, and only memories of dead-deserted gods still haunted in the places of their lost temples, whose columns were now the sea-pines' stems, and on whose fallen altars and whose shattered sculptures the lizard made her shelter and the wind-sown grasses seeded and took root. of the once graceful marble beauty and the incense-steeped stones of sacrifice nothing remained but moss-grown shapeless fragments, buried beneath a pall of leaves by twice a thousand autumns. yet the ancient sanctity still rested on the nameless, pathless woods; the breath of an earlier time, of a younger season of the earth, seemed to lie yet upon the untroubled forest ways; the whisper of the unseen waters had a dream-like, unreal cadence; in the deep shade, in the warm fragrance and the heavy gloom, there was a voluptuous yet mournful charm--the world seemed so far, the stars shone so near; there were the sweetness of rest and the oblivion of passion. * * * death is not ours to deal. and were it ours, should we give him the nameless mystic mercy which all men live to crave--give it as the chastisement of crime? death! it is rest to the aged, it is oblivion to the atheist, it is immortality to the poet! it is a vast, dim, exhaustless pity to all the world. and would you summon it as your hardest cruelty to sin? they were silent; she stirred their souls--she had not bound their passions. "a traitor merits death," they muttered. "merits it! not so. the martyr, the liberator, the seeker of truth, may deserve its peace; how has the traitor won them? you deem yourselves just; your justice errs. if you would give him justice, make him live. live to know fear lest every wind among the leaves may whisper of his secret; live to feel the look of a young child's eyes a shame to him; live to envy every peasant whose bread has not been bought with tainted coin; live to hear ever in his path the stealing step of haunting retribution; live to see his brethren pass by him as a thing accurst; live to listen in his age to white-haired men, who once had been his comrades, tell to the youth about them the unforgotten story of his shame. make him live thus if you would have justice." they answered nothing; a shudder ran through them as they heard. "and--if you have as i--a deliverance that forbids you even so much harshness, still let him live, and bury his transgression in your hearts. say to him as i say, 'your sin was great, go forth and sin no more.'" * * * "one is not an assassin!" "since when have you discovered that?" the flush grew darker on count conrad's forehead; he moved restlessly under the irony, and drank down a draught of red fiery roussillon without tasting it more than if it had been water. then he laughed; the same careless musical laughter with which he had made the requiem over a violet--a laugh which belonged at once to the most careless and the most evil side of his character. "since sophism came in, which was with monsieur cain, when he asked, 'am i my brother's keeper?' it was ingenious that reply; creditable to a beginner, without social advantages. 'an assassin!' take the word boldly by the beard, and look at it. what is there objectionable?" "nothing--except to the assassinated." "it has had an apotheosis ever since the world began," pursued phaulcon, unheeding, in his bright vivacity. "who are celebrated in scripture? judith, samuel, david, moses, joab. who is a patriot? brutus. who is an immortal? harmodius and aristogiton. who is a philosopher? cicero, while he murmurs '_vixerunt!_' after slaying lentulus. who is a hero? marius, who nails the senators' heads to the rostræ. who is a martyr? charles, who murders strafford. what is religion? christianity, that has burnt and slain millions. who is a priest? calvin, who destroys servetus; or pole, who kills latimer, which you like. who is a saint? george of cappadocia, who slaughters right and left. who is a ruler? sulla, who slays ofella. who is a queen? christina, who stabs monaldeschi; catherine, who strangles peter; isabella, who slays moors and jews by the thousand. murderers all! assassination has always been deified; and before it is objected to, the world must change its creeds, its celebrities, and its chronicles. 'monsieur, you are an assassin,' says an impolite world. 'messieurs,' says the polite logician, 'i found my warrant in your bible, and my precedent in your brutus. what you deify in aristogiton and jael you mustn't damn in ankarström and me.' voilà! what could the world say?" "that you would outwit belial with words, and beguile beelzebub out of his kingdom with sophistry." _a village commune._ power is sweet, and when you are a little clerk you love its sweetness quite as much as if you were an emperor, and maybe you love it a good deal more. * * * he saw no reason why he should not become a deputy, and even a minister before he died, and indeed there was no reason whatever. he was only a clerk at fifty pounds a year; but he had a soul above all scruples, and a heart as hard as a millstone. * * * he was only a clerk indeed, at a slender salary, and ate his friends' tomatoes publicly in the little back room of the caffè; but he had the soul of a statesman. when a donkey kicks, beat it; when it dies, skin it; so only will it profit you; that was his opinion, and the public was the donkey of messer nellemane. * * * pippo and viola feared everything, yet knew not what they feared; it is a ghostly burden of dread, that which the honest poor carry with them all through their toiling hungry days, the vague oppressive dread of this law which is always acting the spy on them, always dogging their steps, always emptying their pockets. the poor can understand criminal law, and its justice and its necessity easily enough, and respect its severities; but they cannot understand the petty tyrannies of civil law; and it wears their lives out, and breaks their spirits. when it does not break their spirits it curdles their blood and they become socialists, nihilists, internationalists, anything that will promise them riddance of their spectre and give them vengeance. we in italy are all of us afraid of socialism, we who have anything to lose; and yet we let the syndics, and their secretaries, conciliators, and chancellors sow it broadcast in dragon's teeth of petty injustices and petty cruelties, that soon or late will spring up armed men, hydra-headed and torch in hand! * * * the law should be a majesty, solemn, awful, unerring: just, as man hopes that god is just; and from its throne it should stretch out a mighty hand to seize and grasp the guilty, and the guilty only. but when the law is only a petty, meddlesome, cruel, greedy spy, mingling in every household act and peering in at every window pane, then the poor who are guiltless would be justified if they spat in its face, and called it by its right name, a foul extortion. * * * the italian tongue chatters like a magpie's; if they did not let the steam off thus they would be less easily ruled than they are; but no great talker ever did any great thing yet, in this world. * * * a retentive memory is of great use to a man, no doubt; but the talent of oblivion is on the whole more useful. * * * sarta rosalia is in a lovely pastoral country; the country that seems to thrill with theocritus' singing, as it throbs with the little tamborine of the cicala; a country running over with beautiful greenery, and with climbing creepers hanging everywhere, from the vine on the maples to the china-rose hedges, and with the deep-blue shadows, and the sun-flushed whiteness of the distant mountains lending to it in the golden distance that solemnity and ethereal charm which, without mountains somewhere within sight, no country ever has. but since the advent of "freedom" it is scarred and wounded; great scar-patches stretch here and there where woods have been felled by the avarice illumined in the souls of landowners; hundreds and thousands of bare poles stand stark and stiff against the river light which have been glorious pyramids of leaf shedding welcome shadows on the river path; and many a bold round hill like the _ballons_ of the vosges, once rich of grass as they, now shorn of wood, and even of undergrowth, lift a bare stony front to the lovely sunlight, and never more will root of tree, or seed of flower or of fern, find bed there. such is progress. * * * for the first time his _liberi pensieri_ were distasteful to him and unsatisfactory; for atheism makes a curse a mere rattle of dry peas in a fool's bladder, as it makes a blessing a mere flutter of a breath. messer nellemane for the first time felt that the old religion has its advantages over agnosticism; it gave you a hell for your rivals and your enemies! * * * he had never heard of virgil and of theocritus--but it hurt him to have these sylvan pictures spoiled; these pictures which are the same as those they saw and sang; the threshing barns with the piles of golden grain, and the flails flying to merry voices; the young horses trampling the wheat loose from its husk with bounding limbs and tossing manes; the great arched doorways, with the maidens sitting in a circle breaking the maize from its withered leaves, and telling old-world stories, and singing sweet _fiorellini_ all the while; the hanging fields broken up in hill and vale with the dun-coloured oxen pushing their patient way through labyrinths of vine boughs, and clouds of silvery olive leaf: the bright laborious day, with the sun-rays turning the sickle to a semi-circlet of silver, as the mice ran, and the crickets shouted, and the larks soared on high: the merry supper when the day was done, with the thrill and thrum of the mandolini, and the glisten of the unhoused fire-flies, whose sanctuary had been broken when the bearded barley and the amber corn fell prone: all these things rose to his memory: they had made his youth and manhood glad and full of colour; they were here still for his sons a little while, but when his sons should be all grown men, then those things would have ceased to be, and even their very memory would have perished, most likely, while the smoke of the accursed engines would have sullied the pure blue sky, and the stench of their foul vapours would have poisoned the golden air. he roused himself and said wearily to pippo, "there is a tale i have heard somewhere of a man who sold his birthright for gold, and when the gold was in his hands, then it changed to withered leaves and brown moss: i was thinking, eh? that the world is much like that man!" * * * when all your politics and policies are summed up in the one intention to do well for yourself, great simplicity is given to your theories, if not to your practice. * * * the ministerialists ... made florid and beautiful speeches full of sesquipedalian phrases in which they spoke about the place of italy among the great powers, the dangers of jealousy and invasion from other nations, the magnificence of the future, the blessings of education, the delights of liberty, the wickedness of the opposition, the sovereign rights of the people; and said it all so magnificently and so bewilderingly that the people never remembered till it was too late that they had said nothing about opposing the cow-tax--or indeed any taxes at all, but listened and gaped, and shouted, and clapped; and being told that they could sit at a european congress to decide the fate of epirus, were for the moment oblivious that they had bad bread, dear wine, scant meat, an army of conscripts, and a bureaucracy that devoured them as maggots a cheese. what is political eloquence for, if not to make the people forget such things as these? * * * to sell your grapes to foreigners and have none at all at home is a spirited commerce, and fine free trade; that the poor souls around are all poisoned with cheap chemicals in the absence of wine, is only an evidence of all that science can do. * * * it is the noblest natures that tyranny drives to frenzy. * * * the bureaucratic mind, all the world over, believes the squeak of the official penny whistle to be as the trump of archangels and the voice of sinai. that all the people do not fall down prostrate at the squeak is, to this order of mind, the one unmentionable sin. * * * it is not true that no italian ever tells the truth, as commentators on the country say, but it is sadly true that when one does he suffers for it. * * * a day in prison to a free-born son of the soil, used to work with the broad bright sky alone above his head, is more agony than a year of it is to a cramped city-worker used only to the twilight of a machine-room or a workshop, only to an air full of smuts and smoke, and the stench of acids, and the dust of filed steel or sifted coal. the sufferings of the two cannot be compared, and one among many of the injustices the law, all over the world, commits, is that it never takes into consideration what a man's past has been. there are those to whom a prison is as hell; there are those to whom it is something better than the life they led. * * * she was an old woman, and had been bred up in the old faiths; faiths that were not clear indeed to her nor ever reasoned on, but yet gave her consolation, and a great, if a vague hope. now that we tell the poor there is no such hope, that when they have worked and starved long enough, then they will perish altogether, like bits of candle that have burnt themselves out, that they are mere machines made of carbon and hydrogen, which, when they have had due friction, will then crumble back into the dust; now that we tell them all this, and call this the spread of education, will they be as patient? * * * take hope from the heart of man, and you make him a beast of prey. * * * one of the cruellest sins of any state, in giving petty and tyrannous authority into petty and tyrannous hands, is that it thus brings into hatred and disgust the true and high authority of moral law. * * * in these modern times of cowardice, when great ministers dare not say the thing they think, and high magistrates stoop to execute decrees they abhor, it is scarcely to be hoped for that moral courage will be a plant of very sturdy growth in the souls of carpenters, and coopers, and bakers, and plumbers, and day-labourers, who toil for scarce a shilling a day. * * * he had been wronged, and a great wrong is to the nature as a cancer is to the body; there is no health. * * * a just chastisement may benefit a man, though it seldom does, but an unjust one changes all his blood to gall. * * * in these days, christian europe decides that not only the poor man lying by the wayside, but also the samaritan who helps him, are sinners against political economy, and its law forbids what its religion orders: people must settle the contradiction as they deem best; they generally are content to settle it by buttoning up their pockets, and passing by, on the other side. * * * in this lovely land that brims over with flowers like a cup over-filled, where the sun is as a magician for ever changing with a wand of gold all common things to paradise; where every wind shakes out the fragrance of a world of fruit and flower commingled; where, for so little, the lute sounds and the song arises; here, misery looks more sad than it does in sadder climes, where it is like a home-born thing, and not an alien tyrant as it is here. * * * you cannot cage a field bird when it is old; it dies for want of flight, of air, of change, of freedom. no use will be the stored grain of your cages; better for the bird a berry here and there, and peace of gentle death at last amidst the golden gorse or blush of hawthorn buds. * * * "what is england?" "it is a place where the poor souls have no wine of their own, i think; and they make cannons and cheese. you see their people over here now and then. they carry red bibles, and they go about with their mouths open to catch flies, and they run into all the little old dusty places; you must have seen them." "and why do we want to have anything to do with them?" "they will come in ships and fire at us, if we are not bigger and stronger than they. we must build iron houses that float, and go on the sea and meet them." _puck._ "animalism," forsooth!--a more unfair word don't exist. when we animals never drink only just enough to satisfy thirst, never eat except when we have genuine appetites, never indulge in any sort of debauch, and never strain excess till we sink into the slough of satiety, shall "animalism" be a word to designate all that men and women dare to do? "animalism!" you ought to blush for such a libel on our innocent and reasonable lives when you regard your own! you men who scorch your throats with alcohols, and kill your lives with absinthe; and squander your gold in the kursaal, and the cecle, and the arlington; and have thirty services at your dinner betwixt soup and the "chasse;" and cannot spend a summer afternoon in comfort unless you be drinking deep the intoxication of hazard in your debts and your bets on the heath or the downs, at hurlingham or at tattersalls' rooms. you women, who sell your souls for bits of stones dug from the bowels of the earth; who stake your honour for a length of lace two centuries old; who replace the bloom your passions have banished with the red of poisoned pigments; who wreathe your aching heads with purchased tresses torn from prisons, and madhouses, and coffins; who spend your lives in one incessant struggle, first the rivalry of vanity and then the rivalry of ambition; who deck out greed, and selfishness, and worship of station or gold, as "love," and then wonder that your hapless dupes, seizing the idol that you offer them as worthy of their worship, fling it from them with a curse, finding it dumb, and deaf, and merciless, a thing of wood and stone. "animalism," forsooth! god knows it would be well for you, here and hereafter, men and women both, were you only patient, continent, and singleminded, only faithful, gentle, and long-suffering, as are the brutes that you mock, and misuse, and vilify in the supreme blindness of your egregious vanity! * * * i was horribly cold and hungry; and this is a combination which kills sentiment in bigger people than myself. the emotions, like a hothouse flower or a sea-dianthus, wither curiously when aired in an east wind, or kept some hours waiting for dinner. * * * in truth, too, despite all the fine chances that you certainly give your peasants to make thorough beasts of themselves, they are your real aristocrats, and have the only really good manners in your country. in an old north-country dame, who lives on five shillings a week, in a cottage like a dream of teniers' or van tol's, i have seen a fine courtesy, a simple desire to lay her best at her guest's disposal, a perfect composure, and a freedom from all effort, that were in their way the perfection of breeding. i have seen these often in the peasantry, in the poor. it is your middle classes, with their incessant flutter, and bluster, and twitter, and twaddle; with their perpetual strain after effect; with their deathless desire to get one rung of the ladder higher than they ever can get; with their preposterous affectations, their pedantic unrealities, their morbid dread of remark, their everlasting imitations, their superficial education, their monotonous commonplaces, and their nervous deference to opinion;--it is your middle classes that have utterly destroyed good manners, and have made the prevalent mode of the day a union of boorishness and servility, of effervescence and of apathy--a court suit, as it were, worn with muddy boots and a hempen shirt. * * * i think fanfreluche spoke with reason. coincidence is a god that greatly influences mortal affairs. he is not a cross-tempered deity either, always; and when you beat your poor fetish for what seems to you an untoward accident, you may do wrong; he may have benefited you far more than you wot. * * * now i believe that when a woman's own fair skin is called rouge, and her own old lace is called imitation, she must in some way or other have roused sharply the conscience or the envy of her sisters who sit in judgment. * * * i canna go to church. look'ee,--they's allus a readin' o' cusses, and damnin', and hell fire, and the like; and i canna stomach it. what for shall they go and say as all the poor old wimmin i' tha parish is gone to the deil 'cause they picks up a stick or tew i' hedge, or likes to mumble a charm or tew o'er their churnin'? them old wimmin be rare an' good i' ither things. when i broke my ankle three years agone, old dame stuckley kem o'er, i' tha hail and the snaw, a matter of five mile and more, and she turned o' eighty; and she nursed me, and tidied the place, and did all as was wanted to be done, 'cause avice was away, working somewhere's; and she'd never let me gie her aught for it. and i heard ta passon tell her as she were sold to hell, 'cause the old soul have a bit of belief like in witch-stones, and allus sets one aside her spinnin' jenny, so that the thrid shanna knot nor break. ta passon he said, god cud mak tha thrid run smooth, or knot it, just as he chose, and 'twas wicked to think she could cross his will. and the old dame, she said, weel, sir, i dinna b'lieve tha almighty would ever spite a poor old crittur like me, don't 'ee think it? but if we're no to help oursells i' this world, what for have he gied us the trouble o' tha thrid to spin? and why no han't he made tha shirts, an' tha sheets, an' tha hose grow theersells? and ta passon niver answered her that, he only said she was fractious and blas-_phe_-mous. now she warn't, she spoke i' all innocence, and she mint what she said--she mint it. passons niver can answer ye plain, right-down, nataral questions like this'n, and that's why i wunna ga ta tha church. * * * dinna ye meddle, tam; it's niver no good a threshin' other folk's corn; ye allays gits the flail agin i' yer own eye somehow. * * * the flowers hang in the sunshine, and blow in the breeze, free to the wasp as to the bee. the bee chooses to make his store of honey, that is sweet, and fragrant, and life-giving; the wasp chooses to make his from the same blossoms, but of a matter hard, and bitter, and useless. shall we pity the wasp because, of his selfish passions, he selects the portion that shall be luscious only to his own lips, and spends his hours only in the thrusting-in of his sting? is not such pity--wasted upon the wasp--an insult to the bee who toils so wearily to gather in for others; and who, because he stings not man, is by man maltreated? now it seems to me, if i read them aright, that vicious women, and women that are of honesty and honour, are much akin to the wasp and to the bee. * * * my dear, a gentleman may forget his appointments, his love vows, and his political pledges; he may forget the nonsense he talked, the dances he engaged for, the women that worried him, the electors that bullied him, the wife that married him, and he may be a gentleman still; but there are two things he must never forget, for no gentleman ever does--and they are, to pay a debt that is a debt of honour, and to keep a promise to a creature that can't force him to keep it. * * * a genius? you must mistake. i have always heard that a genius is something that they beat to death first with sticks and stones, and set up on a great rock to worship afterwards. now they make her very happy whilst she is alive. she cannot possibly be a genius. * * * i learned many wondrous things betwixt epsom and ascot. a brief space, indeed, yet one that to me seemed longer than the whole of my previous life, so crowded was it every hour with new and marvellous experiences. worldly experiences, i mean. intellectually, i am not sure that i acquired much. indeed, to a little brain teeming with memories of the théâtres beaumarchais, voltaire, molière, feuillet, sardou, sandeau, &c., which i had heard read so continually at the dower-house amongst the fens, the views of dramatic literature held at the coronet appeared of the most extraordinary character. they certainly had one merit--simplicity. the verb "to steal" was the only one that a successful dramatic author appeared to be required to conjugate. for your music steal from the music-halls; for your costumes steal from _le follet_; for your ideas steal from anybody that happens to carry such a thing about him; for your play, in its entirety, steal the plot, the characters, the romance, the speeches, and the wit, if it have any, of some attractive novel; and when you have made up your parcel of thefts, tie it together with some string of stage directions, herald it as entirely original, give a very good supper to your friends on the press, and bow from your box as the "author." you will certainly be successful: and if the novelist ever object, threaten him with an action for interference with _your_ property. these i found were the laws laid down by london dramatists; and they assuredly were so easy to follow and so productive to obey, that if any ben jonson or beaumarchais, sheridan or marivaux, had arisen and attempted to infringe them, he would have infallibly been regarded as a very evil example, and been extinguished by means of journalistic slating and stall-siflage. * * * by the way, permit me, in parenthesis, to say that one of the chief causes of that preference for the _demi-monde_ which you daily and hourly discover more and more, is the indulgence it shows to idleness. because your lives are so intense now, and always at high pressure--for that very reason are you more indolent also in little things. it bores you to dress; it bores you to talk; it bores you to be polite. sir charles grandison might find ecstasy in elaborating a bow, a wig, or a speech; you like to give a little nod, cut your hair very short, and make "awfully" do duty for all your adjectives. "_autres temps, autres mæurs._" you are a very odd mixture. you will go to the ends of the earth on the scent of big game; but you shirk all social exertion with a cynical laziness. you will come from damascus at a stretch without sleeping, and think nothing of it; but you find it a wretched thing to have to exert yourself to be courteous in a drawing-room. therefore the _demi-monde_ suits you with a curious fitness, and suits you more and more every year. i am afraid it is not very good for you. i don't mean for your morals; i don't care the least about them, i am a dog of the world; i mean for your manners. it makes you slangy, inert, rude, lazy. and yet what perfect gentlemen you can be still, and what grace there is in your careless, weary ease, when you choose to be courteous; and you always _do_ choose, that i must say for you, when you find a woman who is really worth the trouble. * * * i never knew quite whether i liked her--how can you with those women of the world? she was kind and insincere; she was gentle and she was cruel; she was generous and ungenerous; she was true as steel, and she was false as judas--what would you?--she was a woman of the world, with several sweet natural impulses, and all a coquette's diplomacies. she tended me with the greatest solicitude one day that autumn, when i had run a thorn into my foot: and the very next day, when i was well again, she laughed to see me worried on the lawn by a bull-terrier. if you have not met a woman like that, i wonder where you have lived. * * * you must be spider or fly, as somebody says. now all my experience tells me that men are mostly the big, good-natured, careless blue-bottles, half-drunk with their honey of pleasure, and rushing blindly into any web that dazzles them a little in the sunshine; and women are the dainty, painted, patient spiders that just sit and weave, and weave, and weave, till--pong!--bluebottle is in head foremost, and is killed, and sucked dry, and eaten up at leisure. you men think women do not know much of life. pooh! i, puck, who have dwelt for many of my days on their boudoir cushions, and eaten of their dainty little dinners, and been smuggled under their robes even into operas, balls, and churches, tell you that is an utter fallacy. they do not choose you to know that they know it, very probably; but there is nothing that is hidden from them, i promise you. * * * don't you know that whilst broad, intellectual scepticism is masculine, narrow, social scepticism is feminine? to get hearty, reverent, genuine belief in the innocence of a slandered woman, go to a man: where the world has once doubted, women, the world-worshippers, will for ever after doubt also. you can never bring women to see that the pecked-at fruit is always the richest and sweetest; they always take the benison of the wooing bird to be the malison of the hidden worm! * * * not very long ago i was down away in the vale of belvoir. i stayed with my friends at a great stately place, owned by as gallant a gentleman as ever swung himself into saddle. his wife was a beautiful woman, and he treated her with the courtliest tenderness: indeed, i often heard their union cited as one of almost unequalled felicity. "he never had a thought that he did not tell me," i heard his wife once say to a friend. "not a single thought, i know, all these twelve years of our marriage." it was a happy belief--many women have the like--but it was an unutterably foolish one; for the minds of the best and truest amongst you are, in many things, as sealed books to those whom you care for the most. one bitter, black hunting-day, a day keen and cold, with frost, as men feared, in the air, and with the ground so hard that even the duke's peerless "dandies," perfect hounds though they are, scarcely could keep the scent, there came terrible tidings to the hall--he had met with a crashing fall. his horse had refused at timber, and had fallen upon him, kicking his head with the hind hoofs repeatedly. they had taken him to the nearest farmhouse, insensible; even dead already, they feared. his wife and the elder amongst the beautiful children fled like mad creatures across the brown fallows, and the drear blackened meadows. the farm, happily, was not far: i sped with them. when they reached him he was not quite lifeless, but he knew none of them; his head had been beaten in by the plates of the kicking hoofs; and they waited for his death with every moment, in the little old dusky room, with its leaded lattices, and its odour of dried lavender, and its bough of holly above the hearth. for this had chanced upon christmas eve. to his wife's agonies, to his children's moans, he was silent: he knew nothing; he lay with closed eyes and crushed brain--deaf, blind, mute. suddenly the eyes opened, and stared at the red winter sun where it glowed dimly through the squares of the lattice-panes. "dolores!" he cried aloud; "dolores! dolores!" it was the name of none there. "my god! what woman is it he calls?" his wife asked in her torture. but none ever knew. through half the night his faint pulse beat, his faint breath came and went; but consciousness never more returned, and for ever he muttered only that one name, that name which was not her own. and when they laid the dead body in its shroud, they found on the left arm above the elbow the word "dolores" marked on the skin, as sailors stamp letters in their flesh. but whose it was, or what woe or passion it recorded, none ever knew--not even his wife, who had believed she shared his every thought. and to his grave his dead and secret love went with him. this man was but a gay, frank, high-spirited gentleman, of no great knowledge, and of no great attainments, riding fearlessly, laughing joyously, living liberally; not a man, one would have said, to know any deep passions, to treasure any bitter memories--and yet he had loved one woman so well that he had never spoken of her, and never forgotten her; never--not even in his death-hour, when the poor, stunned, stifled brain had forgotten all other things of earth. and so it seems to me that it is very often with you, and that you bear with you through your lifetime the brand of an unforgotten name, branded deep in, in days of passion, that none around you ever wot of, and that the wife who sleeps on your heart never knows. it is dead--the old love--long dead. and yet, when your last hour shall come, and your senses shall be dizzy with death, the pale loves of the troth and the hearth will fade from you, and this love alone will abide. * * * "modern painters do not owe you much, sir," said a youngster to him once, writhing under the _midas'_ ruthless flagellation of his first academy picture. "on the contrary," said the great censor, taking his snuff; "they owe me much, or might have owed me much. if they had only listened to me, they would have saved every shilling that they have thrown away on canvas!" * * * in your clubs and your camps, in your mischievous moods and your philosophic moods, always indeed theoretically, you consider all women immoral (except just, of course, your own mothers); but practically, when your good-feeling is awakened, or your honest faith honestly appealed to, you will believe in a woman's honour with a heartiness and strength for which she will look in vain in her own sex. according to your jests, the world is one vast harem, of which all the doors are open to every man, and whose fair inmates are all alike impressionable to the charm of intrigue or to the chink of gold. but, in simple earnest and reality, i have heard the wildest and most debonair amongst you--once convinced of the honour and innocence looking from a woman's eyes--stand up in defence of these when libelled in her absence, with a zeal and a stanchness that did my heart good. * * * his simple creed, "the good faith of a gentleman," forbade him to injure what lay defenceless at his mercy. ah! revile that old faith as you will, it has lasted longer than any other cultus; and whilst altars have reeled, and idols been shattered, and priests changed their teachings, and peoples altered their gods, the old faith has lasted through all; and the simple instinct of the greek eupatrid and of the roman patrician still moves the heart of the english gentleman--the instinct of _noblesse oblige_. * * * "the exception proves the rule," runs your proverb; but why, i wonder, is it that you always only believe in the rule, and are always utterly sceptical as to the existence of the exception? * * * the sun shone in over the roofs; the bird in its cage began a low tremulous song; the murmur of all the crowded streets came up upon the silence; and nellie lay there dead;--the light upon her curly hair, and on her mouth the smile that had come there at his touch. "ah, my dear!" said fanfreluche, as she ceased her story, with a half-soft and half-sardonic sadness, "she was but a little, ignorant, common player, who made but three pounds a week, and who talked the slang of the streets, and who thought shrimps and tea a meal for the gods, and who made up her own dresses with her own hands, out of tinsel and tarlatanes and trumperies, and who knew no better than to follow the blind, dumb instincts of good that, self-sown and uncultured, lived in her--god knows how!--as the harebells, with the dew on them, will live amidst the rank, coarse grass of graveyards. she was but a poor little player, who tried to be honest where all was corruption, who tried to walk straightly where all ways were crooked. so she died to-day in a garret, my dear." * * * if all men in whose hearts lives a dull, abiding grief, whose throbs death and death only ever will still, deserted for desert or ocean your world of fame and of fashion, how strangely that world would look! how much eloquence would be dumb in your senatorial chambers; how many a smile would be missing from your ball-rooms and hunting-fields; how many a frank laugh would die off for ever from your ear; how many a well-known face would vanish from your clubs, from your park, from your dinner-tables, from your race-stands! and how seldom would it be those that you had pitied who would go!--how often would the vacant place be that place where so many seasons through you had seen, and had envied, the gayest, the coldest, the most light-hearted, the most cynical amongst you! ah! let society be thankful that men in their bitterness do not now fly, as of old, to monastery or to hermitage; for, did they do so, society would send forth her gilded cards to the wilderness. * * * "_une vie manquée!_" says the world. is there any threnody over a death half so unutterably sad as that one jest over a life? "_manquée!_"--the world has no mercy on a hand that has thrown the die and has lost; no tolerance for the player who, holding fine cards, will not play them by the rules of the game. "_manquée!_" the world says, with a polite sneer, of the lives in which it beholds no blazoned achievement, no public success. and yet, if it were keener of sight, it might see that those lives, not seldom, may seem to have missed of their mark, because their aim was high over the heads of the multitude; or because the arrow was sped by too eager a hand in too rash a youth, and the bow lies unstrung in that hand when matured. it might see that those lives which look so lost, so purposeless, so barren of attainment, so devoid of object or fruition, have sometimes nobler deeds in them and purer sacrifice than lies in the home-range of its own narrowed vision. "_manquée!_"--do not cast that stone idly: how shall you tell, as you look on the course of a life that seems to you a failure, because you do not hear its "_io triumphe_" on the lips of a crowd, what sweet dead dreams, what noble vain desires, what weariness of futile longing, what conscious waste of vanished years--nay, what silent acts of pure nobility, what secret treasures of unfathomed love--may lie within that which seems in your sight even as a waste land untilled, as a fire burnt out, as a harp without chords, as a bird without song? * * * genius is oftentimes but a poor fool, who, clinging to a thing that belongs to no age, truth, does oftentimes live on a pittance and die in a hospital; but whosoever has the gift to measure aright their generation is invincible--living, they shall enjoy all the vices undetected; and dead, on their tombstones they shall possess all the virtues. * * * cant, naked, is honoured throughout england. cant, clothed in gold, is a king never in england resisted. * * * "ben dare, he be dead?" he asked suddenly. "they telled me so by darron's side."[a] [a] the river derwent. ambrose bent his head, silently. "when wur't?" "last simmar-time, i' th' aftermath." "it were a ston' as killed him?" "ay," said ambrose, softly shading his eyes with his hand from the sun that streamed through the aisles of pine. "how wur't?" "they was a blastin'. he'd allus thoct as he'd dee that way, you know. they pit mair pooder i' quarry than common; and the ston' it split, and roared, and crackit, wi' a noise like tha crack o' doom. and one bit on 't, big as ox, were shot i' th' air, an' fell, unlookit for like, and dang him tew the groun', and crushit him,--a-lyin' richt athwart his brist." "an' they couldna stir it?" "they couldna. i heerd tha other min screech richt tew here, an' i knew what it wur, tha shrill screech comin' jist i' top o' tha blastin' roar; an' i ran, an' ran--na gaze-hound fleeter. an' we couldna raise it--me an' tam, an' job, an' gideon o' the mere, an' moses legh o' wissen edge, a' strong min and i' our prime. we couldna stir it, till moses o' wissen edge he thoct o' pittin' fir-poles underneath--poles as was sharp an' slim i' thur ends, an' stout an' hard further down. whin tha poles was weel thrust under we heaved, an' heaved, an' heaved, and got it slanted o' one side, and drawed him out; an' thin it were too late, too late! a' tha brist was crushit in--frushed flesh and bone together. he jist muttered i' his throat, 'tha little lass, tha little lass!' and then he turned him on his side, and hid his face upo' the sod. when we raised him he wur dead." the voice of ambrose sank very low; and where he leaned over his smithy door the tears fell slowly down his sun-bronzed cheeks. "alack a day!" sighed daffe, softly. "sure a better un niver drew breath i' the varsal world!" "an' that's trew," ambrose made answer, his voice hushed and very tender. "he was varra changed like," murmured daffe, his hand wandering amongst the golden blossoms of the stonecrop. "he niver were the same crittur arter the lass went awa'. he niver were the same--niver. ta seemed tew mak an auld man o' him a' at once." "it did," said ambrose, brokenly. "he couldna bear tew look na tew spik to nane o' us. he were bent i' body, an' gray o' head, that awfu' night when he kem back fra' the waking. it were fearfu' tew see; and we couldna dew naught. th' ony thing as he'd take tew were trust." "be dog alive?" "na. trust he'd never quit o' ben's grave. he wouldna take bit na drop. he wouldna be touchit; not whin he was clem would he be tempted awa'. and he died--jist tha fifth day arter his master." "an' the wench? hev' 'ee e'er heerd on her?" "niver--niver. mappen she's dead and gone tew. she broke ben's heart for sure; long ere tha ston' crushit life out o't." "and wheer may he lie?" ambrose clenched his brawny hand, his eyes darkened, his swarthy face flushed duskily. "wheer? what think 'ee, daffe? when we took o' him up for the burial, ta tha church ower theer beyant tha wood, the passon he stoppit us, a' tha gate of tha buryin' field. the passon he med long words, and sed as how a unb'liever sud niver rest i' blessed groun', sin he willna iver enter into the sight o' tha lord. he sed as how ben were black o' heart and wicked o' mind, an' niver set fute i' church-door, and niver ate o' tha sacrament bread, and niver not thocht o' god nor o' devil; an' he wouldna say tha rites o'er him an' 'twere iver so, an' he wouldna let him lie i' tha holy earth, nor i' tha pale o' tha graveyard. well, we couldna gae agin him--we poor min, an' he a squire and passon tew. sae we took him back, five weary mile; and we brocht him here, and we dug his grave under them pines, and we pit a cross o' tha bark to mark the place, and we laid old trust, when he died, by his side. i were mad with grief like, thin; it were awfu' ta ha' him forbad christian burial." "dew it matter?" asked the gentle daffe, wistfully. he had never been within church-doors himself. ambrose gave a long troubled sigh. "aweel! at first it seemed awfu'--awfu'! and to think as ben 'ud niver see the face o' his god was mair fearfu' still. but as time gees on and on--i can see his grave fra' here, tha cross we cut is tha glimmer o' white on that stem ayont,--it dew seem as 'tis fitter like fer him to lie i' tha fresh free woods, wi' tha birds a' chirmin' abuve him, an' a' tha forest things as he minded a flyin', an' nestin', an' runnin', an' rejoicin' arount him. 'tis allus so still there, an' peacefu'. 'tis blue and blue now, wi' tha hy'cinths; and there's one bonnie mavis as dew make her home wi' each spring abuve the gravestone. 'bout not meetin' his god, i dunno--i darena saw nowt anent it--but, for sure, it dew seem to me that we canna meet him no better, nor fairer, than wi' lips that ha ne'er lied to man nor to woman, and wi' hands as niver hae harmed the poor dumb beasts nor the prattlin' birds. it dew seem so. i canna tell." as the words died off his lips the sun fell yet more brightly through the avenues of the straight, dark, odorous pines; sweet silent winds swept up the dewy scents of mosses, and of leaves, and of wild hyacinths; and on the stillness of that lonely place there came one tremulous, tender sound. it was the sound of the mavis singing. "i canna tell; but for sure it is well with him?" said ambrose; and he bared his head, and bowed it humbly, as though in the voice of the mavis he heard the answer of god: "it is well." ah! i trust that it may be so for you; that the sweetness of your arrogant dreams of an unshared eternity be not wholly a delusion; that for you--although to us you do deny it--there may be found pity, atonement, compensation, in some great hereafter. * * * "i have heard a very great many men and women call the crows carrion birds, and the jackals carrion beasts, with an infinite deal of disgust and much fine horror at what they were pleased to term 'feasting on corpses;' but i never yet heard any of them admit their own appetite for the rotten 'corpse' of a pheasant, or the putrid haunch of a deer, to be anything except the choice taste of an epicure!" "but they do cook the corpses!" i remonstrated; whereupon she grinned with more meaning than ever. "exactly what i am saying, my dear. their love of synonyms has made them forget that they are _carnivori_, because they talk so sweetly of the _cuisine_. a poor, blundering, honest, ignorant lion only kills and eats when the famine of his body forces him to obey that law of slaughter which is imposed on all created things, from the oyster to the man, by what we are told is the beautiful and beneficent economy of creation. of course, the lion is a brutal and bloodthirsty beast of prey, to be hunted down off the face of the earth as fast as may be. whereas man--what does he do? he devours the livers of a dozen geese in one _pâté_; he has lobsters boiled alive, that the scarlet tint may look tempting to his palate; he has fish cut up or fried in all its living agonies, lest he should lose one _nuance_ of its flavour; he has the calf and the lamb killed in their tender age, that he may eat dainty sweetbreads; he has quails and plovers slaughtered in the nesting-season, that he may taste a slice of their breasts; he crushes oysters in his teeth whilst life is in them; he has scores of birds and animals slain for one dinner, that he may have the numberless dishes which fashion exacts; and then--all the time talking softly of _rissôle_ and _mayonnaise_, of _consommé_ and _entremet_, of _croquette_ and _côtelette_--the dear _gourmet_ discourses on his charming science, and thanks god that he is not as the parded beasts that prey!" "well," said i, sulkily, for i am fond myself of a good _vol-au-vent_,--"well, you have said that eating is a law in the economies--or the waste--of creation. is it not well to clothe a distasteful and barbaric necessity in a refining guise and under an elegant nomenclature?" "sophist!" said fanfreluche, with much scorn, though she herself is as keen an epicure and as suave a sophist, for that matter, as i know,--"i never denied that it was well for men to cheat themselves, through the art of their cooks, into believing that they are not brutes and beasts of prey--it is well exceedingly--for their vanity. life is sustained only by the destruction of life. cookery, the divine, can turn this horrible fact into a poetic idealism; can twine the butcher's knife with lilies, and hide the carcass under roses. but i do assuredly think that, when they sit down every night with their _menu_ of twenty services, they should not call the poor lion bad names for eating an antelope once a fortnight." and, with the true consistency of preachers, fanfreluche helped herself to a madeira stewed kidney which stood amongst other delicacies on the deserted luncheon table. * * * "if this play should succeed it will be a triumph of true art," said another critical writer to dudley moore. that great personage tapped his louis-quinze snuffbox with some impatience. "pardon me, but it is not possible to have art at all on the stage. art is a pure idealism. you can have it in a statue, a melody, a poem; but you cannot have it on the stage, which is at its highest but a graphic realism. the very finest acting is only fine in proportion as it is an exact reproduction of physical life. how, then, can it be art, which is only great in proportion as it escapes from the physical life into the spiritual?" "but may not dramatic art escape thither also?" asked the critic, who was young, and deferred to him. "impossible, sir. it is shackled with all the forms of earth, and--worse still--with all its shams and commonplaces. when we read _othello_, we only behold the tempest of the passions and the wreck of a great soul; but when we see _othello_, we are affronted by the colour of the moor's skin, and are brought face to face with the vulgarities of the bolster!" "then there is no use in a stage at all?" "i am not prepared to conclude that. it is agreeable to a vast number of people: as a frith or an o'neil is agreeable to a vast number of people to whom an ary scheffer or a delaroche would be unintelligible. it is better, perhaps, that this vast number should look at friths and o'neils than that they should never look on any painting at all. now the stage paints rudely, often tawdrily; still it does paint. it is better than nothing. i take it that the excellence, as the end, of histrionic art is to portray, to the minds of the many, poetic conceptions which, without such realistic rendering, would remain unknown and impalpable to all save the few. histrionic art is at its greatest only when it is the follower and the interpreter of literature; the actor translates the poet's meanings into the common tongue that is understood of the people. but how many on the miserable stage of this country have ever had either humility to perceive, or capability to achieve this?" the other critic smiled. "i imagine not one, in our day. their view of their profession is similar to mrs. delamere's, when max moncrief wrote that sparkling comedy for her. 'my dear,' she said to him, 'why did you trouble yourself to put all that wit and sense into it? we didn't want _that_. i shall wear all my diamonds, and i have ordered three splendid new dresses!'" * * * all day long the fowls kept it alive with sound and movement; for of all mercurial and fussy things there is nothing on the face of the earth to equal cocks and hens. they have such an utterly exaggerated sense, too, of their own importance; they make such a clacking and clucking over every egg, such a scratching and trumpeting over every morsel of treasure-trove, and such a striding and stamping over every bit of well-worn ground. on the whole, i think poultry have more humanity in them than any other race, footed or feathered; and cocks certainly must have been the first creatures that ever hit on the great art of advertising. myself i always fancy that the souls of this feathered tribe pass into the bodies of journalists; but this may be a mere baseless association of kindred ideas in my mind. * * * she kissed the dog on the forehead; then pointed to the kreel of shells and seaweed on the red, smooth piece of rock. "take care of them, dear bronze," she murmured; "and wait till i come back. wait here." she did not mean to command; she only meant to console him by the appointment of some service. bronze looked in her face with eyes of woe and longing; but he made no moan or sound, but only stretched himself beside the kreel on guard. i am always glad to think that as she went she turned, and kissed him once again. the boat flew fast over the water. when boats leave you, and drag your heart with them, they always go like that; and when they come, and your heart darts out to meet them, then they are so slow! the boat flew like a seagull, the sun bright upon her sail. bronze, left upon the rock, lifted his head and gave one long, low wail. it echoed woefully and terribly over the wide, quiet waters. they gave back no answer--not even the poor answer that lies in echo. it was very still there. nothing was in sight except that single little sail shining against the light, and flying--flying--flying. now and then you could hear a clock striking in the distant village, the faint crow of a cock, the far-off voices of children calling to one another. the little sea-mouse stole athwart a pool; the grey sea-crabs passed like a little army; the tiny sea creatures that dwelt in rosy shells thrust their delicate heads from their houses to peep and wonder at the sun. but all was noiseless. how dared they make a sound, when that great sea, that was at once their life and death, was present with its never-ceasing "hush!" bronze never moved, and his eyes never turned from the little boat that went and left him there--the little boat that fast became merely a flash and speck of white against the azure air, no bigger than the breadth of a seagull's wings. an hour drifted by. the church-clock on the cliffs had struck four times; a deep-toned, weary bell, that tolled for every quarter, and must often have been heard, at dead of night, by dying men, drowning unshriven and unhouselled. suddenly the sand about us, so fawn-hued, smooth, and beautifully ribbed, grew moist, and glistened with a gleam of water, like eyes that fill with tears. bronze never saw: he only watched the boat. a little later the water gushed above the sand, and, gathering in a frail rippling edge of foam, rolled up and broke upon the rock. and still he never saw; for still he watched the boat. awhile, and the water grew in volume, and filled the mouse's pool till it brimmed over, and bathed the dull grasses till they glowed like flowers; and drew the sea-crabs and the tiny dwellers of the shells back once more into its wondrous living light. and all around the fresh tide rose, silently thus about the rocks and stones; gliding and glancing in all the channels of the shore, until the sands were covered, and the grasses gathered in, and all the creeping, hueless things were lost within its space; and in the stead of them, and of the bronzed palm-leaves of weed, and of the great brown boulders gleaming in the sun, there was but one vast lagoon of shadowless bright water everywhere. and still he never saw; for still he watched the boat. by this time the tide, rolling swiftly in before a strong sou'-wester, had risen midway against the rock on which we had been left, and was breaking froth and foam upon the rock's worn side. for this rock alone withstood the passage of the sea: there was naught else but this to break the even width of water. all other things save this had been subdued and reapen. it was all deep water around; and the water glowed a strange emerald green, like the green in a lizard or snake. the shore, that had looked so near, now seemed so far, far off; and the woods were hidden in mist, and the cottages were all blurred with the brown of the cliff, and there came no sound of any sort from the land--no distant bell, no farm-bird's call, no echo of children's voices. there was only one sound at all; and that was the low, soft, ceaseless murmuring of the tide as it glided inward. the waters rose till they touched the crest of the rock; but still he never moved. stretched out upon the stone, guarding the things of her trust, and with his eyes fastened on the sail which rose against the light, he waited thus--for death. i was light, and a strong swimmer. i had been tossed on those waves from my birth. buffeted, fatigued, blind with the salt sea-spray, drenched with the weight of the water, i struggled across that calm dread width of glassy coldness, and breathless reached the land. by signs and cries i made them wot that something needed them at sea. they began to get ready a little boat, bringing it down from its wooden rest on high dry ground beneath the cliff. whilst they pushed and dragged through the deep-furrowed sand i gazed seaward. the shore was raised; i could see straight athwart the waters. they now were level with the rock; and yet he had never moved. the little skiff had passed round the bend of a bluff, and was out of his sight and ours. the boat was pushed into the surf; they threw me in. they could see nothing, and trusted to my guidance. i had skill enough to make them discover whither it was i wanted them to go. then, looking in their eagerness whither my eyes went, they saw him on the rock, and with a sudden exercise of passionate vigour, bent to their oars and sent the boat against the hard opposing force of the resisting tide. for they perceived that, from some cause, he was motionless there, and could not use his strength; and they knew that it would be shame to their manhood if, within sight of their land, the creature who had succoured their brethren in the snow, and saved the two-year child from the storm, should perish before their sight on a calm and unfretted sea and in a full noon sun. it was but a furlong to that rock; it was but the breadth of the beach, that at low water stretched uncovered; and yet how slowly the boat sped, with the ruthless tide sweeping it back as fast as the oars bore it forward! so near we seemed to him that one would have thought a stone flung from us through the air would have lit far beyond him; and yet the space was enough, more than enough, to bar us from him, filled as it was with the strong adverse pressure of those low, swift, in-rushing waves. the waters leaped above the summit of the rock, and for a moment covered him. a great shout went up from the rowers beside me. they strained in every nerve to reach him; and the roll of a fresh swell of water lifted the boat farther than their uttermost effort could achieve, but lifted her backward, backward to the land. when the waters touched him he arose slowly, and stood at bay like a stag upon a headland, when the hounds rage behind, and in front yawns the fathomless lake. he stood so that he still guarded the things of his trust; and his eyes were still turned seaward, watching for the vanished sail. once again the men, with a loud cry to him of courage and help, strained at their oars, and drove themselves a yard's breadth farther out. and once again the tide, with a rush of surf and shingle, swept the boat back, and seemed to bear her to the land as lightly as though she were a leaf with which a wind was playing. the waters covered the surface of the rock. it sank from sight. the foam was white about his feet, and still he stood there--upon guard. everywhere there was the brilliancy of noontide sun; everywhere there was the beaming calmness of the sea, that spread out, far and wide, in one vast sheet of light; from the wooded line of the shore there echoed the distant gaiety of a woman's laugh. a breeze, softly stirring through the warm air, brought with it from the land the scent of myrtle thickets and wild flowers. how horrible they were--the light, the calm, the mirth, the summer fragrance! for one moment he stood there erect; his dark form sculptured, lion-like, against the warm yellow light of noon; about his feet the foam. then, all noiselessly, a great, curled, compact wave surged over him, breaking upon him, sweeping him away. the water spread out quickly, smooth and gleaming like the rest. he rose, grasping in his teeth the kreel of weed and shells. he had waited until the last. driven from the post he would not of himself forsake, the love of life awoke in him; he struggled against death. three times he sank, three times he rose. the sea was now strong, and deep, and swift of pace, rushing madly in; and he was cumbered with that weight of osier and of weed, which yet he never yielded, because it had been her trust. with each yard that the tide bore him forward, by so much it bore us backward. there was but the length of a spar between us, and yet it was enough! he rose for the fourth time, his head above the surf, the kreel uplifted still, the sun-rays full upon his brown weary eyes, with all their silent agony and mute appeal. then the tide, fuller, wilder, deeper with each wave that rolled, and washing as it went all things of the shore from their places, flung against him, as it swept on, a great rough limb of driftwood. it struck him as he rose; struck him across the brow. the wave rushed on; the tide came in; the black wood floated to the shore; he never rose again. and scarcely that span of the length of a spar had parted us from him when he sank! all the day through they searched, and searched with all the skill of men sea-born and sea-bred. the fisher, whose little child he had saved in the winter night, would not leave him to the things of the deep. and at sunset they found him, floating westward, in the calm water where the rays of the sun made it golden and warm. he was quite dead; but in his teeth there still was clenched the osier kreel, washed empty of its freight. they buried him there; on the shore underneath the cliff, where a great wild knot of myrtle grows, and the honeysuckle blooms all over the sand. and when lord beltran in that autumn came, and heard how he had died in the fulfilling of a trust, he had a stone shapen and carved; and set it against the cliff, amongst the leafage and flowers, high up where the highest winter tide will not come. and by his will the name of bronze was cut on it in deep letters that will not wear out, and on which the sun will strike with every evening that it shall pass westward above the sea; and beneath the name he bade three lines be chiselled likewise, and they are these: "he chose death rather than unfaithfulness. he knew no better. he was a dog." "they are all words. creatures that take out their grief in crape and mortuary tablets can't feel very much." "there are many lamentations, from lycidas to lesbia, which prove that whether for a hero or a sparrow--" i began timidly to suggest. "that's only a commonplace," snapped my lady. "they chatter and scribble; they don't feel. they write stanzas of 'gush' on maternity; and tear the little bleating calf from its mother to bleed to death in a long, slow agony. they maunder twaddle about infancy over some ugly red lump of human flesh, in whose creation their vanity happens to be involved; and then go out and send the springtide lamb to the slaughter, and shoot the parent birds as they fly to the nest where their fledglings are screaming in hunger! pooh! did you never find out the value of their words? some one of them has said that speech was given them to conceal their thoughts. it is true that they use it for that end; but it was given them for this reason. at the time of the creation, when all except man had been made, the angel of life, who had been bidden to summon the world out of chaos, moving over the fresh and yet innocent earth, thought to himself, 'i have created so much that is doomed to suffer for ever, and for ever be mute; i will now create an animal that shall be compensated for all suffering by listening to the sound of its own voluble chatter.' whereon the angel called man into being, and cut the _frænum_ of his tongue, which has clacked incessantly ever since, all through the silence of the centuries." * * * there was once a dog, my dear, that was hit by three men, one after another, as they went by him where he lay in the sun; and in return he bit them--deep--and they let him alone then, and ever after sought to propitiate him. well, the first he bit in the arm, where there was a brand for deserting; and the second he bit in the throat, where there was a hideous mole; and the third he bit in the shoulder, where there was the mark of a secret camorra. now, not one of these three durst speak of the wounds in places they all wished to hide; and whenever afterwards they passed the dog, they gave him fair words, and sweet bones, and a wide berth. it is the dogs, and the satirists, and the libellers, and the statesmen who know how to bite like that--in the weak part--that get let alone, and respected, and fed on the fat of the land. * * * for him by whom a thirsty ear is lent to the world's homage, the tocsin of feebleness, if not of failure, has already sounded. the gladness of the man is come when the crowds lisp his name, and the gold fills his hand, and the women's honeyed adulations buzz like golden bees about his path; but how often is the greatness of the artist gone, and gone for ever! because when the world denies you it is easy to deny the world; because when the bread is bitter it is easy not to linger at the meal; because when the oil is low it is easy to rise with dawn; because when the body is without surfeit or temptation it is easy to rise above earth on the wings of the spirit. poverty is very terrible to you, and kills your soul in you sometimes; but it is like the northern blast that lashes men into vikings; it is not the soft, luscious south wind that lulls them into lotos-eaters. * * * i have grave doubts of mrs. siddons. she was a goddess of the age of fret and fume, of stalk and strut, of trilled r's and of nodding plumes. if we had siddons now i fear we should hiss; i am quite sure we should yawn. she must have been melpomene always; nature never. * * * oh, how wise you are and how just!--if there be a spectacle on earth to rejoice the angels, it is your treatment of the animals that you say god has given unto you! it is not for me, a little dog, to touch on such awful mysteries; but--sometimes--i wonder, if ever he ask you how you have dealt with his gift, what will you answer then? if all your slaughtered millions should instead answer for you--if all the countless and unpitied dead, all the goaded, maddened beasts from forest and desert who were torn asunder in the holidays of rome; and all the innocent, playful, gentle lives of little home-bred creatures that have been racked by the knives, and torn by the poisons, and convulsed by the torments, of your modern science, should, instead, answer, with one mighty voice, of a woe no longer inarticulate, of an accusation no more disregarded, what then? well! then, if it be done unto you as you have done, you will seek for mercy and find none in all the width of the universe; you will writhe, and none shall release you; you will pray, and none shall hear. * * * "these fine things don't make one's happiness," i murmured pensively to fanfreluche. "no, my dear, they don't," the little worldling admitted. "they do to women; they're so material, you see. they are angels--o yes, of course!--but they're uncommonly sharp angels where money and good living are concerned. just watch them--watch the tail of their eye--when a cheque is being written or an _éprouvette_ being brought to table. and after all, you know, minced chicken is a good deal nicer than dry bread. of course we can easily be sentimental and above this sort of thing, when the chicken _is_ in our mouths where we sit by the fire; but if we were gnawing wretched bones, out in the cold of the streets, i doubt if we should feel in such a sublime mood. all the praises of poverty are sung by the minstrel who has got a golden harp to chant them on; and all the encomiums on renunciation come from your _bon viveur_ who never denied himself aught in his life!" * * * emotions are quite as detrimental to a dog's tail as they are to a lady's complexion. joseph buonaparte's american wife said to an american gentleman, whom i heard quote her words, that she "never laughed because it made wrinkles:" there is a good deal of wisdom in that cachinatory abstinence. there is nothing in the world that wears people (or dogs) so much as feeling of any kind, tender, bitter, humoristic, or emotional. how often you commend a fresh-coloured matron with her daughters, and a rosy-cheeked hunting squire in his saddle, who, with their half-century of years, yet look so comely, so blooming, so clear-browed, and so smooth-skinned. how often you distrust the weary delicate creature, with the hectic flush of her rouge, in society; and the worn, tired, colourless face of the man of the world who takes her down to dinner. well, to my fancy, you may be utterly wrong. an easy egotism, a contented sensualism, may have carried the first comfortably and serenely through their bank-note-lined paradise of commonplace existence. how shall you know what heart-sickness in their youth, what aching desires for joys never found, what sorrowful power of sympathy, what fatal keenness of vision, have blanched the faded cheek, and lined the weary mouth, of the other twain? * * * "sheep and men are very much alike," said trust, who thought both very poor creatures. "very much alike indeed. they go in flocks, and can't give a reason why. they leave their fleece on any bramble that is strong enough to insist on fleecing them. they bleat loud at imagined evils, while they tumble straight into real dangers. and for going off the line, there's nothing like them. there may be pits, thorns, quagmires, spring-guns, what not, the other side of the hedge, but go off the straight track they will--and no dog can stop them. it's just the sheer love of straying. you may bark at them right and left; go they will, though they break their legs down a limekiln. oh, men and sheep are wonderfully similar; take them all in all." * * * ah! you people never guess the infinite woe we dogs suffer in new homes, under strange tyrannies; you never heed how we shrink from unfamiliar hands, and shudder at unfamiliar voices, how lonely we feel in unknown places, how acutely we dread harshness, novelty, and scornful treatment. dogs die oftentimes of severance from their masters; there is greyfriars' bobby now in edinboro' town who never has been persuaded to leave his dead owner's grave all these many years through. you see such things, but you are indifferent to them. "it is only a dog," you say; "what matter if the brute fret to death?" you don't understand it of course; you who so soon forget all your own dead--the mother that bore you, the mistress that loved you, the friend that fought with you shoulder to shoulder; and of course, also, you care nothing for the measureless blind pains, the mute helpless sorrows, the vague lonely terrors, that ache in our little dumb hearts. * * * lucretius has said how charming it is to stand under a shelter in a storm, and see another hurrying through its rain and wind; but a woman would refine that sort of cruelty, and would not be quite content unless she had an umbrella beside her that she refused to lend. * * * "oh, pooh, my dear!" cried fanfreluche. "he has robbed his host at cards, and abused his host behind his back; to fulfil the whole duty of a nineteenth century guest it only remains for him to betray his host in love!" "you think very ill of men?" i muttered; i was, indeed, slightly weary of her sceptical supercilious treatment of all things; your pseudo-philosopher, who will always think he has plumbed the ocean with his silver-topped cane, is a great bore sometimes. "i think very well of men," returned fanfreluche. "you are mistaken, my dear. there are only two things that they never are honest about--and that is their sport and their women. when they get talking of their rocketers, or their runs, their pigeon-score, or their _bonnes fortunes_, they always lie--quite unconsciously. and if they miss their bird or their woman, isn't it always because the sun was in their eyes as they fired, or because she wasn't half good-looking enough to try after?--bless your heart, i know them!" "if you do, you are not complimentary to them," i grumbled. "can't help that, my dear," returned fanfreluche. "gracious! whatever is there that stands the test of knowing it well? i have heard beltran say, that you find out what an awful humbug the staubbach is when you go up to the top and see you can straddle across it. well, the staubbach is just like everything in this life. keep your distance, and how well the creature looks!--all veiled in its spray, and all bright with its prismatic colours, so deep, and so vast, and so very impressive. but just go up to the top, scale the crags of its character, and measure the height of its aspirations, and fathom the torrent of its passions, and sift how much is the foam of speech, and how little is the well-spring of thought. well, my dear, it is a very uncommon creature if it don't turn out just like the staubbach." * * * i think if you knew what you did, even the most thoughtless amongst you would not sanction with your praise, and encourage with your coin, the brutality that trains dancing-dogs. have human mimes if you will; it is natural to humanity to caper and grimace and act a part: but for pity's sake do not countenance the torture with which avarice mercilessly trains us "dumb beasts" for the trade of tricks. "the clown-dog draws throngs to laugh and applaud," says some advertisement: yes, and i knew a very clever clown-dog once. his feet were blistered with the hot irons on which he had been taught to dance; his teeth had been drawn lest he should use his natural weapons against his cowardly tyrants; his skin beneath his short white hair was black with bruises; though originally of magnificent courage, his spirit had been so broken by torture that he trembled if a leaf blew against him; and his eyes--well, if the crowds that applauded him had once looked at those patient, wistful, quiet eyes, with their unutterable despair, those crowds would have laughed no more, unless they had indeed been devils. who has delivered us unto you to be thus tortured, and martyred? who?--oh, that awful eternal mystery that ye yourselves cannot explain! * * * believe me, it is the light or the darkness of our own fate that either gives "greenness to the grass and glory to the flower," or leaves both sickly, wan, and colourless. a little breadth of sunny lawn, the spreading shadow of a single beech, the gentle click of a little garden-gate, the scent of some simple summer roses--how fair these are in your memory because of a voice which then was on your ear, because of eyes that then gazed in your own. and the grandeur of nile, and the lustre of the after-glow, and the solemn desolation of carnac, and the wondrous beauty of the flushed sea of tossing reeds, are all cold, and dead, and valueless, because in those eyes no love now lies for you; because that voice, for you, is now for ever silent. * * * for, write as you will of the glory of poverty, and of the ennui of pleasure, there is no life like this life, wherein to the sight and the sense all things minister; wherefrom harsh discord and all unloveliness are banished: where the rare beauty of high-born women is common; where the passions at their wildest still sheathe themselves in courtesy's silver scabbard; where the daily habits of existence are made graceful and artistic; where grief, and woe, and feud, and futile longing for lost loves, can easiest be forgot in delicate laughter and in endless change. artificial? ah, well, it may be so! but since nevermore will you return to the life of the savage, to the wigwam of the squaw, it is best, methinks, that the art of living--the great _savoir vivre_--should be brought, as you seek to bring all other arts, up to uttermost perfection. * * * men are very much in society as women will them to be. let a woman's society be composed of men gently born and bred, and if she find them either coarse or stupid, make answer to her--"you must have been coarse or stupid yourself." and if she demur to the _tu quoque_ as to a base and illogical form of argument, which we will grant that it usually is, remind her that the cream of a pasturage may be pure and rich, but if it pass into the hands of a clumsy farm serving-maid, then shall the cheese made thereof be neither roquefort nor stilton, but rough and flavourless and uneatable, "like a banbury cheese, nothing but paring." now, the influence of a woman's intelligence on the male intellects about her is as the churn to the cream: it can either enrich and utilise it, or impoverish and waste it. it is not too much to say that it almost invariably, in the present decadence of the salon and parrot-jabbering of the suffrage, has the latter effect alone. * * * humiliation is a guest that only comes to those who have made ready his resting-place, and will give him a fair welcome. my father used to say to me, "child, when you grow to womanhood, whether you be rich or poor, gentle or simple, as the balance of your life may turn for or against you, remember always this one thing--that no one can disgrace you save yourself. dishonour is like the aaron's beard in the hedgerows, it can only poison if it be plucked." they call the belladonna aaron's beard in the country, you know; and it is true that the cattle, simple as they are, are never harmed by it; just because, though it is always in their path, they never stop and taste it. i think it may just be so with us; with any sort of evil. * * * "every pleasure has its penalty. if a woman be celebrated, the world always thinks she must be wicked. if she's wise, she laughs. it is the bitter that you must take with the sweet, as you get the sorrel flavour with the softness of the cream, in your soup à la bonne femme. but the cream would clog without it, and the combination is piquant." "only to jaded palates," i retorted; for i have often tasted the bonne femme, and detest it. by the way, what exquisite irony lies in some of your kitchen nomenclature! * * * once at a great house in the west i saw a gathering on the young lord's coming of age. there were half the highest people in england there; and a little while before the tenantry went to their banquet in the marquees, the boy-peer and his guests were all out on the terraces and the lawns. with him was a very noble deer-hound, whom he had owned for four years. suddenly the hound, red comyn, left his titled master, and plunged head-foremost through the patrician crowd, and threw himself in wild raptures on to a poor, miserable, tattered, travelling cobbler, who had dared to creep in through the open gates and the happy crowds, hoping for a broken crust. red comyn pounced on him, and caressed him, and laid massive paws upon his shoulders, and gave him maddest welcome--this poor hungry man, in the midst of that aristocratic festival. the cobbler could scarcely speak awhile; but when he got his breath, his arms were round the hound, and his eyes were wet with tears. "please pardon him, my lord," he said, all in a quiver and a tremble. "he was mine once from the time he was pupped for a whole two year; and he loved me, poor soul, and he ha'n't forgot. he don't know no better, my lord--he's only a dog." no; he didn't know any better than to remember, and be faithful, and to recognise a friend, no matter in what woe or want. ah, indeed, dogs are far behind you! for the credit of "the order," it may be added that red comyn and the cobbler have parted no more, but dwell together still upon that young lord's lands. * * * appearances are so and so, hence facts must be so and so likewise, is society's formula. this sounds mathematical and accurate; but as facts, nine times out of ten, belie appearances, the logic is very false. there is something, indeed, comically stupid in your satisfied belief in the surface of any parliamentary or public facts that may be presented to you, varnished out of all likeness to the truth by the suave periods of writer or speaker. but there is something tragically stupid about your dogged acceptation of any social construction of a private life, damned out of all possibility of redemption by the flippant deductions of chatter-box or of slanderer. now and then you poor humanities, who are always so dimly conscious that you are all lies to one another, get a glimpse of various truths from some cynical dead man's diary, or some statesman's secret papers. but you never are warned: you placidly continue greedily to gobble up, unexamined, the falsehoods of public men; and impudently to adjudicate on the unrevealed secrets of private lives. * * * you are given, very continually, to denouncing or lamenting the gradual encroachment of mob-rule. but, alas! whose fault, pray, is it that bill-discounters dwell as lords in ancient castles; that money-lenders reign over old, time-honoured lands; that low-born hirelings dare to address their master with a grin and sneer, strong in the knowledge of his shameful secrets; and that the vile daughters of the populace are throned in public places, made gorgeous with the jewels which, from the heirlooms of a great patriciate, have fallen to be the gew-gaws of a fashionable infamy? ah, believe me, an aristocracy is a feudal fortress which, though it has merciless beleaguers in the jacquerie of plebeian envy, has yet no foe so deadly as its own internal traitor of lost dignity! * * * "but ye dunna get good wage?" said the miner, with practical wisdom. "we doan't," confessed the east anglian, "we doan't. and that theer botherin' machinery as do the threshin', and the reapin', and the sawin', and the mowin', hev a ruined us. see!--in old time, when ground was frost-bit or water-soaked, the min threshed in-doors, in barns, and kep in work so. but now the machine, he dew all theer is to dew, and dew it up so quick. theer's a many more min than theer be things to dew. in winter-time measter he doan't want half o' us; and we're just out o' labour; and we fall sick, cos o' naethin' to eat; and goes tew parish--able-bodied min strong as steers." "machine's o' use i' mill-work," suggested one of the northerners. "o' use! ay, o' coorse 'tis o' use--tew tha measters," growled the east anglian. "but if ye warn't needed at yer mill cos the iron beast was a weavin' and a reelin' and a dewin' of it all, how'd yer feel? wi' six children, mebbe, biggest ony seven or eight, a crazin' ye for bread. and ye mayn't send 'em out, cos o' labour-laws, to pick up a halfpenny for theerselves; and tha passon be all agin yer, cos ye warn't thrifty and didn't gev a penny for the forrin blacks out o' the six shillin' a week? would yer think iron beast wor o' use thin? or would yer damn him hard?" * * * the poetic faculty--as you call the insight and the sympathy which feels a divinity in all created things and a joy unutterable in the natural beauty of the earth--is lacking in the generality of women, notwithstanding their claims to the monopoly of emotion. if it be not, how comes it that women have given you no great poet since the days of sappho? it is women's deficiency in intellect, you will observe. not a whit: it is women's deficiency in sympathy. the greatness of a poet lies in the universality of his sympathies. and women are not sympathetic, because they are intensely self-centred. * * * all living things seemed to draw closer together in the perils and privations of the winter, as you men do in the frost of your frights or your sorrows. in summer--as in prosperity--every one is for himself, and is heedless of others because he needs nothing of them. * * * it was covered, from the lowest of its stones to the top of its peaked roof, with a gigantic rose-thorn. "sure the noblest shrub as ever god have made," would ben say, looking at its massive, cactus-like branches, with their red, waxen, tender-coloured berries. the cottage was very old, and the rose-thorn was the growth of centuries. men's hands had never touched it. it had stretched where it would, ungoverned, unhampered, unarrested. it had a beautiful dusky glow about it always, from its peculiar thickness and its blended hues; and in the chilly weather the little robin red-breasts would come and flutter into it, and screen themselves in its shelter from the cold, and make it rosier yet with the brightness of their little ruddy throats. "tha christ-birds do allus seem safest like i' tha christ-bush," ben would say softly, breaking off the larger half of his portion of oaten cake, to crumble for the robins with the dawn. i never knew what he meant, though i saw he had some soft, grave, old-world story in his thoughts, that made the rose-thorn and the red-breasts both sacred to him. * * * "ah, my dear, you little dream the ecstatic delight that exists in waste, for the vulgarity of a mind that has never enjoyed possession, till it comes to riot at one blow in spoliation!" "i do wish you would answer me plainly," i said, sulkily, "without--without----" "epigrams!" she added, sharply; "i daresay you do, my dear. epigrams are the salts of life; but they wither up the grasses of foolishness, and naturally the grasses hate to be sprinkled therewith." * * * we are ill appreciated, we cynics; on my honour if cynicism be not the highest homage to virtue there is, i should like to know what virtue wants. we sigh over her absence, and we glorify her perfections. but virtue is always a trifle stuck-up, you know, and she is very difficult to please. she is always looking uneasily out of the "tail of her eye" at her opposition-leader sin, and wondering why sin dresses so well, and drinks such very good wine. we "cynics" tell her that under sin's fine clothes there is a breast cancer-eaten, and at the bottom of the wine there is a bitter dreg called satiety; but virtue does not much heed that; like the woman she is, she only notes that sin drives a pair of ponies in the sunshine, while she herself is often left to plod wearily through the everlasting falling rain. so she dubs us "cynics" and leaves us--who can wonder if we won't follow her through the rain? sin smiles so merrily if she makes us pay toll at the end; whereas virtue--ah me, virtue _will_ find such virtue in frowning! * * * women always put me in mind of that bird of yours, the cuckoo. your poetry and your platitudes have all combined to attach a most sentimental value to cuckoos and women. all sorts of pretty phantasies surround them both; the springtide of the year, the breath of early flowers, the verse of old dead poets, the scent of sweet summer rains, the light of bright dewy dawns--all these things you have mingled with the thought of the cuckoo, till its first call through the woods in april brings all these memories with it. just so in like manner have you entangled your poetic ideals, your dreams of peace and purity, all divinities of patience and of pity, all sweet saintly sacrifice and sorrow, with your ideas of women. well--cuckoos and women, believe me, are very much like each other, and not at all like your phantasy:--to get a well-feathered nest without the trouble of making it, and to keep easily in it themselves, no matter who may turn out in the cold, is both cuckoo and woman all over; and, while you quote herrick and wordsworth about them as you walk in the dewy greenwood, they are busy slaying the poor lonely fledglings, that their own young may lie snug and warm. * * * "then everybody is a hypocrite?" "not a bit, child. we always like what we haven't got; and people are quite honest very often in their professions, though they give the lie direct to them in their practice. people can talk themselves into believing that they believe anything. when the preacher discourses on the excellence of holiness, he may have been a thoroughgoing scamp all his life; but it don't follow he's dishonest, because he's so accustomed to talk goody-goody talk that it runs off his lips as the thread off a reel----" "but he must know he's a scamp?" "good gracious me, why should he? i have met a thousand scamps; but i never met one who considered himself so. self-knowledge isn't so common. bless you, my dear, a man no more sees himself, as others see him, in a moral looking-glass, than he does in a mirror out of his dressing-box. i know a man who has forged bills, run off with his neighbour's wife, and left sixty thousand pounds odd in debts behind him; but he only thinks himself 'a victim of circumstances'--honestly thinks it too. a man never is so honest as when he speaks well of himself. men are always optimists when they look inwards, and pessimists when they look round them." i yawned a little; nothing is so pleasant, as i have known later, as to display your worldly wisdom in epigram and dissertation, but it is a trifle tedious to hear another person display theirs. when you talk yourself, you think how witty, how original, how acute you are; but when another does so, you are very apt to think only--what a crib from rochefoucauld! _two little wooden shoes._ brussels has stones that are sermons, or rather that are quaint, touching, illuminated legends of the middle ages, which those who run may read. brussels is a gay little city that lies as bright within its girdle of woodland as any butterfly that rests upon moss. the city has its ways and wiles of paris. it decks itself with white and gold. it has music under its trees and soldiers in its streets, and troops marching and counter-marching along its sunny avenues. it has blue and pink, and yellow and green, on its awnings and on its house-fronts. it has a merry open-air life on its pavements at little marble tables before little gay-coloured cafés. it has gilded balconies and tossing flags and comic operas, and leisurely pleasure-seekers, and tries always to believe and make the world believe that it is paris in very truth. but this is only the brussels of the noblesse and the foreigners. there is a brussels that is better than this--a brussels that belongs to the old burgher-life, to the artists and the craftsmen, to the master masons of moyen-age, to the same spirit and soul that once filled the free men of ghent and the citizens of bruges and the besieged of leyden, and the blood of egmont and of horne. down there by the water-side, where the old quaint walls lean over the yellow sluggish stream, and the green barrels of the antwerp barges swing against the dusky piles of the crumbling bridges: in the grey square desolate courts of the old palaces, where in cobwebbed galleries and silent chambers the flemish tapestries drop to pieces: in the great populous square, where, above the clamorous and rushing crowds, the majestic front of the maison du roi frowns against the sun, and the spires and pinnacles of the burgomaster's gathering-halls tower into the sky in all the fantastic luxuriance of gothic fancy: under the vast shadowy wings of angels in the stillness of the cathedral, across whose sunny aisles some little child goes slowly all alone, laden with lilies for the feast of the assumption, till their white glory hides its curly head: in all strange quaint old-world niches withdrawn from men in silent grass-grown corners, where a twelfth-century corbel holds a pot of roses, or a gothic arch yawns beneath a wool-warehouse, or a water-spout with a grinning faun's head laughs in the grim humour of the moyen-age above the bent head of a young lace-worker;---- in all these, brussels, although more worldly than her sisters of ghent and bruges, and far more worldly yet than her teuton cousins of freiburg and nürnberg, brussels is in her own way still like some monkish story, mixed up with the romaunt of the rose, or rather like some light french vaudeville, all jests and smiles, illustrated in motley contrast with helm and hauberk, cope and cowl, praying knights and fighting priests, winged griffins and nimbused saints, flame-breathing dragons and enamoured princes, all mingled together in the illuminated colours and the heroical grotesque romance of the middle ages. and it was this side of the city that bébée knew, and she loved it well and would not leave it for the market of the madeleine. * * * it was a warm grey evening, the streets were full; there were blossoms in all the balconies, and gay colours in all the dresses. the old tinker put his tools together and whispered to her-- "bébée, as it is your feast-day, come and stroll in st. hubert's gallery, and i will buy you a horn of sugarplums or a ribbon, and we can see the puppet-show afterwards, eh?" but the children were waiting at home: she would not spend the evening in the city; she only thought she would just kneel a moment in the cathedral and say a little prayer or two for a minute--the saints were so good in giving her so many friends. there is something very touching in the netherlander's relation with his deity. it is all very vague to him; a jumble of veneration and familiarity, of sanctity and profanity, without any thought of being familiar, or any idea of being profane. there is a homely poetry, an innocent affectionateness, in it characteristic of the people. he talks to his good angel michel, and to his friend that dear little jesus, much as he would talk to the shoemaker over the way, or the cooper's child in the doorway. it is a very unreasonable, foolish, clumsy sort of religion, this theology in wooden shoes; it is half grotesque, half pathetic; the grandmothers pass it on to the grandchildren, as they pass the bowl of potatoes round the stove in the long winter nights; it is as silly as possible, but it comforts them as they carry faggots over the frozen canals or wear their eyes blind over the squares of lace; and it has in it the supreme pathos of a perfect confidence, of an utter childlike and undoubting trust. this had been taught to bébée, and she went to sleep every night in the firm belief that the sixteen little angels of the flemish prayer kept watch and ward over her bed. * * * she said her prayer, and thanked the saints for all their gifts and goodness, her clasped hands against her silver shield; her basket on the pavement by her; abovehead the sunset rays streaming purple and crimson and golden through the painted windows that are the wonder of the world. when her prayer was done she still kneeled there; her head thrown back to watch the light; her hands clasped still; and on her upturned face the look that made the people say, "what does she see?--the angels or the dead?" she forgot everything. she forgot the cherries at home, and the children even. she was looking upward at the stories of the painted panes; she was listening to the message of the dying sun-rays; she was feeling vaguely, wistfully, unutterably the tender beauty of the sacred place and the awful wonder of the world in which she with her sixteen years was all alone, like a little blue cornflower amongst the wheat that goes for grist, and the barley that makes men drunk. for she was alone, though she had so many friends. quite alone sometimes, for god had been cruel to her, and had made her a lark without song. * * * he went leisurely, travelling up the bright meuse river, and across the monotony of the plains, then green with wheat a foot high, and musical with the many bells of the easter kermesses in the quaint old-world villages. there was something so novel, so sleepy, so harmless, so mediæval, in the flemish life, that it soothed him. he had been swimming all his life in salt, sea-fed rapids; this sluggish, dull canal-water, mirroring between its rushes a life that had scarcely changed for centuries, had a charm for him. he stayed awhile in antwerpen. the town is ugly and beautiful; it is like a dull, quaint, grès de flandre jug, that has precious stones set inside its rim. it is a burgher ledger of bales and barrels, of sale and barter, of loss and gain; but in the heart of it there are illuminated leaves of missal vellum, all gold and colour, and monkish story and heroic ballad, that could only have been executed in the days when art was a religion. * * * "oh--to-morrow perhaps, or next year--or when fate fancies. "or rather--when i choose," he thought to himself, and let his eyes rest with a certain pleasure on the little feet that went beside him in the grass, and the pretty neck that showed ever and again, as the frills of her linen bodice were blown back by the wind, and her own quick motion. bébée looked also up at him; he was very handsome, or seemed so to her, after the broad, blunt, characterless faces of the brabantois around her. he walked with an easy grace, he was clad in picture-like velvets, he had a beautiful poetic head, and eyes like deep-brown waters, and a face like one of jordaens' or rembrandt's cavaliers in the galleries where she used to steal in of a sunday, and look up at the paintings, and dream of what that world could be in which those people had lived. "_you_ are of the people of rubes' country, are you not?" she asked him. "of what country, my dear?" "of the people that live in the gold frames," said bébée, quite seriously. "in the galleries, you know. i know a charwoman that scrubs the floors of the arenenberg, and she lets me in sometimes to look--and you are just like those great gentlemen in the gold frames, only you have not a hawk and a sword, and they always have. i used to wonder where they came from, for they are not like any of us one bit, and the charwoman--she is lisa dredel, and lives in the street of the pot d'etain--always said, 'dear heart, they all belong to rubes' land--we never see their like now-a-days.' but _you_ must come out of rubes' land--at least, i think so; do you not?" he caught her meaning; he knew that rubes was the homely abbreviation of rubens, that all the netherlanders used, and he guessed the idea that was reality to this little, lonely, fanciful mind. "perhaps i do," he answered her with a smile, for it was not worth his while to disabuse her thoughts of any imagination that glorified him to her. "do you not want to see rubes' world, little one? to see the gold and the grandeur, and the glitter of it all?--never to toil or get tired?--always to move in a pageant?--always to live like the hawks in the paintings you talk of, with silver bells hung round you, and a hood all sewn with pearls?" "no," said bébée, simply. "i should like to see it--just to see it, as one looks through a grating into the king's grapehouses here. but i should not like to live in it. i love my hut, and the starling, and the chickens--and what would the garden do without me?--and the children, and the old annémie? i could not anyhow, anywhere be any happier than i am. there is only one thing i wish." "and what is that?" "to know something. not to be so ignorant. just look--i can read a little, it is true; my hours, and the letters, and when krebs brings in a newspaper i can read a little of it--not much. i know french well, because antoine was french himself, and never did talk flemish to me; and they, being flemish, cannot, of course, read the newspapers at all, and so think it very wonderful indeed in me. but what i want is to know things, to know all about what _was_ before ever i was living. ste. gudule now--they say it was built hundreds of years before; and rubes again--they say he was a painter-king in antwerpen before the oldest woman like annémie ever began to count time. i am sure books tell you all those things, because i see the students coming and going with them; and when i saw once the millions of books in the rue de la musée, i asked the keeper what use they were for, and he said, 'to make men wise, my dear.' but bac the cobbler, who was with me,--it was a fête day--bac, _he_ said, 'do you not believe that, bébée? they only muddle folk's brains; for one book tells them one thing, and another book another, and so on, till they are dazed with all the contrary lying; and if you see a bookish man, be sure you see a very poor creature who could not hoe a patch, or kill a pig, or stitch an upper-leather, were it ever so.' but i do not believe that bac said right. did he?" "i am not sure. on the whole, i think it is the truest remark on literature i have ever heard, and one that shows great judgment in bac. well?" "well--sometimes, you know," said bébée, not understanding his answer, but pursuing her thoughts confidentially; "sometimes i talk like this to the neighbours, and they laugh at me. because mère krebs says that when one knows how to spin, and sweep, and make bread, and say one's prayers, and milk a goat or a cow, it is all a woman wants to know this side of heaven. but for me, i cannot help it--when i look at those windows in the cathedral, or at those beautiful twisted little spires that are all over our hôtel de ville, i want to know who the men were that made them--what they did and thought--how they looked and spoke--how they learned to shape stone into leaves and grasses like that--how they could imagine all those angel faces on the glass. when i go alone in the quite early morning or at night when it is still--sometimes in winter i have to stay till it is dark over the lace--i hear their feet come after me, and they whisper to me close, 'look what beautiful things we have done, bébée, and you all forget us quite. we did what never will die, but our names are as dead as the stones.' and then i am so sorry for them and ashamed. and i want to know more. can you tell me?" he looked at her earnestly; her eyes were shining, her cheeks were warm, her little mouth was tremulous with eagerness. "did any one ever speak to you in that way?" he asked her. "no," she answered him. "it comes into my head of itself. sometimes i think the cathedral angels put it there. for the angels must be tired, you know; always pointing to god and always seeing men turn away. i used to tell antoine sometimes. but he used to shake his head and say that it was no use thinking; most likely ste. gudule and st. michael had set the church down in the night all ready made--why not? god made the trees, and they were more wonderful, he thought, for his part. and so perhaps they are, but that is no answer. and i do _want_ to know. i want some one who will tell me,--and if you come out of rubes' country as i think, no doubt you know everything, or remember it?" he smiled. * * * the sun came and touched the lichens of the roof into gold. bébée smiled at it gaily as it rose above the tops of the trees, and shone on all the little villages scattered over the plains. "ah, dear sun!" she cried to it. "i am going to be wise. i am going into great rubes' country. i am going to hear of the past and the future. i am going to listen to what the poets say. the swallows never would tell me anything; but now i shall know as much as they know. are you not glad for me, o sun?" the sun came over the trees, and heard and said nothing. if he had answered at all he must have said:-- "the only time when a human soul is either wise or happy, is in that one single moment when the hour of my own shining or of the moon's beaming seems to that single soul to be past and present and future, to be at once the creation and the end of all things. faust knew that; so will you." but the sun shone on and held his peace. he sees all things ripen and fall. he can wait. he knows the end. it is always the same. he brings the fruit out of the peach-flower, and rounds it and touches it into ruddiest rose and softest gold; but the sun knows well that the peach must drop--whether into the basket to be eaten by kings, or on to the turf to be eaten by ants. what matter which very much after all? the sun is not a cynic; he is only wise because he is life and he is death, the creator and the corrupter of all things. * * * "and where are you going so fast, as if those wooden shoes of yours were sandals of mercury?" "mercury--is that a shoemaker?" "no, my dear. he did a terrible bit of cobbling once, when he made woman. but he did not shoe her feet with swiftness that i know of; she only runs away to be run after, and if you do not pursue her, she comes back--always." bébée did not understand at all. "i thought god made women?" she said, a little awe-stricken. * * * there is a dignity of peasants as well as of kings--the dignity that comes from all absence of effort, all freedom from pretence. bébée had this, and she had more still than this: she had the absolute simplicity of childhood with her still. some women have it still when they are fourscore. * * * prosper bar, who is a calvinist, always says, "do not mix up prayer and play; you would not cut a gherkin in your honey;" but i do not know why he called prayer a gherkin, because it is sweet enough--sweeter than anything, i think. * * * there is not much change in the great soignies woods. they are aisles on aisles of beautiful green trees, crossing and recrossing; tunnels of dark foliage that look endless; long avenues of beech, of oak, of elm, or of fir, with the bracken and the brushwood growing dense between; a delicious forest growth everywhere, shady even at noon, and, by a little past midday, dusky as evening; with the forest fragrance, sweet and dewy, all about, and under the fern the stirring of wild game, and the white gleam of little rabbits, and the sound of the wings of birds. soignies is not legend-haunted like the black forest, nor king-haunted like fontainebleau, nor sovereign of two historic streams like the brave woods of heidelberg; nor wild and romantic, and broken with black rocks, and poetised by the shade of jaques, and swept through by a perfect river, like its neighbours of ardennes; nor throned aloft on mighty mountains like the majestic oak glades of the swabian hills of the ivory-carvers. soignies is only a flemish forest in a plain, throwing its shadow over corn-fields and cattle-pastures, with no panorama beyond it and no wonders in its depth. but it is a fresh, bold, beautiful forest for all that. it has only green leaves to give--green leaves always, league after league; but there is about it that vague mystery which all forests have, and this universe of leaves seems boundless, and pan might dwell in it, and st. hubert, and john keats. * * * "i am going to learn to be very wise, dear," she told them; "i shall not have time to dance or to play." "but people are not merry when they are wise, bébée," said franz, the biggest boy. "perhaps not," said bébée; "but one cannot be everything, you know, franz." "but surely you would rather be merry than anything else?" "i think there is something better, franz. i am not sure; i want to find out; i will tell you when i know." "who has put that into your head, bébée?" "the angels in the cathedral," she told them, and the children were awed and left her, and went away to play blindman's buff by themselves on the grass by the swan's water. "but for all that the angels have said it," said franz to his sisters, "i cannot see what good it will be to her to be wise, if she will not care any longer afterwards for almond gingerbread and currant cake." * * * to vice, innocence must always seem only a superior kind of chicanery. * * * "ay dear; when the frost kills your brave rosebush, root and bud, do you think of the thorns that pricked you, or only of the fair sweet-smelling things that flowered all your summer?" * * * flowers belong to fairyland; the flowers and the birds, and the butterflies are all that the world has kept of its golden age; the only perfectly beautiful things on earth, joyous, innocent, half divine, useless, say they who are wiser than god. * * * when the day was done, bébée gave a quick sigh as she looked across the square. she had so wanted to tell him that she was not ungrateful, and she had a little moss-rose ready, with a sprig of sweetbriar, and a tiny spray of maiden-hair fern that grew under the willows, which she had kept covered up with a leaf of sycamore all the day long. no one would have it now. the child went out of the place sadly, as the carillon rang. there was only the moss-rose in her basket, and the red and white currants that had been given her for her dinner. she went along the twisting, many-coloured, quaintly-fashioned streets, till she came to the water-side. it is very ancient, there still; there are all manner of old buildings, black and brown and grey, peaked roofs, gabled windows, arched doors, crumbling bridges, twisted galleries leaning to touch the dark surface of the canal, dusky wharves crowded with barrels, and bales, and cattle, and timber, and all the various freightage that the good ships come and go with all the year round, to and from the zuyder zee, and the baltic water, and the wild northumbrian shores, and the iron-bound scottish headlands, and the pretty grey norman seaports, and the white sandy dunes of holland, with the toy towns and the straight poplar-trees. bébée was fond of watching the brigs and barges, that looked so big to her, with their national flags flying, and their tall masts standing thick as grass, and their tawny sails flapping in the wind, and about them the sweet, strong smell of that strange, unknown thing, the sea. sometimes the sailors would talk with her; sometimes some old salt, sitting astride of a cask, would tell her a mariner's tale of far-away lands and mysteries of the deep; sometimes some curly-headed cabin-boy would give her a shell or a plume of seaweed, and try and make her understand what the wonderful wild water was like, which was not quiet and sluggish and dusky as this canal was, but was for ever changing and moving, and curling and leaping, and making itself now blue as her eyes, now black as that thunder-cloud, now white as the snow that the winter wind tossed, now pearl-hued and opaline as the convolvulus that blew in her own garden. and bébée would listen, with the shell in her lap, and try to understand, and gaze at the ships and then at the sky beyond them, and try to figure to herself those strange countries, to which these ships were always going, and saw in fancy all the blossoming orchard province of green france, and all the fir-clothed hills and rushing rivers of the snow-locked swedish shore, and saw too, doubtless, many lands that had no place at all except in dreamland, and were more beautiful even than the beauty of the earth, as poets' countries are, to their own sorrow, oftentimes. but this dull day bébée did not go down upon the wharf; she did not want the sailor's tales; she saw the masts and the bits of bunting that streamed from them, and they made her restless, which they had never done before. instead she went in at a dark old door and climbed up a steep staircase that went up and up and up, as though she were mounting ste. gudule's belfry towers; and at the top of it entered a little chamber in the roof, where one square unglazed hole that served for light looked out upon the canal, with all its crowded craft, from the dainty schooner yacht, fresh as gilding and holystone could make her, that was running for pleasure to the scheldt, to the rude, clumsy coal-barge, black as night, that bore the rough diamonds of belgium to the snow-buried roofs of christiania and stromsöon. in the little dark attic there was a very old woman in a red petticoat and a high cap, who sat against the window, and pricked out lace patterns with a pin on thick paper. she was eighty-five years old, and could hardly keep body and soul together. bébée, running to her, kissed her. "o mother annémie, look here! beautiful red and white currants, and a roll; i saved them for you. they are the first currants we have seen this year. me? oh, for me, i have eaten more than are good! you know i pick fruit like a sparrow, always. dear mother annémie, are you better? are you quite sure you are better to-day?" the little old withered woman, brown as a walnut and meagre as a rush, took the currants, and smiled with a childish glee, and began to eat them, blessing the child with each crumb she broke off the bread. "why had you not a grandmother of your own, my little one?" she mumbled. "how good you would have been to her, bébée?" "yes," said bébée seriously, but her mind could not grasp the idea. it was easier for her to believe the fanciful lily-parentage of antoine's stories. "how much work have you done, annémie? oh, all that? all that? but there is enough for a week. you work too early and too late, you dear annémie." "nay, bébée, when one has to get one's bread, that cannot be. but i am afraid my eyes are failing. that rose now, is it well done?" "beautifully done. would the baës take them if they were not? you know he is one that cuts every centime in four pieces." "ah! sharp enough, sharp enough--that is true. but i am always afraid of my eyes. i do not see the flags out there so well as i used to do." "because the sun is so bright, annémie; that is all. i myself, when i have been sitting all day in the place in the light, the flowers look pale to me. and you know it is not age with _me_, annémie?" the old woman and the young girl laughed together at that droll idea. "you have a merry heart, dear little one," said old annémie. "the saints keep it to you always." "may i tidy the room a little?" "to be sure, dear, and thank you too. i have not much time, you see; and somehow my back aches badly when i stoop." "and it is so damp here for you, over all that water!" said bébée, as she swept and dusted and set to rights the tiny place, and put in a little broken pot a few sprays of honeysuckle and rosemary that she had brought with her. "it is so damp here. you should have come and lived in my hut with me, annémie, and sat out under the vine all day, and looked after the chickens for me when i was in the town. they are such mischievous little souls; as soon as my back is turned one or other is sure to push through the roof, and get out amongst the flower-beds. will you never change your mind, and live with me, annémie? i am sure you would be happy, and the starling says your name quite plain, and he is such a funny bird to talk to; you never would tire of him. will you never come? it is so bright there, and green and sweet-smelling, and to think you never even have seen it!--and the swans and all,--it is a shame." "no, dear," said old annémie, eating her last bunch of currants. "you have said so so often, and you are good and mean it, that i know. but i could not leave the water. it would kill me. "out of this window you know i saw my jeannot's brig go away--away--away--till the masts were lost in the mists. going with iron to norway; the fleur d'epine of this town, a good ship, and a sure, and he her mate; and as proud as might be, and with a little blest mary in lead round his throat. "she was to be back in port in eight months bringing timber. eight months--that brought easter time. "but she never came. never, never, never, you know. "i sat here watching them come and go, and my child sickened and died, and the summer passed, and the autumn, and all the while i looked--looked--looked; for the brigs are all much alike; only his i always saw as soon as she hove in sight because he tied a hank of flax to her mizzen mast; and when he was home safe and sound i spun the hank into hose for him; that was a fancy of his, and for eleven voyages, one on another, he had never missed to tie the flax nor i to spin the hose. "but the hank of flax i never saw this time; nor the brave brig; nor my good man with his sunny blue eyes. "only one day in winter, when the great blocks of ice were smashing hither and thither, a coaster came in and brought tidings of how off in the danish waters they had come on a waterlogged brig, and had boarded her, and had found her empty, and her hull riven in two, and her crew all drowned and dead beyond any manner of doubt. and on her stern there was her name painted white, the fleur d'epine, of brussels, as plain as name could be; and that was all we ever knew--what evil had struck her, or how they had perished, nobody ever told. "only the coaster brought that bit of beam away, with the fleur d'epine writ clear upon it. "but you see i never _know_ my man is dead. "any day--who can say?--any of those ships may bring him aboard of her, and he may leap out on the wharf there, and come running up the stairs as he used to do, and cry, in his merry voice, 'annémie, annémie, here is more flax to spin, here is more hose to weave!' for that was always his homeward word; no matter whether he had had fair weather or foul, he always knotted the flax to his mast-head. "so you see, dear, i could not leave here. for what if he came and found me away? he would say it was an odd fashion of mourning for him. "and i could not do without the window, you know. i can watch all the brigs come in; and i can smell the shipping smell that i have loved all the days of my life; and i can see the lads heaving, and climbing, and furling, and mending their bits of canvas, and hauling their flags up and down. "and then who can say?--the sea never took him, i think--i think i shall hear his voice before i die. "for they do say that god is good." bébée sweeping very noiselessly, listened, and her eyes grew wistful and wondering. she had heard the story a thousand times; always in different words, but always the same little tale, and she knew how old annémie was deaf to all the bells that tolled the time, and blind to all the whiteness of her hair, and all the wrinkles of her face, and only thought of her sea-slain lover as he had been in the days of her youth. * * * when we suffer very much ourselves, anything that smiles in the sun seems cruel--a child, a bird, a dragonfly--nay, even a fluttering ribbon, or a spear-grass that waves in the wind. * * * bébée, whose religion was the sweetest and vaguest mingling of pagan and christian myths, and whose faith in fairies and in saints was exactly equal in strength and in ignorance--bébée filled the delf pot anew carefully, then knelt down on the turf in that little green corner, and prayed in devout hopeful childish good faith to the awful unknown powers who were to her only as gentle guides and kindly playmates. was she too familiar with the holy mother? she was almost fearful that she was; but then the holy mother loved flowers so well, bébée could not feel aloof from her, nor be afraid. "when one cuts the best blossoms for her, and tries to be good, and never tells a lie," thought bébée, "i am quite sure, as she loves the lilies, that she will never altogether forget me." * * * the loveliest love is that which dreams high above all storms, unsoiled by all burdens; but, perhaps, the strongest love is that which, whilst it adores, drags its feet through mire, and burns its brow in heat for the thing beloved. * * * it is, perhaps, the most beautiful square in all northern europe, with its black timbers and gilded carvings, and blazoned windows, and majestic scutcheons, and fantastic pinnacles. this bébée did not know, but she loved it, and she sat resolutely in front of the broodhuis, selling her flowers, smiling, chatting, helping the old woman, counting her little gains, eating her bit of bread at noon-day like any other market girl; but, at times, glancing up to the stately towers and the blue sky, with a look on her face that made the old tinker and cobbler whisper together--"what does she see there?--the dead people or the angels?" the truth was that even bébée herself did not know very surely what she saw--something that was still nearer to her than even this kindly crowd that loved her. that was all she could have said had anybody asked her. but none did. no one wanted to hear what the dead said; and for the angels, the tinker and the cobbler were of opinion that one had only too much of them sculptured about everywhere, and shining on all the casements--in reverence be it spoken of course. _fame._ "there is no soul in them," he muttered, and he set down his lamp and frowned; a sullen mechanical art made him angered like an insult to heaven; and these were soulless; their drawing was fine, their anatomy faultless, their proportions and perspective excellent; but there all merit ended. they were worse than faulty--they were commonplace. there is no sin in art so deadly as that. * * * he had been only a poor lad, a coppersmith's son, here in munich; one among many, and beaten and cursed at home very often for mooning over folly when others were hard at work. but he had minded neither curse nor blow. he had always said to himself, "i am a painter." whilst camps were soaked with blood and echoing only the trumpets of war, he had only seen the sweet divine smile of art. he had gone barefoot to italy for love of it, and had studied, and laboured, and worshipped, and been full of the fever of great effort and content with the sublime peace of conscious power. he had believed in himself: it is much. but it is not all. as years had slid away and the world of men would not believe in him, this noble faith in himself grew a weary and bitter thing. one shadow climbed the hills of the long years with him and was always by his side: this constant companion was failure. fame is very capricious, but failure is seldom inconstant. where it once clings, there it tarries. * * * it was a brilliant and gay day in munich. it was the beginning of a bavarian summer, with the great plain like a sea of grass with flowers for its foam, and the distant alps of tyrol and vorarlberg clearly seen in warm, transparent, buoyant weather. down by the winding ways of the river there were birch and beechen thickets in glory of leaf; big water-lilies spread their white beauty against the old black timbers of the water-mills; and in the quaint, ancient places of the old streets, under the gables and beams, pots of basil, and strings of green pease, and baskets of sweet-smelling gillyflowers and other fragrant old-fashioned things, blossomed wherever there was a breadth of blue sky over them or a maiden's hand within; whilst above the towers and steeples, above the clanging bells of the domkirche and the melon-shaped crest of the frauenkirche, and all the cupolas and spires and minarets in which the city abounds, the pigeons went whirling and wheeling from five at sunrise to seven of sunset, flocks of grey and blue and black and white, happy as only birds can be, and as only birds can be when they are doves of venice or of munich, with all the city's hearths and homes for their granaries, and with the sun and the clouds for their royal estate. in the wide, dull new town it was dusty and hot; the big squares were empty and garish-looking; the blistering frescoes on the buildings were gaudy and out of place; the porticoes and friezes were naked and staring, and wanted all that belongs to them in italy. all the deep, intense shadows, the sultry air, the sense of immeasurable space and of unending light, the half-naked figures graceful as a plume of maize, the vast projecting roofs, the spouts of tossing water, the brown barefoot straw-plaiter passing in a broad path of sunshine, the old bronze lamp above the painted shrine, the gateway framing the ethereal landscape of amethystine horizons and silvery olive ways--they want all these, do these classic porticoes and pediments of italy, and they seem to stare, conscious of a discordance and a lack of harmony in the german air. but in the old town there is beauty still; in the timbered house-fronts, in the barred and sculptured casements, in the mighty gables, in the gilded and pictured signs, in the sunburnt walls, in the grey churches, in the furriers' stalls, in the toysellers' workshops, in the beetling fortresses, in the picturesque waysides, here is the old munich of the minnesingers and master masons, of the burghers and the _burschen_, of the schefflertanz, and of the merry christchild fair. and old munich keeps all to itself, whether with winter snow on its eaves, or summer leaves in its lattices; and here the maidens still wear coloured kerchiefs on their heads and clattering shoes on their feet; and here the students still look like etchings for old ballads, with long hair on their shoulders and grey cloaks worn jauntily; and here something of the odour and aspect of the middle ages lingers as about an illuminated roll of vellum that has lain long put away and forgotten in a desk, with faded rose-leaves and a miniature that has no name. the munich of builder-king ludwig is grand, no doubt, and tedious and utterly out of place, with mountains of marble and granite, and acres of canvas more or less divine, and vast straight streets that make one weep from weariness, and frescoed walls with nude women that seem to shiver in the bitter alpine winds; it is great, no doubt, but ponderously unlovely, like the bronze bavaria that looks over the plain, who can hold six men in her head, but can never get fire in her eyes nor meaning in her mouth--clumsy athenæ-artemis that she is. new munich, striving to be athens or rome, is monotonous and tiresome, but old munich is quaint and humble, and historical and romancical, with its wooden pavements under foot, and its clouds of doves above head; indeed, has so much beauty of its own, like any old painted missal or golden goblet of the _moyen âge_, that it seems incredible to think that any man could ever have had the heart to send the hammers of masons against it, and set up bald walls of plaster in its stead. wandering in old munich--there is not much of it left, alas!--is like reading a black-letter ballad about henry the lion or kaiser max; it has sombre nooks and corners, bright gleams of stained casements, bold oriels, and sculptured shields, arcades and arches, towers and turrets, light and shade, harmony and irregularity, all, in a word, that old cities have, and old teutonic cities beyond all others; and when the metzgersprung is in full riot round the marienplatz, or on corpus christi day, when the king and the court and the church, the guilds and the senate and the magistracy, all go humbly through the flower-strewn streets, it is easy to forget the present and to think that one is still in the old days with the monks, who gave their name to it, tranquil in their work-rooms and the sound of battle all over the lands around them. it was the corpus christi day in munich now, and the whole city, the new and the old, had hung itself with garlands and draperies, with pictures and evergreens, with flags and tapestries, and the grand procession had passed to and from the church, and the archbishop had blessed the people, and the king had bared his handsome head to the sun and the holy ghost, and it was all over for the year, and the people were all happy and satisfied and sure that god was with them and their town; especially the people of the old quarters, who most loved and clung to these ceremonials and feasts; good god-fearing families, labouring hard, living honestly and wholesomely, gay also in a quiet, mirthful, innocent fashion--much such people as their forefathers were before them, in days when gustavus adolphus called their city the golden saddle on the lean horse. the lean horse, by which he meant the sterile plains, which yield little except hay, looks rich with verdure in the mellow afternoon light, when midsummer is come, and the whole populace, men, women, and children, on sundays and feast-days pour out of the city gates eagerly to their own little festivities under the cherry-trees of the little blue and white coffee-houses along the course of the river, when the beanflowers are in bloom. for out of the old city you go easily beyond the walls to the grey glacier water of "isar rolling rapidly," not red with blood now as after hohenlinden, but brilliant and boisterous always, with washerwomen leaning over it with bare arms, and dogs wading where rushes and dams break the current, and the hay blowing breast-high along the banks, and the students chasing the girls through it, and every now and then upon the wind the music of a guitar, light and dancing, or sad and slow, according as goes the heart of the player that tunes it. at this season bavaria grows green, and all is fresh and radiant. outside the town all the country is a sheet of cherry-blossom and of clover. night and day, carts full of merrymakers rattle out under the alders to the dancing places amongst the pastures, or to the _sommerfrischen_ of their country friends. whoever has a kreuzer to spend will have a draft of beer and a whiff of the lilac-scented air, and the old will sit down and smoke their painted pipes under the eaves of their favourite _gasthof_, and the young will roam with their best-loved maidens through the shadows of the anlagen, or still farther on under the high beech-trees of grosshesslohe. _moths._ the ear has its ecstasy as have other senses. * * * as there is love without dominion, so there is dominion without love. * * * when fame stands by us all alone, she is an angel clad in light and strength; but when love touches her she drops her sword, and fades away, ghostlike and ashamed. * * * society only thought her--unamiable. true, she never said an unkind thing, or did one; she never hurt man or woman; she was generous to a fault; and to aid even people she despised would give herself trouble unending. but these are serious, simple qualities which do not show much, and are soon forgotten by those who benefit from them. had she laughed more, danced more, taken more kindly to the fools and their follies, she might have been acid of tongue and niggard of sympathy; the world would have thought her much more amiable. * * * "if she would only listen to me!" thought her mother, in the superior wisdom of her popular little life. "if she would only kiss a few women in the morning, and flirt with a few men in the evening, it would set her all right with them in a month. it is no use doing good to anybody; they only hate you for it. you have seen them in their straits; it is like seeing them without their wig or their teeth; they never forgive it. but to be pleasant, always to be pleasant, that is the thing. and after all it costs nothing." * * * marriage, as our world sees it, is simply a convenience; a somewhat clumsy contrivance to tide over a social difficulty. * * * a sin! did the world know of such a thing? hardly. now and then, for sake of its traditions, the world took some hapless boy, or some still yet unhappier woman, and pilloried one of them, and drove them out under a shower of stones, selecting them by caprice, persecuting them without justice, slaying them because they were friendless. but that was all. for the most part sin was an obsolete thing, archaic and unheard of. * * * music is not a science, any more than poetry is. it is a sublime instinct, like genius of all kinds. * * * charity in various guises is an intruder the poor see often; but courtesy and delicacy are visitors with which they are seldom honoured. * * * there is no shame more bitter to endure than to despise oneself. it is harder to keep true to high laws and pure instincts in modern society than it was in the days of martyrdom. * * * one weeps for the death of children, but perhaps the change of them into callous men and women is a sadder change to see after all. * * * honour is an old-world thing, but it smells sweet to those in whose hand it is strong. * * * young lives are tossed upon the stream of life like rose-leaves on a fast-running river, and the rose-leaves are blamed if the river be too strong and too swift for them and they perish. it is the fault of the rose-leaves. * * * every pretty woman should be a flirt, every clever woman a politician; the aim, the animus, the intrigue, the rivalry which accompany each of these pursuits make the salt without which the great dinner were tasteless. * * * in these old austrian towns the churches are always very reverent places; dark and tranquil; overladen, indeed, with ornament and image, but too full of shadow for these to much offend; there is the scent of centuries of incense; the walls are yellow with the damp of ages. mountain suzerains and bold reiters, whose deeds are still sung of in twilight to the zither, deep beneath the moss-grown pavement; their shields and crowns are worn flat to the stone they were embossed on by the passing feet of generations of worshippers. high above in the darkness there is always some colossal carved christs. through the half-opened iron-studded door there is always the smell of pinewood, the gleam of water, the greenness of alpine grass; often, too, there is the silvery falling of rain, and the fresh smell of it comes through the church by whose black benches and dim lamps there will be sure to be some old bent woman praying. * * * the moths will eat all that fine delicate feeling away, little by little; the moths of the world will eat the unselfishness first, and then the innocence, and then the honesty, and then the decency; no one will see them eating, no one will see the havoc being wrought, but little by little the fine fabric will go, and in its place will be dust. ah, the pity of it! the pity of it! the webs come out of the great weaver's loom lovely enough, but the moths of the world eat them all. * * * she had five hundred dear friends, but this one she was really fond of; that is to say, she never said anything bad of her, and only laughed at her good-naturedly when she had left a room; and this abstinence is as strong a mark of sincerity now-a-days as dying for another used to be in the old days of strong feeling and the foolish expression of them. * * * gratitude is such an unpleasant quality, you know; there is always a grudge behind it! * * * the richest soil always bears the rankest mushrooms: france is always bearing mushrooms. * * * position, she thought, was the only thing that, like old wine or oak furniture, improved with years. * * * position is a pillory: sometimes they pelt one with rose-leaves, and sometimes with rotten eggs, but one is for ever in the pillory! * * * we are too afraid of death: that fear is the shame of christianity. * * * he never could prevail on his vanity to break with her, lest men should think she had broken with him. * * * she would go grandly to the guillotine, but she will never understand her own times. she has dignity; we have not a scrap; we have forgotten what it was like; we go into a passion at the amount of our bills; we play and never pay; we smoke and we wrangle; we laugh loud, much too loud; we inspire nothing unless, now and then, a bad war or a disastrous speculation; we live showily, noisily, meanly, gaudily. * * * big brains do not easily hold trifles ... little packets of starch that this world thinks are the staff of life. * * * pehl, like a young girl, is prettiest in the morning. pehl is calm and sedate, and simple and decorous. pehl is like some tender, fair, wholesome yet patrician beauty, like the pretty aristocratic charlotte in kaulbach's picture, who cuts the bread-and-butter, yet looks a patrician. pehl has nothing of the _belle petite_, like her sister of baden; nothing of the titled _cocadetta_, like her cousin of monaco; pehl does not gamble or riot or conduct herself madly in any way; she is a little old-fashioned still in a courtly way; she has a little rusticity still in her elegant manners; she is like the noble dames of the past ages, who were so high of rank and so proud of habit, yet were not above the distilling-room and the spinning-wheel; who were quiet, serious, sweet, and smelt of the rose-leaves with which they filled their big jars. * * * the pity of modern society is that all its habits make as effectual a disguise morally as our domino in carnival does physically. everybody looks just like everybody else. perhaps, as under the domino, so under the appearance, there may be great nobility or great deformity; but all look alike. were socrates amongst us, he would only look like a club bore; and were there messalina, she would only look--well--look much like our duchesse jeunne! * * * she did not know that from these swamps of flattery, intrigue, envy, rivalry, and emulation there rises a miasma which scarcely the healthiest lungs can withstand. she did not know that though many may be indifferent to the tempting of men, few indeed are impenetrable to the smile and the sneer of women; that to live your own life in the midst of the world is a harder thing than it was of old to withdraw to the thebaid; that to risk "looking strange" requires a courage perhaps cooler and higher than the soldier's or the saint's; and that to stand away from the contact and custom of your "set" is a harder and sterner work than it was of old to go into the sanctuary of la trappe or port royal. * * * the world has grown apathetic and purblind. critics rage and quarrel before a canvas, but the nations do not care; quarries of marble are hewn into various shapes, and the throngs gape before them and are indifferent; writers are so many that their writings blend in the public mind in a confused phantasmagoria, where the colours run into one another, and the lines are all waved and indistinct; the singer alone still keeps the old magic power, "the beauty that was athens, once the glory that was rome's," still holds the divine cadmus, still sways the vast thronged auditorium, till the myriads hold their breath like little children in delight and awe. the great singer alone has the magic sway of fame; and if he close his lips, "the gaiety of nations is eclipsed," and the world seems empty and silent, like a wood in which the birds are all dead. _in a winter city._ the duc found no topic that suited her. it was the corso di gala that afternoon, would she not go? no: her horses hated masks, and she hated noise. the veglione on sunday--would she not go to that? no: those things were well enough in the days of philippe d'orléans, who invented them, but they were only now as stupid as they were vulgar; anybody was let in for five francs. did she like the new weekly journal that was electrifying paris? no: she could see nothing in it: there was no wit now-a-days--only personalities, which grew more gross every year. the duc urged that personalities were as old as cratinus and archilochus, and that five hundred years before christ the satires of hipponax drove bupalus to hang himself. she answered that a bad thing was not the better for being old. people were talking of a clever english novel translated everywhere, called "in a hothouse," the hothouse being society--had she seen it? no: what was the use of reading novels of society by people who never had been in it? the last english "society" novel she had read had described a cabinet minister in london as going to a drawing-room in the crowd, with everybody else, instead of by the _petite entrée_; they were always full of such blunders. had she read the new french story "le bal de mademoiselle bibi?" no: she had heard too much of it; it made you almost wish for a censorship of the press. the duc agreed that literature was terribly but truly described as "un tas d'ordures soigneusement enveloppé." she said that the "tas d'ordures" without the envelope was sufficient for popularity, but that the literature of any age was not to be blamed--it was only a natural growth, like a mushroom; if the soil were noxious, the fungus was bad. the duc wondered what a censorship would let pass if there were one. she said that when there was one it had let pass crebillon, the chevalier le clos, and the "bijoux indiscrets;" it had proscribed marmontel, helvetius, and lanjuinais. she did not know how one man could be expected to be wiser than all his generation. the duc admired some majolica she had purchased. she said she began to think that majolica was a false taste; the metallic lustre was fine, but how clumsy the forms! one might be led astray by too great love of old work. the duc praised a magnificent sèvres panel, just painted by riocreux and goupil, and given to her by princess olga on the new year. she said it was well done, but what charm was there in it? all their modern iron and zinc colours, and hydrate of aluminum, and oxide of chromium, and purple of cassius, and all the rest of it, never gave one-tenth the charm of those old painters who had only green greys and dull blues and tawny yellows, and never could get any kind of red whatever; olga had meant to please her, but she, for her part, would much sooner have had a little panel of abruzzi, with all the holes and defects in the pottery, and a brown contadina for a madonna; there was some interest in that,--there was no interest in that gorgeous landscape and those brilliant hunting figures. the duc bore all the contradictions with imperturbable serenity and urbanity, smiled to himself, and bowed himself out in perfect good-humour. "tout va bien," he thought to himself; "miladi must be very much in love to be so cross." the duc's personal experience amongst ladies had made him of opinion that love did not improve the temper. * * * "in love!" she echoed, with less languor and more of impetuosity than she had ever displayed, "are you ever in love, any of you, ever? you have senses and vanity and an inordinate fear of not being in the fashion--and so you take your lovers as you drink your stimulants and wear your wigs and tie your skirts back--because everybody else does it, and not to do it is to be odd, or prudish, or something you would hate to be called. love! it is an unknown thing to you all. you have a sort of miserable hectic passion, perhaps, that is a drug you take as you take chlorodyne--just to excite you and make your jaded nerves a little alive again, and yet you are such cowards that you have not even the courage of passion, but label your drug friendship, and beg society to observe that you only keep it for family uses like arnica or like glycerine. you want notoriety; you want to indulge your fancies, and yet keep your place in the world. you like to drag a young man about by a chain, as if he were the dancing monkey that you depended upon for subsistence. you like other women to see that you are not too _passée_ to be every whit as improper as if you were twenty. you like to advertise your successes as it were with drum and trumpet, because if you did not, people might begin to doubt that you had any. you like all that, and you like to feel there is nothing you do not know and no length you have not gone, and so you ring all the changes on all the varieties of intrigue and sensuality, and go over the gamut of sickly sentiment and nauseous license as an orchestra tunes its strings up every night! that is what all you people call love; i am content enough to have no knowledge of it." * * * "i would rather have the crudest original thing than the mere galvanism of the corpse of a dead genius. i would give a thousand paintings by froment, damousse, or any of the finest living artists of sèvres, for one piece by old van der meer of delft; but i would prefer a painting on sèvres done yesterday by froment or damousse, or even any much less famous worker, provided only it had originality in it, to the best reproduction of a van der meer that modern manufacturers could produce." "i think you are right; but i fear our old pottery-painters were not very original. they copied from the pictures and engravings of mantegna, raffaelle, marcantonio, marco di ravenna, beatricius, and a score of others." "the application was original, and the sentiment they brought to it. those old artists put so much heart into their work." "because when they painted a _stemma_ on the glaze they had still feudal faith in nobility, and when they painted a madonna or ecce homo they had still childlike belief in divinity. what does the pottery-painter of to-day care for the coat of arms or the religious subject he may be commissioned to execute for a dinner service or a chapel? it may be admirable painting--if you give a very high price--but it will still be only manufacture." "then what pleasant lives those pottery painters of the early days must have led! they were never long stationary. they wandered about decorating at their fancy, now here and now there; now a vase for a pharmacy, and now a stove for a king. you find german names on italian ware, and italian names on flemish grès; the nuremberger would work in venice, the dutchman would work in rouen. sometimes, however, they were accused of sorcery; the great potter, hans kraut, you remember, was feared by his townsmen as possessed by the devil, and was buried ignominiously outside the gates, in his nook of the black forest. but on the whole they were happy, no doubt; men of simple habits and of worthy lives." "you care for art yourself, m. della rocca?" there came a gleam of interest in her handsome, languid, hazel eyes, as she turned them upon him. "every italian does," he answered her. "i do not think we are ever, or i think, if ever, very seldom connoisseurs in the way that your englishman or frenchman is so. we are never very learned as to styles and dates; we cannot boast the huckster's eye of the northern bric-à-brac hunter; it is quite another thing with us; we love art as children their nurses' tales and cradle-songs. it is a familiar affection with us, and affection is never very analytical. the robbia over the chapel-door, the apostle-pot that the men in the stables drink out of; the sodoma or the beato angelico that hangs before our eyes daily as we dine; the old bronze _secchia_ that we wash our hands in as boys in the loggia--these are all so homely and dear to us that we grow up with a love for them all as natural as our love for our mothers. you will say the children of all rich people see beautiful and ancient things from their birth: so they do, but not _as_ we see them. here they are too often degraded to the basest household uses, and made no more account of than the dust which gathers on them; but that very neglect of them makes them the more kindred to us. art elsewhere is the guest of the salon--with us she is the playmate of the infant and the serving-maid of the peasant: the mules may drink from an etruscan sarcophagus, and the pigeons be fed from a _patina_ of the twelfth century." * * * taste, mon cher della rocca, is the only sure guarantee in these matters. women, believe me, never have any principle. principle is a backbone, and no woman--except bodily--ever possesses any backbone. their priests and their teachers and their mothers fill them with doctrines and conventionalities--all things of mere word and wind. no woman has any settled principles; if she have any vague ones, it is the uttermost she ever reaches, and those can always be overturned by any man who has any influence over her. but taste is another matter altogether. a woman whose taste is excellent is preserved from all eccentricities and most follies. you never see a woman of good sense _afficher_ her improprieties or advertise her liaisons as women of vulgarity do. nay, if her taste be perfect, though she have weaknesses, i doubt if she will ever have vices. vice will seem to her like a gaudy colour, or too much gold braid, or very large plaits, or buttons as big as saucers, or anything else such as vulgar women like. fastidiousness, at any rate, is very good _postiche_ for modesty: it is always decent, it can never be coarse. good taste, inherent and ingrained, natural and cultivated, cannot alter. principles--ouf!--they go on and off like a slipper; but good taste is indestructible; it is a compass that never errs. if your wife have it--well, it is possible she may be false to you; she is human, she is feminine; but she will never make you ridiculous, she will never compromise you, and she will not romp in a cotillon till the morning sun shows the paint on her face washed away in the rain of her perspiration. virtue is, after all, as mme. de montespan said, "une chose tout purement géographique." it varies with the hemisphere like the human skin and the human hair; what is vile in one latitude is harmless in another. no philosophic person can put any trust in a thing which merely depends upon climate; but, good taste---- * * * gossip is like the poor devil in the legend of fugger's teufelspalast at trent; it toils till cock-crow picking up the widely-scattered grains of corn by millions till the bushel measure is piled high; and lo!--the five grains that are _the_ grains always escape its sight and roll away and hide themselves. the poor devil, being a primitive creature, shrieked and flew away in despair at his failure. gossip hugs its false measure and says loftily that the five real grains are of no consequence whatever. * * * the lady hilda sighed. this dreadful age, which has produced communists, pétroleuses, and liberal thinkers, had communicated its vague restlessness even to her; although she belonged to that higher region where nobody ever thinks at all, and everybody is more or less devout in seeming at any rate, because disbelief is vulgar, and religion is an "affaire des moeurs," like decency, still the subtle philosophies and sad negations which have always been afloat in the air since voltaire set them flying, had affected her slightly. she was a true believer, just as she was a well-dressed woman, and had her creeds just as she had her bath in the morning, as a matter of course. still, when she did come to think of it, she was not so very sure. there was another world, and saints and angels and eternity; yes, of course--but how on earth would all those baccarat people ever fit into it? who could, by any stretch of imagination, conceive madame mila and maurice des gommeux in a spiritual existence around the throne of deity? and as for punishment and torment and all that other side of futurity, who could even think of the mildest purgatory as suitable to those poor flipperty-gibbet inanities who broke the seventh commandment as gaily as a child breaks his indiarubber ball, and were as incapable of passion and crime as they were incapable of heroism and virtue? there might be paradise for virtue and hell for crime, but what in the name of the universe was to be done with creatures that were only all folly? perhaps they would be always flying about like the souls virgil speaks of, "suspensæ ad ventos," to purify themselves; as the sails of a ship spread out to dry. the huron indians pray to the souls of the fish they catch; well, why should they not? a fish has a soul if modern society has one; one could conceive a fish going softly through shining waters for ever and for ever in the ecstasy of motion; but who could conceive modern society in the spheres? * * * "one grows tired of everything," she answered with a little sigh. "everything that is artificial, you mean. people think horace's love of the rural life an affectation. i believe it to be most sincere. after the strain of the conventionality and the adulation of the augustan court, the natural existence of the country must have been welcome to him. i know it is the fashion to say that a love of nature belongs only to the moderns, but i do not think so. into pindar, theocritus, meleager, the passion for nature must have entered very strongly; what _is_ modern is the more subjective, the more fanciful feeling which makes nature a sounding-board to echo all the cries of man." "but that is always a northern feeling?" "inevitably. with us nature is too _riante_ for us to grow morbid about it. the sunshine that laughs around us nine months of every year, the fruits that grow almost without culture, the flowers that we throw to the oxen to eat, the very stones that are sweet with myrtle, the very sea sand that is musical with bees in the rosemary, everything we grow up amongst from infancy, makes our love of nature only a kind of unconscious joy in it; but here even the peasant has that, and the songs of the men that cannot read or write are full of it. if a field labourer sing to his love he will sing of the narcissus and the crocus, as meleager sang to heliodora twenty centuries ago." * * * that is an italian amorous fancy. romeo and othello are the typical italian lovers. i never can tell how a northerner like shakespeare could draw either. you are often very unfaithful; but _while_ you are faithful you are ardent, and you are absorbed in the woman. that is one of the reasons why an italian succeeds in love as no other man does. "l'art de brûler silencieusement ment le coeur d'un femme" is a supreme art with you. compared with you, all other men are children. you have been the supreme masters of the great passion since the days of ovid. * * * boredom is the ill-natured pebble that always _will_ get in the golden slipper of the pilgrim of pleasure. * * * "they say," the great assassin who slays as many thousands as ever did plague or cholera, drink or warfare; "they say," the thief of reputation, who steals, with stealthy step and coward's mask, to filch good names away in the dead dark of irresponsible calumny; "they say," a giant murderer, iron-gloved to slay you, a fleet, elusive, vaporous will-o'-the-wisp, when you would seize and choke it; "they say," mighty thug though it be which strangles from behind the purest victim, had not been ever known to touch the lady hilda. * * * all her old philosophies seemed falling about her like shed leaves, and her old self seemed to her but a purposeless frivolous chilly creature. the real reason she would not face, and indeed as yet was not conscious of; the reason that love had entered into her, and that love, if it be worth the name, has always two handmaidens: swift sympathy, and sad humility, keeping step together. * * * the femme galante has passed through many various changes, in many countries. the dames of the decamerone were unlike the fair athlete-seekers of the days of horace; and the powdered coquettes of the years of molière, were sisters only by the kinship of a common vice to the frivolous and fragile faggot of impulses, that is called frou-frou. the femme galante has always been a feature in every age; poets, from juvenal to musset, have railed at her; artists, from titian to winterhalter, have painted her; dramatists, from aristophanes to congreve and dumas fils, have pointed their arrows at her; satirists, from archilochus and simonides to hogarth and gavarni, have poured out their aqua-fortis for her. but the real femme galante of to-day has been missed hitherto. frou-frou, who stands for her, is not in the least the true type. frou-frou is a creature that can love, can suffer, can repent, can die. she is false in sentiment and in art, but she is tender after all; poor, feverish, wistful, changeful morsel of humanity. a slender, helpless, breathless, and frail thing who, under one sad, short sin, sinks down to death. but frou-frou is in no sense the true femme galante of her day. frou-frou is much more a fancy than a fact. it is not frou-frou that molière would have handed down to other generations in enduring ridicule, had he been living now. to her he would have doffed his hat with dim eyes; what he would have fastened for all time in his pillory would have been a very different, and far more conspicuous offender. the femme galante, who has neither the scruples nor the follies of poor frou-frou, who neither forfeits her place nor leaves her lord; who has studied adultery as one of the fine arts and made it one of the domestic virtues; who takes her wearied lover to her friends' houses as she takes her muff or her dog, and teaches her sons and daughters to call him by familiar names; who writes to the victim of her passions with the same pen that calls her boy home from school; and who smooths her child's curls with the same fingers that stray over her lover's lips; who challenges the world to find a flaw in her, and who smiles serene at her husband's table on a society she is careful to conciliate; who has woven the most sacred ties and most unholy pleasures into so deft a braid, that none can say where one commences or the other ends; who uses the sanctity of her maternity to cover the lawlessness of her license; and who, incapable alike of the self-abandonment of love or of the self-sacrifice of duty, has not even such poor, cheap honour as, in the creatures of the streets, may make guilt loyal to its dupe and partner. this is the femme galante of the passing century, who, with her hand on her husband's arm, babbles of her virtue in complacent boast; and ignoring such a vulgar word as sin, talks with a smile of friendship. beside her frou-frou were innocence itself, marion de l'orme were honesty, manon lescaut were purity, cleopatra were chaste, and faustine were faithful. she is the female tartuffe of seduction, the précieuse ridicule of passion, the parody of love, the standing gibe of womanhood. * * * she was always in debt, though she admitted that her husband allowed her liberally. she had eighty thousand francs a year by her settlements to spend on herself, and he gave her another fifty thousand to do as she pleased with: on the whole about one half what he allowed to blanche souris, of the château gaillard theatre. she had had six children, three were living and three were dead; she thought herself a good mother, because she gave her wet-nurses ever so many silk gowns, and when she wanted the children for a fancy ball or a drive, always saw that they were faultlessly dressed, and besides she always took them to trouville. she had never had any grief in her life, except the loss of the second empire, and even that she got over when she found that flying the red cross flag had saved her hotel, without so much as a teacup being broken in it, that mm. worth and offenbach were safe from all bullets, and that society, under the septennate, promised to be every bit as _leste_ as under the empire. in a word, madame mila was a type of the women of her time. the women who go semi-nude in an age which has begun to discover that the nude in sculpture is very immoral; who discuss "tue-la" in a generation which decrees molière to be coarse, and beaumont and fletcher indecent; who have the journal pour rire on their tables in a day when no one who respects himself would name the harlot's progress; who read beaudelaire and patronise térésa and schneider in an era which finds "don juan" gross, and shakespeare far too plain; who strain all their energies to rival miles. rose thé and la petite boulotte in everything; who go shrimping or oyster-hunting on fashionable sea-shores, with their legs bare to the knee; who go to the mountains with confections, high heels, and gold-tipped canes, shriek over their gambling as the dawn reddens over the alps, and know no more of the glories of earth and sky, of sunrise and sunset, than do the porcelain pots that hold their paint, or the silver dressing-box that carries their hair-dye. women who are in convulsions one day, and on the top of a drag the next; who are in hysterics for their lovers at noon, and in ecstasies over baccarat at midnight; who laugh in little nooks together over each other's immoralities, and have a moral code so elastic that it will pardon anything except innocence; who gossip over each other's dresses, and each other's passions, in the self-same, self-satisfied chirp of contentment, and who never resent anything on earth, except any eccentric suggestion that life could be anything except a perpetual fête à la watteau in a perpetual blaze of lime-light. pain?--are there not chloral and a flattering doctor? sorrow?--are there not a course at the baths, play at monte carlo, and new cases from worth? shame?--is it not a famine fever which never comes near a well-laden table? old age?--is there not white and red paint, and heads of dead hair, and even false bosoms? death? well, no doubt there is death, but they do not realise it; they hardly believe in it, they think about it so little. there is something unknown somewhere to fall on them some day that they dread vaguely, for they are terrible cowards. but they worry as little about it as possible. they give the millionth part of what they possess away in its name to whatever church they belong to, and they think they have arranged quite comfortably for all possible contingencies hereafter. if it make things safe, they will head bazaars for the poor, or wear black in holy week, turn lottery-wheels for charity, or put on fancy dresses in the name of benevolence, or do any little amiable trifle of that sort. but as for changing their lives,--_pas si bête!_ a bird in the hand they hold worth two in the bush; and though your birds may be winged on strong desire, and your bush the burning portent of moses, they will have none of them. these women are not all bad; oh, no! they are like sheep, that is all. if it were fashionable to be virtuous, very likely they would be so. if it were _chic_ to be devout, no doubt they would pass their life on their knees. but, as it is, they know that a flavour of vice is as necessary to their reputation as great ladies, as sorrel-leaves to soup à la bonne femme. they affect a license if they take it not. they are like the barber, who said, with much pride, to voltaire, "je ne suis qu'un pauvre diable de perruquier, mais je ne crois pas en dieu plus que les autres." they may be worth very little, but they are desperately afraid that you should make such a mistake as to think them worth anything at all. you are not likely, if you know them. still, they are apprehensive. though one were to arise from the dead to preach to them, they would only make of him a nine days' wonder, and then laugh a little, and yawn a little, and go on in their own paths. out of the eater came forth meat, and from evil there may be begotten good; but out of nullity there can only come nullity. they have wadded their ears, and though jeremiah wailed of desolation, or isaiah thundered the wrath of heaven, they would not hear,--they would go on looking at each other's dresses. what could paul himself say that would change them? you cannot make sawdust into marble; you cannot make sea-sand into gold. "let us alone," is all they ask; and it is all that you could do, though the force and flame of horeb were in you. * * * it is very curious, but loss of taste in the nobles has always been followed by a revolution of the mob. the _décadence_ always ushers in the democracy. * * * pleasure alone cannot content any one whose character has any force, or mind any high intelligence. society is, as you say, a book we soon read through, and know by heart till it loses all interest. art alone cannot fill more than a certain part of our emotions; and culture, however perfect, leaves us unsatisfied. there is only one thing that can give to life what your poet called the light that never was on sea or land--and that is human love. * * * "yes, it is a curious thing that we do not succeed in fresco. the grace is gone out of it; modern painters have not the lightness of touch necessary; they are used to masses of colour, and they use the palette knife as a mason the trowel. the art, too, like the literature of our time, is all detail; the grand suggestive vagueness of the greek drama and of the umbrian frescoes are lost to us under a crowd of elaborated trivialities; perhaps it is because art has ceased to be spiritual or tragic, and is merely domestic or melodramatic; the greeks knew neither domesticity nor melodrama, and the early italian painters were imbued with a faith which, if not so virile as the worship of the phidian zeus, yet absorbed them and elevated them in a degree impossible in the tawdry sadduceeism of our own day. by the way, when the weather is milder you must go to orvieto; you have never been there, i think; it is the prosodion of signorelli. what a fine pagan he was at heart! he admired masculine beauty like a greek; he must have been a singularly happy man--few more happy----" _a leaf in the storm._ the berceau de dieu was a little village in the valley of the seine. as a lark drops its nest amongst the grasses, so a few peasant people had dropped their little farms and cottages amidst the great green woods on the winding river. it was a pretty place, with one steep, stony street, shady with poplars and with elms; quaint houses, about whose thatch a cloud of white and grey pigeons fluttered all day long; a little aged chapel with a conical red roof; and great barns covered with ivy and thick creepers, red and purple, and lichens that were yellow in the sun. all around it there were the broad, flowering meadows, with the sleek cattle of normandy fattening in them, and the sweet dim forests where the young men and maidens went on every holy-day and feast-day in the summer-time to seek for wood-anemones, and lilies of the pools, and the wild campanula, and the fresh dogrose, and all the boughs and grasses that made their house-doors like garden-bowers, and seemed to take the cushat's note and the linnet's song into their little temple of god. the berceau de dieu was very old indeed. men said that the hamlet had been there in the day of the virgin of orléans; and a stone cross of the twelfth century still stood by the great pond of water at the bottom of the street, under the chestnut-tree, where the villagers gathered to gossip at sunset when their work was done. it had no city near it, and no town nearer than four leagues. it was in the green core of a pastoral district, thickly wooded and intersected with orchards. its produce of wheat, and oats, and cheese, and fruit, and eggs, was more than sufficient for its simple prosperity. its people were hardy, kindly, laborious, happy; living round the little grey chapel in amity and good-fellowship. nothing troubled it. war and rumours of war, revolutions and counter-revolutions, empires and insurrections, military and political questions--these all were for it things unknown and unheard of--mighty winds that arose and blew and swept the lands around it, but never came near enough to harm it, lying there, as it did, in its loneliness like any lark's nest. * * * "i am old: yes, i am very old," she would say, looking up from her spinning-wheel in her house-door, and shading her eyes from the sun, "very old--ninety-two last summer. but when one has a roof over one's head, and a pot of soup always, and a grandson like mine, and when one has lived all one's life in the berceau de dieu, then it is well to be so old. ah, yes, my little ones--yes, though you doubt it, you little birds that have just tried your wings--it is well to be so old. one has time to think, and thank the good god, which one never seemed to have a minute to do in that work, work, work, when one was young." * * * the end soon came. from hill to hill the berceau de dieu broke into flames. the village was a lake of fire, into which the statue of the christ, burning and reeling, fell. some few peasants, with their wives and children, fled to the woods, and there escaped one torture to perish more slowly of cold and famine. all other things perished. the rapid stream of the flame licked up all there was in its path. the bare trees raised their leafless branches on fire at a thousand points. the stores of corn and fruit were lapped by millions of crimson tongues. the pigeons flew screaming from their roosts and sank into the smoke. the dogs were suffocated on the thresholds they had guarded all their lives. the calf was stifled in the byre. the sheep ran bleating with the wool burning on their living bodies. the little caged birds fluttered helpless, and then dropped, scorched to cinders. the aged and the sick were stifled in their beds. all things perished. the berceau de dieu was as one vast furnace, in which every living creature was caught and consumed and changed to ashes. the tide of war has rolled on and left it a blackened waste, a smoking ruin, wherein not so much as a mouse may creep or a bird may nestle. it is gone, and its place can know it never more. never more. but who is there to care? it was but as a leaf which the great storm withered as it passed. * * * "look you," she had said to him oftentimes, "in my babyhood there was the old white flag upon the château. well, they pulled that down and put up a red one. that toppled and fell, and there was one of three colours. then somebody with a knot of white lilies in his hand came one day and set up the old white one afresh; and before the day was done that was down again, and the tricolour again up where it is still. now some i know fretted themselves greatly because of all these changes of the flags, but as for me, i could not see that any one of them mattered: bread was just as dear, and sleep was just as sweet, whichever of the three was uppermost." _a dog of flanders._ in the spring and summer especially were they glad. flanders is not a lovely land, and around the burgh of rubens it is perhaps least lovely of all. corn and colza, pasture and plough, succeed each other on the characterless plain in wearying repetition, and save by some gaunt grey tower, with its peal of pathetic bells, or some figure coming athwart the fields, made picturesque by a gleaner's bundle or a woodman's faggot, there is no change, no variety, no beauty anywhere; and he who has dwelt upon the mountains or amidst the forests feels oppressed as by imprisonment with the tedium and the endlessness of that vast and dreary level. but it is green and very fertile, and it has wide horizons that have a certain charm of their own even in their dulness and monotony; and amongst the rushes by the water-side the flowers grow, and the trees rise tall and fresh where the barges glide with their great hulks black against the sun, and their little green barrels and vari-coloured flags gay against the leaves. anyway, there is a greenery and breadth of space enough to be as good as beauty to a child and a dog; and these two asked no better, when their work was done, than to lie buried in the lush grasses on the side of the canal, and watch the cumbrous vessels drifting by, and bringing the crisp salt smell of the sea amongst the blossoming scents of the country summer. * * * antwerp, as all the world knows, is full at every turn of old piles of stones, dark and ancient and majestic, standing in crooked courts, jammed against gateways and taverns, rising by the water's edge, with bells ringing above them in the air, and ever and again out of their arched doors a swell of music pealing. there they remain, the grand old sanctuaries of the past, shut in amidst the squalor, the hurry, the crowds, the unloveliness and the commerce of the modern world; and all day long the clouds drift and the birds circle, and the winds sigh around them, and beneath the earth at their feet there sleeps--rubens. and the greatness of the mighty master still rests upon antwerp; wherever we turn in its narrow streets his glory lies therein, so that all mean things are thereby transfigured; and as we pace slowly through the winding ways, and by the edge of the stagnant water, and through the noisome courts, his spirit abides with us, and the heroic beauty of his visions is about us, and the stones that once felt his footsteps and bore his shadow seem to arise and speak of him with living voices. for the city which is the tomb of rubens still lives to us through him, and him alone. without rubens, what were antwerp? a dirty, dusky, bustling mart, which no man would ever care to look upon save the traders who do business on its wharves. with rubens, to the whole world of men it is a sacred name, a sacred soil, a bethlehem where a god of art saw light, a golgotha where a god of art lies dead. it is so quiet there by that great white sepulchre--so quiet, save only when the organ peals, and the choir cries aloud the salve regina or the kyrie eleison. sure no artist ever had a greater gravestone than that pure marble sanctuary gives to him in the heart of his birthplace in the chancel of st. jacques? o nations! closely should you treasure your great men, for by them alone will the future know of you. flanders in her generations has been wise. in his life she glorified this greatest of her sons, and in his death she magnifies his name. but her wisdom is very rare. * * * the night was very wild. the lamps under the wayside crosses were blown out: the roads were sheets of ice; the impenetrable darkness hid every trace of habitations; there was no living thing abroad. all the cattle were housed, and in all the huts and homesteads men and women rejoiced and feasted. there was only the dog out in the cruel cold--old and famished and full of pain, but with the strength and the patience of a great love to sustain him in his search. the trail of nello's steps, faint and obscure as it was under the new snow, went straightly along the accustomed tracks into antwerp. it was past midnight when patrasche traced it over the boundaries of the town and into the narrow, tortuous, gloomy streets. it was all quite dark in the town. now and then some light gleamed ruddily through the crevices of house-shutters, or some group went homeward with lanterns chanting drinking songs. the streets were all white with ice: the high walls and roofs loomed black against them. there was scarce a sound save the riot of the winds down the passages as they tossed the creaking signs and shook the tall lamp-irons. so many passers-by had trodden through and through the snow, so many diverse paths had crossed and re-crossed each other, that the dog had a hard task to retain any hold on the track he followed. but he kept on his way, though the cold pierced him to the bone, and the jagged ice cut his feet, and the hunger in his body gnawed like a rat's teeth. but he kept on his way--a poor, gaunt, shivering, drooping thing in the frozen darkness, that no one pitied as he went--and by long patience traced the steps he loved into the very heart of the burgh and up to the steps of the great cathedral. "he is gone to the things that he loved," thought patrasche; he could not understand, but he was full of sorrow and of pity for the art-passion that to him was so incomprehensible and yet so sacred. the portals of the cathedral were unclosed after the midnight mass. some heedlessness in the custodians, too eager to go home and feast or sleep, or too drowsy to know whether they turned the keys aright, had left one of the doors unlocked. by that accident the footfalls patrasche sought had passed through into the building, leaving the white marks of snow upon the dark stone floor. by that slender white thread, frozen as it fell, he was guided through the intense silence, through the immensity of the vaulted space--guided straight to the gates of the chancel, and stretched there upon the stones he found nello. he crept up noiselessly, and touched the face of the boy. "didst thou dream that i should be faithless and forsake thee? i--a dog?" said that mute caress. the lad raised himself with a low cry and clasped him close. "let us lie down and die together," he murmured. "men have no need of us, and we are all alone." in answer, patrasche crept closer yet, and laid his head upon the young boy's breast. the great tears stood in his brown sad eyes: not for himself--for himself he was happy. they lay close together in the piercing cold. the blasts that blew over the flemish dykes from the northern seas were like waves of ice, which froze every living thing they touched. the interior of the immense vault of stone in which they were was even more bitterly chill than the snow-covered plains without. now and then a bat moved in the shadows; now and then a gleam of light came to the ranks of carven figures. under the rubens they lay together, quite still, and soothed almost into a dreaming slumber by the numbing narcotic of the cold. together they dreamed of the old glad days when they had chased each other through the flowering grasses of the summer meadows, or sat hidden in the tall bulrushes by the water's side, watching the boats go seaward in the sun. no anger had ever separated them; no cloud had ever come between them; no roughness on the one side, no faithlessness on the other, had ever obscured their perfect love and trust. all through their short lives they had done their duty as it had come to them, and had been happy in the mere sense of living, and had begrudged nothing to any man or beast, and had been quite content because quite innocent. and in the faintness of famine and of the frozen blood that stole dully and slowly through their veins, it was of the days they had spent together that they dreamed, lying there in the long watches of the night of the noël. suddenly through the darkness a great white radiance streamed through the vastness of the aisles; the moon, that was at her height, had broken through the clouds; the snow had ceased to fall; the light reflected from the snow without was clear as the light of dawn. it fell through the arches full upon the two pictures above, from which the boy on his entrance had flung back the veil: the elevation and the descent of the cross were for one instant visible as by day. nello rose to his feet and stretched his arms to them: the tears of a passionate ecstasy glistened on the paleness of his face. "i have seen them at last!" he cried aloud. "o god, it is enough!" his limbs failed under him, and he sank upon his knees, still gazing upward at the majesty that he adored. for a few brief moments the light illumined the divine visions that had been denied to him so long--light, clear and sweet and strong as though it streamed from the throne of heaven. then suddenly it passed away: once more a great darkness covered the face of christ. the arms of the boy drew close again the body of the dog. "we shall see his face--_there_," he murmured; "and he will not part us, i think; he will have mercy." on the morrow, by the chancel of the cathedral, the people of antwerp found them both. they were both dead: the cold of the night had frozen into stillness alike the young life and the old. when the christmas morning broke and the priests came to the temple, they saw them lying thus on the stones together. above, the veils were drawn back from the great visions of rubens, and the fresh rays of the sunrise touched the thorn-crowned head of the god. as the day grew on there came an old, hard-featured man, who wept as women weep. "i was cruel to the lad," he muttered, "and now i would have made amends--yea, to the half of my substance--and he should have been to me as a son." there came also, as the day grew apace, a painter who had fame in the world, and who was liberal of hand and of spirit. "i seek one who should have had the prize yesterday had worth won," he said to the people,--"a boy of rare promise and genius. an old woodcutter on a fallen tree at eventide--that was all his theme. but there was greatness for the future in it. i would fain find him, and take him with me and teach him art." * * * death had been more pitiful to them than longer life would have been. it had taken the one in the loyalty of love, and the other in the innocence of faith, from a world which for love has no recompense, and for faith no fulfilment. all their lives they had been together, and in their deaths they were not divided; for when they were found the arms of the boy were folded too closely around the dog to be severed without violence, and the people of their little village, contrite and ashamed, implored a special grace for them, and, making them one grave, laid them to rest there side by side--for ever. _a branch of lilac._ and indeed i loved france: still, in the misery of my life, i loved her for all that i had had from her. i loved her for her sunny roads, for her cheery laughter, for her vine-hung hamlets, for her contented poverty, for her gay, sweet mirth, for her pleasant days, for her starry nights, for her little bright groups at the village fountain, for her old, brown, humble peasants at her wayside crosses, for her wide, wind-swept plains all red with her radiant sunsets. she had given me beautiful hours; she is the mother of the poor, who sings to them so that they forget their hunger and their nakedness; she had made me happy in my youth. i was not ungrateful. it was in the heats of september that i reached my country. it was just after the day of sedan. i heard all along the roads, as i went, sad, sullen murmurs of our bitter disasters. it was not the truth exactly that was ever told at the poor wine-shops and about the harvest-fields, but it was near enough to the truth to be horrible. the blood-thirst which had been upon me ever since that night when i found her chair empty seemed to burn and seethe, till i saw nothing but blood--in the air, in the sun, in the water. * * * i remember in that ghastly time seeing a woman put the match to a piece whose gunner had just dropped dead. she fired with sure aim: her shot swept straight into a knot of horsemen on the neuilly road, and emptied more than one saddle. "you have a good sight," i said to her. she smiled. "this winter," she said slowly, "my children have all died for want of food--one by one, the youngest first. ever since then i want to hurt something--always. do you understand?" i did understand: i do not know if you do. it is just these things that make revolutions. * * * when i sit in the gloom here i see all the scenes of that pleasant life pass like pictures before me. no doubt i was often hot, often cold, often footsore, often ahungered and athirst: no doubt; but all that has faded now. i only see the old, lost, unforgotten brightness; the sunny roads, with the wild poppies blowing in the wayside grass; the quaint little red roofs and peaked towers that were thrust upward out of the rolling woods; the clear blue skies, with the larks singing against the sun; the quiet, cool, moss-grown towns, with old dreamy bells ringing sleepily above them; the dull casements opening here and there to show a rose like a girl's cheek, and a girl's face like the rose; the little wine-shops buried in their climbing vines and their tall, many-coloured hollyhocks, from which sometimes a cheery voice would cry, "come, stay for a stoup of wine, and pay us with a song." then, the nights when the people flocked to us, and the little tent was lighted, and the women's and the children's mirth rang out in peals of music; and the men vied with each other as to which should bear each of us off to have bed and board under the cottage roof, or in the old mill-house, or in the weaver's garret; the nights when the homely supper-board was brightened and thought honoured by our presence; when we told the black-eyed daughter's fortunes, and kept the children round-eyed and flushing red with wonder at strange tales, and smoked within the leaf-hung window with the father and his sons; and then went out, quietly, alone in the moonlight, and saw the old cathedral white and black in the shadows and the light; and strayed a little into its dim aisles, and watched the thorn-crowned god upon the cross, and in the cool fruit-scented air, in the sweet, silent dusk, moved softly with noiseless footfall and bent head, as though the dead were there. ah, well! they are all gone, those days and nights. begrudge me not their memory. i am ugly, and very poor, and of no account; and i die at sunrise, so they say. let me remember whilst i can: it is all oblivion _there_. so they say. * * * whether i suffered or enjoyed, loved or hated, is of no consequence to any one. the dancing-dog suffers intensely beneath the scourge of the stick, and is capable of intense attachment to any one who is merciful enough not to beat him; but the dancing-dog and his woe and his love are nothing to the world: i was as little. there is nothing more terrible, nothing more cruel, than the waste of emotion, the profuse expenditure of fruitless pain, which every hour, every moment, as it passes, causes to millions of living creatures. if it were of any use who would mind? but it is all waste, frightful waste, to no end, to no end. * * * ah, well! it is our moments of blindness and of folly that are the sole ones of happiness for all of us on earth. we only see clearly, i think, when we have reached the depths of woe. * * * france was a great sea in storm, on which the lives of all men were as frail boats tossing to their graves. some were blown east, some west; they passed each other in the endless night, and never knew, the tempest blew so strong. * * * winter tries hardly all the wandering races: if the year were all summer, all the world would be bohemians. * * * we poured out blood like water, and much of it was the proud blue blood of the old nobility. we should have saved france, i am sure, if there had been any one who had known how to consolidate and lead us. no one did; so it was all of no use. guerillas like us can do much, very much, but to do so much that it is victory we must have a genius amidst us. and we had none. if the first bonaparte had been alive and with us, we should have chased the foe as marius the cimbri. i think other nations will say so in the future: at the present they are all dazzled, they do not see clearly--they are all worshipping the rising sun. it is blood-red, and it blinds them. * * * it is so strange! we see a million faces, we hear a million voices, we meet a million women with flowers in their breasts and light in their fair eyes, and they do not touch us. then we see one, and she holds for us life or death, and plays with them idly so often--as idly as a child with toys. she is not nobler, better, or more beautiful than were all those we passed, and yet the world is empty to us without her. _signa._ in the garden of these children all the flora of italy was gathered and was growing. the delights of an italian garden are countless. it is not like any other garden in the world. it is at once more formal and more wild, at once greener with more abundant youth and venerable with more antique age. it has all boccaccio between its walls, all petrarca in its leaves, all raffaelle in its skies. and then the sunshine that beggars words and laughs at painters!--the boundless, intense, delicious, heavenly light! what do other gardens know of that, save in orange-groves of granada and rose thickets of damascus? the old broken marble statues, whence the water dripped and fed the water-lily; the great lemon-trees in pots big enough to drown a boy, the golden globes among their emerald leaves; the magnolias, like trees cast in bronze, with all the spice of india in their cups; the spires of ivory bells that the yuccas put forth, like belfries for fairies; the oleanders taller than a man, red and white and blush colour; the broad velvet leaves of the flowering rush; the dark majestic ilex oaks, that made the noon like twilight; the countless graces of the vast family of acacias; the high box hedges, sweet and pungent in the sun; the stone ponds, where the gold-fish slept through the sultry day; the wilderness of carnations; the huge roses, yellow, crimson, snow-white, and the small noisette and the banksia with its million of pink stars; myrtles in dense thickets, and camellias like a wood of evergreens; cacti in all quaint shapes, like fossils astonished to find themselves again alive; high walls, vine-hung and topped by pines and cypresses; low walls with crowds of geraniums on their parapets, and the mountains and the fields beyond them; marble basins hidden in creepers where the frogs dozed all day long; sounds of convent bells and of chapel chimes; green lizards basking on the flags; great sheds and granaries beautiful with the clematis and the wisteria and the rosy trumpets of the bignonia; great wooden places cool and shady, with vast arched entrances, and scent of hay, and empty casks, and red earthen amphoræ, and little mice scudding on the floors, and a sun-dial painted on the wall, and a crucifix set above the weather-cock, and through the huge unglazed windows sight of the green vines with the bullocks in the harvest-carts beneath them, or of some hilly sunlit road with a mule-team coming down it, or of a blue high hill with its pine-trees black against the sky, and on its slopes the yellow corn and misty olive. this was their garden; it is ten thousand other gardens in the land. the old painters had these gardens, and walked in them, and thought nothing better could be needed for any scene of annunciation or adoration, and so put them in beyond the windows of bethlehem or behind the throne of the lamb--and who can wonder? * * * in these little ancient burghs and hillside villages, scattered up and down between mountain and sea, there is often some boy or girl, with a more wonderful voice, or a more beautiful face, or a sweeter knack of song, or a more vivid trick of improvisation than the others; and this boy or girl strays away some day with a little bundle of clothes, and a coin or two, or is fetched away by some far-sighted pedlar in such human wares, who buys them as bird-fanciers buy the finches from the nets; and then, years and years afterwards, the town or hamlet hears indistinctly of some great prima donna, or of some lark-throated tenor, that the big world is making happy as kings, and rich as kings' treasurers, and the people carding the flax or shelling the chestnuts say to one another, "that was little black lià, or that was our old momo;" but momo or lià the village or the vine-field never sees again. * * * the heart of silver falls ever into the hands of brass. the sensitive herb is eaten as grass by the swine. * * * fate will have it so. fate is so old, and weary of her task; she must have some diversion. it is fate who blinded love for sport, and on the shoulders of possession hung the wallet full of stones and sand--satiety. * * * as passion yet unknown thrills in the adolescent, as maternity yet undreamed of stirs in the maiden; so the love of art comes to the artist before he can give a voice to his thought or any name to his desire. signa heard "beautiful things" as he sat in the rising moonlight, with the bells of the little bindweed white about his feet. that was all he could have said. whether the angels sent them on the breeze, or the birds brought them, or the dead men came and sang them to him, he could not tell. indeed, who can tell? where did guido see the golden hair of st. michael gleam upon the wind? where did mozart hear the awful cries of the risen dead come to judgment? what voice was in the fountain of vaucluse? under what nodding oxlip did shakespeare find titania asleep? when did the mother of love come down, chaster in her unclothed loveliness than vestal in her veil, and with such vision of her make obscure cleomenes immortal? who can tell? signa sat dreaming, with his chin upon his hands, and his eyes wandering over all the silent place, from the closed flowers at his feet to the moon in her circles of mist. who walks in these paths now may go back four hundred years. they are changed in nothing. through their high hedges of rhododendron and of jessamine that grow like woodland trees it would still seem but natural to see raffaelle with his court-train of students, or signorelli splendid in those apparellings which were the comment of his age; and on these broad stone terraces with the lizards basking on their steps and the trees opening to show a vine-covered hill with the white oxen creeping down it and the blue mountains farther still behind, it would be but fitting to see a dark figure sitting and painting lilies upon a golden ground, or cherubs' heads upon a panel of cypress wood, and to hear that this painter was the monk angelico. the deepest charm of these old gardens, as of their country, is, after all, that in them it is possible to forget the present age. in the full, drowsy, voluptuous noon, when they are a gorgeous blaze of colour and a very intoxication of fragrance, as in the ethereal white moonlight of midnight, when, with the silver beams and the white blossoms and the pale marbles, they are like a world of snow, their charm is one of rest, silence, leisure, dreams, and passion all in one; they belong to the days when art was a living power, when love was a thing of heaven or of hell, and when men had the faith of children and the force of gods. those days are dead, but in these old gardens you can believe still that you live in them. * * * "pippa!" echoed istriel. his memories were wakened by the name, and went back to the days of his youth, when he had gone through the fields at evening, when the purple beanflower was in bloom. "what is your name then?" he asked, with a changed sound in his voice, and with his fair cheek paler. "i am bruno marcillo; i come from the hills above the lastra a signa." istriel rose, and looked at him; he had not remembered dead pippa for many a year. all in a moment he did remember: the long light days, the little grey-walled town, the meetings in the vine-hung paths, when sunset burned the skies; the girl with the pearls on her round brown throat, the moonlit nights, with the strings of the guitar throbbing, and the hearts of the lovers leaping; the sweet, eager, thoughtless passion that swayed them one to another, as two flowers are blown together in the mild soft winds of summer; he remembered it all now. and he had forgotten so long; forgotten so utterly; save now and then, when in some great man's house he had chanced to see some painting done in his youth, and sold then for a few gold coins, of a tender tempestuous face, half smiling and half sobbing, full of storm and sunshine, both in one; and then at such times had thought, "poor little fool! she loved me too well;--it is the worst fault a woman has." some regret he had felt, and some remorse when he had found the garret empty, and had lost pippa from sight in the great sea of chance; but she had wearied him, importuned him, clung to him; she had had the worst fault, she had loved him too much. he had been young and poor, and very ambitious; he had been soon reconciled; he had soon learned to think that it was a burden best fallen from his shoulders. no doubt she had suffered; but there was no help for that--some one always suffered when these ties were broken--so he had said to himself. and then there had come success and fame, and the pleasures of the world and the triumphs of art, and pippa had dropped from his thoughts as dead blossoms from a bough; and he had loved so many other women, that he could not have counted them; and the memory of that boy-and-girl romance in the green hill country of the old etruscan land had died away from him like a song long mute. now, all at once, pippa's hand seemed to touch him--pippa's voice seemed to rouse him--pippa's eyes seemed to look at him. * * * it was very early in the morning. there had been heavy rains at night, and there was, when the sun rose, everywhere, that white fog of the valdarno country which is like a silvery cloud hanging over all the earth. it spreads everywhere and blends together land and sky; but it has breaks of exquisite transparencies, through which the gold of the sunbeam shines, and the rose of the dawn blushes, and the summits of the hills gleam here and there, with a white monastery, or a mountain belfry, or a cluster of cypresses seen through it, hung in the air as it were, and framed like pictures in the silvery mist. it is no noxious steam rising from the rivers and the rains: no grey and oppressive obliteration of the face of the world like the fogs of the north; no weight on the lungs and blindness to the eyes; no burden of leaden damp lying heavy on the soil and on the spirit; no wall built up between the sun and men; but a fog that is as beautiful as the full moonlight is--nay, more beautiful, for it has beams of warmth, glories of colour, glimpses of landscape such as the moon would coldly kill; and the bells ring, and the sheep bleat, and the birds sing underneath its shadow; and the sun-rays come through it, darted like angels' spears: and it has in it all the promise of the morning, and all the sounds of the waking day. * * * a great darkness was over all his mind like the plague of that unending night which brooded over egypt. all the ferocity of his nature was scourged into its greatest strength; he was sensible of nothing except the sense that he was beaten in the one aim and purpose of his life. only--if by any chance he could still save the boy. that one thought--companion with him, sleeping and waking, through so many joyless nights--stayed with him still. it seemed to him that he would have strength to scale the very heights of heaven, and shake the very throne of god until he heard--to save the boy. the night was far gone; the red of the day-dawn began to glow, and the stars paled. he did not know how time went; but he knew the look of the daybreak. when the skies looked so through his grated windows at home, he rose and said a prayer, and went down and unbarred his doors, and led out his white beasts to the plough, or between the golden lines of the reaped corn; all that was over now. the birds were waking on the old green hills and the crocus flowers unclosing; but he---- "i shall never see it again," he thought, and his heart yearned to it, and the great, hot, slow tears of a man's woe stole into his aching eyes and burned them. but he had no pity on himself. he had freedom and health and strength and manhood, and he was still not old, and still might win the favour of women, and see his children laugh--if he went back to the old homestead, and the old safe ways of his fathers. and the very smell of the earth there was sweet to him as a virgin's breath, and the mere toil of the ground had been dear to him by reason of the faithful love that he bore to his birthplace. but he had no pity on himself. "my soul for his," he had said; and he cleaved to his word and kept it. in his day he had been savage to others. he was no less so to himself. he had done all that he knew how to do. he had crushed out the natural evil of him and denied the desires of the flesh, and changed his very nature to do good by pippa's son: and it had all been of no use; it had all been spent in vain, as drowning seamen's cries for help are spent on angry winds and yawning waters. he had tried to follow god's will and to drive the tempter from him, for the boy's sake; and it had all been of no avail. through the long score of years his vain sacrifices echoed dully by him as a dropt stone through the dark shaft of a well. perhaps it was not enough. perhaps it was needful that he should redeem the boy's soul by the utter surrender and eternal ruin of his own--perhaps. after all it was a poor love which balanced cost; a meek, mean love which would not dare to take guilt upon it for the thing it cherished. to him crime was crime in naked utter blackness; without aught of those palliatives with which the cultured and philosophic temper can streak it smooth and paint its soft excuse, and trace it back to influence or insanity. to him sin was a mighty, hideous, hell-born thing, which being embraced dragged him who kissed it on the mouth, downward and downward into bottomless pits of endless night and ceaseless torment. to him the depths of hell and heights of heaven were real as he had seen them in the visions of orgagna. yet he was willing to say, "evil, be thou my good!" if by such evil he could break the bonds of passion from the life of pippa's son. he had in him the mighty fanaticism which has made at once the tyrants and the martyrs of the world. "leave him to me," he had said, and then the strength and weakness, and ruthless heat, and utter self-deliverance of his nature leaped to their height, and nerved him with deadly passion. "there is but one way," he said to himself;--there was but one way to cut the cords of this hideous, tangled knot of destiny and let free the boy to the old ways of innocence. "he will curse me," he thought; "i shall die--never looking on his face--never hearing his voice. but he will be freed--so. he will suffer--for a day--a year. but he will be spared the truth. and he is so young--he will be glad again before the summer comes." for a moment his courage failed him. he could face the thought of an eternity of pain, and not turn pale, nor pause. but to die with the boy's curse on him--that was harder. "it is selfishness to pause," he told himself. "he will loathe me always; but what matter?--he will be saved; he will be innocent once more; he will hear his 'beautiful things' again; he will never know the truth; he will be at peace with himself, and forget before the summer comes. he never has loved me--not much. what does it matter?--so that he is saved. when he sees his mother in heaven some day, then she will say to him--'it was done for your sake.' and i shall know that he sees then, as god sees. that will be enough." * * * the boy looked out through the iron bars of his open lattice into the cold, still night, full of the smell of fallen leaves and fir cones. the tears fell down his cheeks; his heart was oppressed with a vague yearning, such as made mozart weep, when he heard his own lacrimosa chanted. it is not fear of death, it is not desire of life. it is that unutterable want, that nameless longing, which stirs in the soul that is a little purer than its fellow, and which, burdened with that prophetic pain which men call genius, blindly feels its way after some great light, that knows must be shining somewhere upon other worlds, though all the earth is dark. when mozart wept, it was for the world he could never reach--not for the world he left. * * * he had been brought up upon this wooded spur, looking down on the signa country; all his loves and hatreds, joys and pains, had been known here; from the time he had plucked the maple leaves in autumn for the cattle with little brown five-year-old hands he had laboured here, never seeing the sun set elsewhere except on that one night at the sea. he was close rooted to the earth as the stonepines were and the oaks. it had always seemed to him that a man should die where he took life first, amongst his kindred and under the sods that his feet had run over in babyhood. he had never thought much about it, but unconsciously the fibres of his heart had twisted themselves round all the smallest and the biggest things of his home as the tendrils of a strong ivy bush fasten round a great tower and the little stones alike. the wooden settle where his mother had sat; the shrine in the house wall; the copper vessels that had glowed in the wood-fuel light when a large family had gathered there about the hearth; the stone well under the walnut-tree where dead dina had often stayed to smile on him; the cypress-wood presses where pippa had kept her feast-day finery and her pearls; the old vast sweet-smelling sheds and stables where he had threshed and hewn and yoked his oxen thirty years if one: all these things, and a hundred like them, were dear to him with all the memories of his entire life; and away from them he could know no peace. he was going away into a great darkness. he had nothing to guide him. the iron of a wasted love, of a useless sacrifice, was in his heart. his instinct drove him where there was peril for pippa's son--that was all. if this woman took the lad away from him, where was there any mercy or justice, earthly or divine? that was all he asked himself, blindly and stupidly; as the oxen seem to ask it with their mild, sad eyes as they strain under the yoke and goad, suffering and not knowing why they suffer. nothing was clear to bruno. only life had taught him that love is the brother of death. one thing and another had come between him and the lad he cherished. the dreams of the child, the desires of the youth, the powers of art, the passion of genius, one by one had come in between him and loosened his hold, and made him stand aloof as a stranger. but love he had dreaded most of all; love which slays with one glance dreams and art and genius, and lays them dead as rootless weeds that rot in burning suns. now love had come. he worked all day, holding the sickness of fear off him as best he could, for he was a brave man;--only he had wrestled with fate so long, and it seemed always to beat him, and almost he grew tired. he cut a week's fodder for the beasts, and left all things in their places, and then, as the day darkened, prepared to go. tinello and pastore lowed at him, thrusting their broad white foreheads and soft noses over their stable door. he turned and stroked them in farewell. "poor beasts!" he muttered; "shall i never muzzle and yoke you ever again?" his throat grew dry, his eyes grew dim. he was like a man who sails for a voyage on unknown seas, and neither he nor any other can tell whether he will ever return. he might come back in a day; he might come back never. multitudes, well used to wander, would have laughed at him. but to him it was as though he set forth on the journey which men call death. in the grey lowering evening he kissed the beasts on their white brows. there was no one there to see his weakness, and year on year he had decked them with their garlands of hedge flowers and led them up on god's day to have their strength blessed by the priest--their strength that laboured with his own from dawn to dark over the bare brown fields. then he turned his back on his old home, and went down the green sides of the hill, and lost sight of his birthplace as the night fell. all through the night he was borne away by the edge of the sea, along the wild windy shores, through the stagnant marshes and the black pools where the buffalo and the wild boar herded, past the deserted cities of the coast, and beyond the forsaken harbours of Æneas and of nero. the west wind blew strong; the clouds were heavy; now and then the moon shone on a sullen sea; now and then the darkness broke over rank maremma vapours; at times he heard the distant bellowing of the herds, at times he heard the moaning of the water; mighty cities, lost armies, slaughtered hosts, foundered fleets, were underneath that soil and sea; whole nations had their sepulchres on that low, wind-blown shore. but of these he knew nothing. it only seemed to him, that day would never come. once or twice he fell asleep for a few moments, and waking in that confused noise of the stormy night and the wild water and the frightened herds, thought that he was dead, and that this sound was the passing of the feet of all the living multitude going for ever to and fro, unthinking, over the depths of the dark earth where he lay. * * * to behold the dominion of evil; the victory of the liar; the empire of that which is base; to be powerless to resist, impotent to strip it bare; to watch it suck under a beloved life as the whirlpool the gold-freighted vessel; to know that the soul for which we would give our own to everlasting ruin is daily, hourly, momentarily subjugated, emasculated, possessed, devoured by those alien powers of violence and fraud which have fastened upon it as their prey; to stand by fettered and mute, and cry out to heaven that in this conflict the angels themselves should descend to wrestle for us, and yet know that all the while the very stars in their courses shall sooner stand still than this reign of sin be ended:--this is the greatest woe that the world holds. beaten, we shake in vain the adamant gates of a brazen iniquity; we may bruise our breasts there till we die; there is no entrance possible. for that which is vile is stronger than all love, all faith, all pure desire, all passionate pain; that which is vile has all the forces that men have called the powers of hell. * * * to him the world was like the dark fathomless waste of waters shelving away to nameless shapeless perils such as the old greek mariners drew upon their charts as compassing the shores they knew. he had no light of knowledge by which to pursue in hope or fancy the younger life that would be launched into the untried realms. to him such separation was as death. he could not write; he could not even read what was written. he could only trust to others that all was well with the boy. he could have none of that mental solace which supports the scholar; none of that sense of natural loveliness which consoles the poet; his mind could not travel beyond the narrow circlet of its own pain; his eyes could not see beauty everywhere from the green fly at his foot to the sapphire mountains above his head; he only noticed the sunset to tell the weather; he only looked across the plain to see if the rain-fall would cross the river. when the autumn crocus sank under his share, to him it was only a weed best withered; in hell he believed, and for heaven he hoped, but only dully, as things certain that the priests knew; but all consolations of the mind or the fancy were denied to him. superstitions, indeed, he had, but these were all;--sad-coloured fungi in the stead of flowers. the italian has not strong imagination. his grace is an instinct; his love is a frenzy; his gaiety is rather joy than jest; his melancholy is from temperament, not meditation; nature is little to him; and his religion and his passions alike must have physical indulgence and perpetual nearness, or they are nothing. he lived in almost absolute solitude. sometimes it grew dreary, and the weeks seemed long. two years went by--slowly. signa did not come home. the travel to and fro took too much money, and he was engrossed in his studies, and it was best so; so luigi dini said, and bruno let it be. the boy did not ask to return. his letters were very brief and not very coherent, and he forget to send messages to old teresina or to palma. but there was no fear for him. the sacristan's friends under whose roof he was wrote once in a quarter, and spoke well of him always, and said that the professors did the same, and that a gentler lad or one more wedded to his work they never knew. and so bruno kept his soul in patience, and said, "do not trouble him; when he wishes he will come--or if he want anything. let him be." to those who have traversed far seas and many lands, and who can bridge untravelled countries by the aid of experience and of understanding, such partings have pain, but a pain lessened by the certain knowledge of their span and purpose. by the light of remembrance or of imagination they can follow that which leaves them. but bruno had no such solace. to him all that was indefinite was evil; all that was unfamiliar was horrible. it is the error of ignorance at all times. * * * he played for himself, for the air, for the clouds, for the trees, for the sheep, for the kids, for the waters, for the stones; played as pan did, and orpheus and apollo. his music came from heaven and went back to it. what did it matter who heard it on earth? a lily would listen to him as never a man could do; and a daffodil would dance with delight as never woman could;--or he thought so at least, which was the same thing. and he could keep the sheep all round him, charmed and still, high above on the hillside, with the sad pines sighing. what did he want with people to hear? he would play for them; but he did not care. if they felt it wrongly, or felt it not at all, he would stop, and run away. "if they are deaf i will be dumb," he said. "the dogs and the sheep and the birds are never deaf--nor the hills--nor the flowers. it is only people that are deaf. i suppose they are always hearing their own steps and voices and wheels and windlasses and the cries of the children and the hiss of the frying-pans. i suppose that is why. well, let them be deaf. rusignuola and i do not want them." so he said to palma under the south wall, watching a butterfly, that folded was like an illuminated shield of black and gold, and with its wings spread was like a scarlet pomegranate blossom flying. palma had asked him why he had run away from the bridal supper of griffeo, the coppersmith's son,--just in the midst of his music; run away home, he and his violin. "they were not deaf," resumed palma. "but your music was so sad--and they were merry." "i played what came to me," said signa. "but you are merry sometimes." "not in a little room with oilwicks burning, and a stench of wine, and people round me. people always make me sad." "why that?" "because--i do not know:--when a number of faces are round me i seem stupid; it is as if i were in a cage; i feel as if god went away, farther, farther, farther!" "but god made men and women." "yes. but i wonder if the trapped birds, and the beaten dogs, and the smarting mules, and the bleeding sheep think so." "oh, signa!" "i think they must doubt it," said signa. "but the beasts are not christians, the priests say so," said palma, who was a very true believer. "i know. but i think they are. for they forgive. we never do." "some of us do." "not as the beasts do. agnoto's house-lamb, the other day, licked his hand as he cut its throat. he told me so." "that was because it loved him," said palma. "and how can it love if it have not a soul?" said signa. palma munched her crust. this sort of meditation, which signa was very prone to wander in, utterly confused her. she could talk at need, as others could, of the young cauliflowers, and the spring lettuces, and the chances of the ripening corn, and the look of the budding grapes, and the promise of the weather, and the likelihood of drought, and the parocco's last sermon, and the gossips' last history of the neighbours, and the varying prices of fine and of coarse plaiting; but anything else--palma was more at ease with the heavy pole pulling against her, and the heavy bucket coming up sullenly from the water-hole. she felt, when he spoke in this way, much as bruno did--only far more intensely--as if signa went away from her--right away into the sky somewhere--as the swallows went when they spread their wings to the east, or the blue wood-smoke when it vanished. "you love your music better than you do bruno, or me, or anything, signa," she said, with a little sorrow that was very humble, and not in the least reproachful. "yes," said signa, with the unconscious cruelty of one in whom art is born predominant. "do you know, palma," he said suddenly, after a pause--"do you know--i think i could make something beautiful, something men would be glad of, if only i could be where they would care for it." "we do care," said the girl gently. "oh, in a way. that is not what i mean," said the boy, with a little impatience which daily grew on him more, for the associates of his life. "you all care; you all sing; it is as the finches do in the fields, without knowing at all what it is that you do. you are all like birds. you pipe--pipe--pipe, as you eat, as you work, as you play. but what music do we ever have in the churches? who amongst you really likes all that music when i play it off the old scores that gigi says were written by such great men, any better than you like the tinkling of the mandolines when you dance in the threshing barns? i am sure you all like the mandolines best. i know nothing here. i do not even know whether what i do is worth much or nothing. i think if i could hear great music once--if i could go to florence----" "to florence?" echoed palma. * * * the contadino not seldom goes through all his life without seeing one league beyond the fields of his labour, and the village that he is registered at, married at, and buried at, and which is the very apex of the earth to him. women will spin and plait and hoe and glean within half a dozen miles of some great city whose name is an art glory in the mouths of scholars, and never will have seen it, never once perhaps, from their birth down to their grave. a few miles of vine-bordered roads, a breadth of corn-land, a rounded hill, a little red roof under a mulberry tree, a church tower with a saint upon the roof, and a bell that sounds over the walnut-trees--these are their world: they know and want to know no other. a narrow life, no doubt, yet not without much to be said for it. without unrest, without curiosity, without envy; clinging like a plant to the soil; and no more willing to wander than the vinestakes which they thrust into the earth. to those who have put a girdle round the earth with their footsteps, the whole world seems much smaller than does the hamlet or farm of his affections to the peasant:--and how much poorer! the vague, dreamful wonder of an untravelled distance--of an untracked horizon--has after all more romance in it than lies in the whole globe run over in a year. who can ever look at the old maps in herodotus or xenophon without a wish that the charm of those unknown limits and those untraversed seas was ours?--without an irresistible sense that to have sailed away, in vaguest hazard, into the endless mystery of the utterly unknown, must have had a sweetness and a greatness in it that is never to be extracted from "the tour of the world in ninety days." * * * "she takes a whim for him; a fancy of a month; he thinks it heaven and eternity. she has ruined him. his genius is burned up; his youth is dead; he will do nothing more of any worth. women like her are like the indian drugs, that sleep and kill. how is that any fault of mine? he could see the thing she was. if he will fling his soul away upon a creature lighter than thistle-down, viler than a rattlesnake's poison, poorer and quicker to pass than the breath of a gnat--whose blame is that except his own? there was a sculptor once, you know, that fell to lascivious worship of the marble image he had made; well,--poets are not even so far wise as that. they make an image out of the gossamer rainbow stuff of their own dreams, and then curse heaven and earth because it dissolves to empty air in their fond arms--whose blame is that? the fools are made so----" * * * not only the fly on the spoke takes praise to itself for the speed of the wheel, but the stone that would fain have hindered it, says, when the wheel unhindered has passed it, "lo! see how much i helped!" * * * the woman makes or mars the man: the man the woman. mythology had no need of the fates. there is only one; the winged blind god that came by night to psyche. * * * all in a moment his art perished. when a human love wakes it crushes fame like a dead leaf, and all the spirits and ministers of the mind shrink away before it, and can no more allure, no more console, but, sighing, pass into silence and are dumb. * * * life, without a central purpose around which it can revolve, is like a star that has fallen out of its orbit. with a great affection or a great aim gone, the practical life may go on loosely, indifferently, mechanically, but it takes no grip on outer things, it has no vital interest, it gravitates to nothing. * * * men who dwell in solitude are superstitious. there is no "chance" for them. the common things of earth and air to them grow portents: and it is easier for them to believe that the universe revolves to serve the earth, than to believe that men are to the universe as the gnats in the sunbeam to the sun; they can sooner credit that the constellations are charged with their destiny, than that they can suffer and die without arousing a sigh for them anywhere in all creation. it is not vanity, as the mocker too hastily thinks. it is the helpless, pathetic cry of the mortal to the immortal nature from which he springs: "leave me not alone: confound me not with the matter that perishes: i am full of pain--have pity!" to be the mere sport of hazard as a dead moth is on the wind--the heart of man refuses to believe it can be so with him. to be created only to be abandoned--he will not think that the forces of existence are so cruel and so unrelenting and so fruitless. in the world he may learn to say that he thinks so, and is resigned to it; but in loneliness the penumbra of his own existence lies on all creation, and the winds and the stars and the daylight and night and the vast unknown mute forces of life--all seem to him that they must of necessity be either his ministers or his destroyers. * * * of all the innocent things that die, the impossible dreams of the poet are the things that die with most pain, and, perhaps, with most loss to humanity. those who are happy die before their dreams. this is what the old greek saying meant. the world had not yet driven the sweet, fair follies from signa's head, nor had it yet made him selfish. if he had lived in the age when timander could arrest by his melodies the tide of revolution, or when the harp of the persian could save bagdad from the sword and flame of murad, all might have been well with him. but the time is gone by when music or any other art was a king. all genius now is, at its best, but a servitor--well or ill fed. * * * silently he put his hand out and grasped signa's, and led him into the spanish chapel, and sank on his knees. the glory of the morning streamed in from the cloister; all the dead gold and the faded hues were transfigured by it; the sunbeams shone on the face of laura, the deep sweet colours of bronzino's coena glowed upward in the vault amidst the shadows; the company of the blessed, whom the old painters had gathered there, cast off the faded robes that the ages had wrapped them in, and stood forth like the tender spirits that they were, and seemed to say, "nay, we, and they who made us, we are not dead, but only waiting." it is all so simple and so foolish there; the war-horses of taddeo that bear their lords to eternity as to a joust of arms; the heretic dogs of memmi, with their tight wooden collars; the beauteous fiammetta and her lover, thronging amongst the saints; the little house, where the holy ghost is sitting, with the purified saints listening at the door, with strings tied to their heads to lift them into paradise; it is all so quaint, so childlike, so pathetic, so grotesque,--like a set of wooden figures from its noah's ark that a dying child has set out on its little bed, and that are so stiff and ludicrous, and yet which no one well can look at and be unmoved, by reason of the little cold hand that has found beauty in them. as the dying child to the wooden figures, so the dead faith gives to the old frescoes here something that lies too deep for tears; we smile, and yet all the while we say;--if only we could believe like this; if only for us the dead could be but sleeping! * * * it was past midnight, and the moon had vanished behind her mountain, withdrawing her little delicate curled golden horn, as if to blow with it the trumpet-call of morning. * * * such pretty, neat, ready lying as this would stand him in better stead than all the high spirit in the world; which, after all, only serves to get a man into hot water in this life and eternal fire in the next. * * * in the country of virgil, life remains pastoral still. the field labourer of northern countries may be but a hapless hind, hedging and ditching dolefully, or at best serving a steam-beast with oil and fire; but in the land of the georgics there is the poetry of agriculture still. materially it may be an evil and a loss--political economists will say so; but spiritually it is a gain. a certain peace and light lie on the people at their toil. the reaper with his hook, the plougher with his oxen, the girl who gleans amongst the trailing vines, the child that sees the flowers tossing with the corn, the men that sing to get a blessing on the grapes--they have all a certain grace and dignity of the old classic ways left with them. they till the earth still with the simplicity of old, looking straight to the gods for recompense. great apollo might still come down amidst them and play to them in their threshing-barns, and guide his milk-white beasts over their furrows,--and there would be nothing in the toil to shame or burden him. it will not last. the famine of a world too full will lay it waste; but it is here a little while longer still. * * * for discontent already creeps into each of these happy households, and under her fox-skin hood says, "let me in--i am progress." * * * in most men and women, love waking wakes, with itself, the soul. in poets love waking kills it. * * * when god gives genius, i think he makes the brain of some strange, glorious stuff, that takes all strength out of the character, and all sight out of the eyes. those artists--they are like the birds we blind: they sing, and make people weep for very joy to hear them; but they cannot see their way to peck the worms, and are for ever wounding their breasts against the wires. no doubt it is a great thing to have genius; but it is a sort of sickness after all; and when love comes-- * * * lippo knew that wise men do not do harm to whatever they may hate. they drive it on to slay itself. so without blood-guiltiness they get their end, yet stainless go to god. * * * he was a little shell off the seashore that hermes had taken out of millions like it that the waves washed up, and had breathed into, and had strung with fine chords, and had made into a syrinx sweet for every human ear. why not break the simple shell for sport? she did not care for music. did the gods care--they could make another. * * * start a lie and a truth together, like hare and hound; the lie will run fast and smooth, and no man will ever turn it aside; but at the truth most hands will fling a stone, and so hinder it for sport's sake, if they can. * * * he heard the notes of a violin, quite faint and distant, but sweet as the piping of a blackbird amongst the white anemones of earliest spring. * * * "nature makes some folks false as it makes lizards wriggle," said he. "lippo is a lizard. no dog ever caught him napping, though he looks so lazy in the sun." * * * he did not waver. he did not repine. he made no reproach, even in his own thoughts. he had only lost all the hope out of his life and all the pride of it. but men lose these and live on; women also. he had built up his little kingdom out of atoms, little by little; atoms of time, of patience, of self-denial, of hoarded coins, of snatched moments;--built it up little by little, at cost of bodily labour and of bodily pain, as the pyramids were built brick by brick by the toil and the torment of unnoticed lives. it was only a poor little nook of land, but it had been like an empire won to him. with his foot on its soil he had felt rich. and now it was gone--gone like a handful of thistle-down lost on the winds, like a spider's web broken in a shower of rain. gone: never to be his own again. never. he sat and watched the brook run on, the pied birds come to drink, the throstle stir on the olive, the cloud shadows steal over the brown, bare fields. the red flush of sunrise faded. smoke rose from the distant roofs. men came out on the lands to work. bells rang. the day began. he got up slowly and went away; looking backwards, looking backwards, always. great leaders who behold their armed hosts melt like snow, and great monarchs who are driven out discrowned from the palaces of their fathers, are statelier figures and have more tragic grace than he had;--only a peasant leaving a shred of land, no bigger than a rich man's dwelling-house will cover;--but vanquished leader or exiled monarch never was more desolate than bruno, when the full sun rose and he looked his last look upon the three poor fields, where for ever the hands of other men would labour, and for ever the feet of other men would wander. * * * he only heard the toads cry to one another, feeling rain coming, "crake! crake! crake! we love a wet world as men an evil way. the skies are going to weep; let us be merry. crock! crock! crock!" and they waddled out--slow, quaint, black things, with arms akimbo, and stared at him with their shrewd, hard eyes. they would lie snug a thousand years with a stone and be quite happy. why were not men like that? toads are kindly in their way, and will get friendly. only men seem to them such fools. the toad is a fakeer, and thinks the beatitude of life lies in contemplation. men fret and fuss and fume, and are for ever in haste; the toad eyes them with contempt. * * * i would die this hour, oh, so gladly, if i could be quite sure that my music would be loved, and be remembered. i do not know: there can be nothing like it, i think:--a thing you create, that is all your own, that is the very breath of your mouth, and the very voice of your soul; which is all that is best in you, the very gift of god; and then to know that all this may be lost eternally, killed, stifled, buried, just for want of men's faith and a little gold! i do not think there can be any loss like it, nor any suffering like it, anywhere else in the world. oh, if only it would do any good, i would fling my body into the grave to-morrow, happy, quite happy; if only afterwards, they would sing my songs, all over the earth, and just say, "god spoke to him; and he has told men what he said." * * * no one can make much music with the mandoline, but there is no other music, perhaps, which sounds so fittingly to time and place, as do its simple sonorous tender chords when heard through the thickets of rose-laurel or the festoons of the vines, vibrating on the stillness of the night under the tuscan moon. it would suit the serenade of romeo; desdemona should sing the willow song to it, and not to the harp; paolo pleaded by it, be sure, many a time to francesca; and stradella sang to it the passion whose end was death; it is of all music the most italian, and it fills the pauses of the love-songs softly, like a sigh or like a kiss. its very charm is, that it says so little. love wants so little said. and the mandoline, though so mournful and full of languor as love is, yet can be gay with that caressing joy born of beautiful nothings, which makes the laughter of lovers the lightest-hearted laughter that ever gives silver wings to time. * * * it was a quaint, vivid, pretty procession, full of grace and of movement--classic and homely, pagan and mediæval, both at once--bright in hue, rustic in garb, poetic in feeling. teniers might have painted the brown girls and boys leaping and singing on the turf, with their brandishing boughs, their flaring torches, their bare feet, their tossing arms; but leonardo or guercino would have been wanted for the face of the young singer whom they carried, with the crown of the leaves and of the roses on his drooped head, like the lotus flowers on the young antinous. piero di cosimo, perhaps, in one of his greatest moments of brilliant caprice, might best have painted the whole, with the background of the dusky hillside; and he would have set it round with strange arabesques in gold, and illumined amongst them in emblem the pipe of the shepherd, and the harp of the muse, and the river-rush that the gods would cut down and fill with their breath and the music of heaven. bruno stood by, and let the innocent pageant pass, with its gold of autumn foliage and its purples of crocus-like colchicum. he heard their voices crying in the court: "we have got him--we have brought him. our signa, who is going to be great!" * * * all life had been to him as the divining-rod of aaron, blooming ever afresh with magic flowers. now that the flame of pain and passion burned it up, and left a bare sear brittle bough, he could not understand. love is cruel as the grave. the poet has embraced the universe in his visions, and heard harmony in every sound, from deep calling through the darkest storm to deep, as from the lightest leaf-dancing in the summer wind; he has found joy in the simplest things, in the nest of a bird, in the wayside grass, in the yellow sand, in the rods of the willow; the lowliest creeping life has held its homily and solace, and in the hush of night he has lifted his face to the stars, and thought that he communed with their creator and his own. then--all in a moment--love claims him, and there is no melody anywhere save in one single human voice, there is no heaven for him save on one human breast; when one face is turned from him there is darkness on all the earth; when one life is lost--let the stars reel from their courses and the world whirl and burn and perish like the moon; nothing matters; when love is dead there is no god. * * * bruno lay down that night, but for an hour only. he could not sleep. he rose before the sun was up, in the grey wintry break of day, while the fog from the river rose like a white wall built up across the plain. it is the season when the peasant has the least to do. ploughing, and sowing, and oil-pressing, all are past; there is little labour for man or beast; there is only garden work for the vegetable market, and the care of the sheep and cattle, where there are any. in large households, where many brothers and sisters get round the oil lamp and munch roast chestnuts and thrum a guitar, or tell ghost stories, these short empty days are very well; sometimes there is a stranger lost coming over the pinewoods, sometimes there is a snow-storm, and the sheep want seeing to; sometimes there is the old roistering way of keeping twelfth-night, even on these lonely wind-torn heights; where the house is full and merry, the short winter passes not so very dully; but in the solitary places, where men brood alone, as bruno did, they are heavy enough; all the rest of the world might be dead and buried, the stillness is so unbroken, the loneliness so great. he got up and saw after his few sheep above amongst the pines; one or two of them were near lambing; then he laboured on his garden mould amongst the potato plants and cauliflowers, the raw mist in his lungs and the sea-wind blowing. it had become very mild; the red rose on his house-wall was in bud, and the violets were beginning to push from underneath the moss; but the mornings were always very cold and damp. an old man came across from carmignano to beg a pumpkin-gourd or two; he got a scanty living by rubbing them up and selling them to the fishermen down on the arno. bruno gave them. he had known the old creature all his life. "you are dull here," said the old man, timidly; because every one was more or less afraid of bruno. bruno shrugged his shoulders and took up his spade again. "your boy does grand things, they say," said the old man; "but it would be cheerfuller for you if he had taken to the soil." bruno went on digging. "it is like a man i know," said the pumpkin-seller, thinking the sound of his own voice must be a charity. "a man that helped to cast church-bells. he cast bells all his life; he never did anything else at all. 'it is brave work,' said he to me once, 'sweating in the furnace there and making the metal into tuneful things to chime the praise of all the saints and angels; but when you sweat and sweat and sweat, and every bell you make just goes away and is swung up where you never see or hear it ever again--that seems sad; my bells are all ringing in the clouds, saving the people's souls, greeting our lady; but they are all gone ever so far away from me. i only hear them ringing in my dreams.' now, i think the boy is like the bells--to you." bruno dug in the earth. "the man was a fool," said he. "who cared for his sweat or sorrow? it was his work to melt the metal. that was all." "ay," said the pumpkin-seller, and shouldered the big, yellow, wrinkled things that he had begged; "but never to hear the bells--that is sad work." bruno smiled grimly. "sad! he could hear some of them as other people did, no doubt, ringing far away against the skies while he was in the mud. that was all he wanted; if he were wise, he did not even want so much as that. good-day." it was against his wont to speak so many words on any other thing than the cattle or the olive harvest or the prices of seeds and grain in the market in the town. he set his heel upon his spade and pitched the earth-begrimed potatoes in the skip he filled. the old man nodded and went--to wend his way to carmignano. suddenly he turned back: he was a tender-hearted, fanciful soul, and had had a long, lonely life himself. "i tell you what," he said, a little timidly; "perhaps the bells, praising god always, ringing the sun in and out, and honouring our lady; perhaps they went for something in the lives of the men that made them? i think they must. it would be hard if the bells got everything, the makers nothing." over bruno's face a slight change went. his imperious eyes softened. he knew the old man spoke in kindness. "take these home with you. nay; no thanks," he said, and lifted on the other's back the kreel full of potatoes dug for the market. the old man blessed him, overjoyed; he was sickly and very poor; and hobbled on his way along the side of the mountains. bruno went to other work. if the bells ring true and clear, and always to the honour of the saints, a man may be content to have sweated for it in the furnace and to be forgot; but--if it be cracked in a fire and the pure ore of it melt away shapeless? * * * "toccò" was sounding from all the city clocks. he met another man he knew, a farmer from montelupo. "brave doings!" said the montelupo man. "a gala night to-night for the foreign prince, and your boy summoned, so they say. no doubt you are come in to see it all?" bruno shook himself free quickly, and went on; for a moment it occurred to him that it might be best to wait and see signa in the town; but then he could not do that well. nothing was done at home, and the lambs could not be left alone to the shepherd lad's inexperience; only a day old, one or two of them, and the ground so wet, and the ewes weakly. to leave his farm would have seemed to bruno as to leave his sinking ship does to a sailor. besides, he had nothing to do with all the grandeur; the king did not want _him_. all this stir and tumult and wonder and homage in the city was for signa; princes seemed almost like his servants, the king like his henchman! bruno was proud, under his stern, calm, lofty bearing, which would not change, and would not let him smile, or seem so womanish-weak as to be glad for all the gossiping. the boy wanted no king or prince. he said so to them with erect disdain. yet he was proud. "after all, one does hear the bells ringing," he thought; his mind drifting away to the old carmignano beggar's words. he was proud, and glad. he stopped his mule by strozzi palace, and pushed his way into the almost empty market to the place called the spit or fila, where all day long and every day before the roaring fires the public cooks roast flesh and fowl to fill the public paunch of florence. here there was a large crowd, pushing to buy the frothing, savoury hot meats. he thrust the others aside, and bought half a kid smoking, and a fine capon, and thrust them in his cart. then he went to a shop near, and bought some delicate white bread, and some foreign chocolate, and some snowy sugar. "no doubt," he thought, "the boy had learned to like daintier fare than theirs in his new life;" theirs, which was black crusts and oil and garlic all the year round, with meat and beans, perhaps, on feast nights, now and then, by way of a change. then as he was going to get into his seat he saw among the other plants and flowers standing for sale upon the ledge outside the palace a damask rose-tree--a little thing, but covered with buds and blossoms blushing crimson against the stately old iron torch-rings of the smith caprera. bruno looked at it--he who never thought of flowers from one year's end on to another, and cut them down with his scythe for his oxen to munch as he cut grass. then he bought it. the boy liked all beautiful innocent things, and had been always so foolish about the lowliest herb. it would make the dark old house upon the hill look bright to him. ashamed of the weaknesses that he yielded to, bruno sent the mule on at its fastest pace; the little red rose-tree nodding in the cart. he had spent more in a day than he was accustomed to spend in three months' time. but then the house looked so cheerless. as swiftly as he could make the mule fly, he drove home across the plain. the boy was there, no doubt; and would be cold and hungry, and alone. bruno did not pause a moment on his way, though more than one called to him as he drove, to know if it were true indeed that this night there was to be a gala for the lamia and the princes. he nodded, and flew through the chill grey afternoon, splashing the deep mud on either side of him. the figure of st. giusto on his high tower; the leafless vines and the leafless poplars; the farriers' and coopers' workshops on the road; grim castel pucci, that once flung its glove at florence; the green low dark hills of castagnolo; villa and monastery, watch-tower and bastion, homestead and convent, all flew by him, fleeting and unseen; all he thought of was that the boy would be waiting, and want food. he was reckless and furious in his driving always, but his mule had never been beaten and breathless as it was that day when he tore up the ascent to his own farm as the clocks in the plain tolled four. he was surprised to see his dog lie quiet on the steps. "is he there?" he cried instinctively to the creature, which rose and came to greet him. there was no sound anywhere. bruno pushed his door open. the house was empty. he went out again and shouted to the air. the echo from the mountain above was all his answer. when that died away the old silence of the hills was unbroken. he returned and took the food and the little rose-tree out of his cart. he had bought them with eagerness, and with that tenderness which was in him, and for which dead dina had loved him to her hurt. he had now no pleasure in them. a bitter disappointment flung its chill upon him. disappointment is man's most frequent visitor--the uninvited guest most sure to come; he ought to be well used to it; yet he can never get familiar. bruno ought to have learned never to hope. but his temper was courageous and sanguine: such madmen hope on to the very end. he put the things down on the settle, and went to put up the mule. the little rose-tree had been too roughly blown in the windy afternoon; its flowers were falling, and some soon strewed the floor. bruno looked at it when he entered. it hurt him; as the star argol had done. he covered the food with a cloth, and set the flower out of the draught. then he went to see his sheep. there was no train by the seaway from rome until night. signa would not come that way now, since he had to be in the town for the evening. "he will come after the theatre," bruno said to himself, and tried to get the hours away by work. he did not think of going into the city again himself. he was too proud to go and see a thing he had never been summoned to; too proud to stand outside the doors and stare with the crowd while pippa's son was honoured within. besides, he could not have left the lambs all a long winter's night; and the house all unguarded; and nobody there to give counsel to the poor mute simpleton whom he had now to tend his beasts. "he will come after the theatre," he said. the evening seemed very long. the late night came. bruno set his door open, cold though it was; so that he should catch the earliest sound of footsteps. the boy, no doubt, he thought, would drive to the foot of the hill, and walk the rest. it was a clear night after the rain of many days. he could see the lights of the city in the plain fourteen miles or so away. what was doing down there? it seemed strange;--signa being welcomed there, and he himself knowing nothing--only hearing a stray word or two by chance. once or twice in his younger days he had seen the city in gala over some great artist it delighted to honour; he could imagine the scene and fashion of it all well enough; he did not want to be noticed in it, only he would have liked to have been told, and to have gone down and seen it, quietly wrapped in his cloak, amongst the throng. that was how he would have gone, had he been told. he set the supper out as well as he could, and put wine ready, and the rose-tree in the midst. in the lamplight the little feast did not look so badly. he wove wicker-work round some uncovered flasks by way of doing something. the bitter wind blew in; he did not mind that; his ear was strained to listen. midnight passed. the wind had blown his lamp out. he lighted two great lanthorns, and hung them up against the doorposts; it was so dark upon the hills. one hour went; another; then another. there was no sound. when yet another passed, and it was four of the clock, he said: "he will not come to-night. no doubt they kept him late, and he was too tired. he will be here by sunrise." he threw himself on his bed for a little time, and closed the door. but he left the lanthorns hanging outside; on the chance. he slept little; he was up while it was still dark, and the robins were beginning their first twittering notes. "he will be here to breakfast," he said to himself, and he left the table untouched, only opening the shutters so that when day came it should touch the rose at once and wake it up; it looked so drooping, as though it felt the cold. then he went and saw to his beasts and to his work. the sun leapt up in the cold, broad, white skies. signa did not come with it. the light brightened. the day grew. noon brought its hour of rest. the table still stood unused. the rose-leaves had fallen in a little crimson pool upon it. bruno sat down on the bench by the door, not having broken his fast. "they are keeping him in the town," he thought. "he will come later." he sat still a few moments, but he did not eat. in a little while he heard a step on the dead winter leaves and tufts of rosemary. he sprang erect; his eyes brightened; his face changed. he went forward eagerly: "signa!--my dear!--at last!" he only saw under the leafless maples and brown vine tendrils a young man that he had never seen, who stopped before him breathing quickly from the steepness of the ascent. "i was to bring this to you," he said, holding out a long gun in its case. "and to tell you that he, the youth they all talk of--signa--went back to rome this morning; had no time to come, but sends you this, with his dear love and greeting, and will write from rome to-night. ah, lord! there was such fuss with him in the city. he was taken to the foreign princes, and then the people!--if you had heard them!--all the street rang with the cheering. this morning he could hardly get away for all the crowd there was. i am only a messenger. i should be glad of wine. your hill is steep." bruno took the gun from him, and put out a flask of his own wine on the threshold; then shut close the door. it was such a weapon as he had coveted all his life long, seeing such in gunsmiths' windows and the halls of noblemen: a breech-loader, of foreign make, beautifully mounted and inlaid with silver. he sat still a little while, the gun lying on his knees; there was a great darkness on his face. then he gripped it in both hands, the butt in one, the barrel in the other, and dashed the centre of it down across the round of his great grindstone. the blow was so violent, the wood of the weapon snapped with it across the middle, the shining metal loosened from its hold. he struck it again, and again, and again; until all the polished walnut was flying in splinters, and the plates of silver, bent and twisted, falling at his feet; the finely tempered steel of the long barrel alone was whole. he went into his woodshed, and brought out branches of acacia brambles, and dry boughs of pine, and logs of oak; dragging them forth with fury. he piled them in the empty yawning space of the black hearth, and built them one on another in a pile; and struck a match and fired them, tossing pine-cones in to catch the flames. in a few minutes a great fire roared alight, the turpentine in the pine-apples and fir-boughs blazing like pitch. then he fetched the barrel of the gun, and the oaken stock, and the silver plates and mountings, and threw them into the heat. the flaming wood swallowed them up; he stood and watched it. after a while a knock came at his house-door. "who is there?" he called. "it is i," said a peasant's voice. "there is so much smoke, i thought you were on fire. i was on the lower hill, so i ran up--is all right with you?" "all is right with me." "but what is the smoke?" "i bake my bread." "it will be burnt to cinders." "i make it, and i eat it. whose matter is it?" the peasant went away muttering, with slow unwilling feet. bruno watched the fire. after a brief time its frenzy spent itself; the flames died down; the reddened wood grew pale, and began to change to ash; the oaken stock was all consumed, the silver was melted and fused into shapeless lumps, the steel tube alone kept shape unchanged, but it was blackened and choked up with ashes, and without beauty or use. bruno watched the fire die down into a great mound of dull grey and brown charred wood. then he went out, and drew the door behind him, and locked it. the last red rose dropped, withered by the heat. * * * there is always song somewhere. as the wine waggon creaks down the hill, the waggoner will chant to the corn that grows upon either side of him. as the miller's mules cross the bridge, the lad as he cracks his whip will hum to the blowing alders. in the red clover, the labourers will whet their scythes to a trick of melody. in the quiet evenings a kyrie eleison will rise from the thick leaves that hide a village chapel. on the hills the goatherd, high in air amongst the arbutus branches, will scatter on the lonely mountain-side stanzas of purest rhythm. by the sea-shore, where shelley died, the fisherman, rough and salt and weather-worn, will string notes of sweetest measure under the tamarisk-tree on his mandoline. but the poetry and the music float on the air like the leaves of roses that blossom in a solitude, and drift away to die upon the breeze; there is no one to notice the fragrance, there is no one to gather the leaves. * * * but then life does not count by years. some suffer a lifetime in a day, and so grow old between the rising and the setting of a sun. * * * but he was not obstinate. he only stretched towards the light he saw, as the plant in the cellar will stretch through the bars. tens of millions of little peasants come to the birth, and grow up and become men, and do the daily bidding of the world, and work and die, and have no more of soul or godhead in them than the grains of sand. but here and there, with no lot different from his fellows, one is born to dream and muse and struggle to the sun of higher desires, and the world calls such a one burns, or haydn, or giotto, or shakespeare, or whatever name the fierce light of fame may burn upon and make irridescent. * * * the mighty lives have passed away into silence, leaving no likeness to them on earth; but if you would still hold communion with them, even better than to go to written score or printed book or painted panel or chiselled marble or cloistered gloom is it to stray into one of these old quiet gardens, where for hundreds of years the stone naiad has leaned over the fountain, and the golden lizard hidden under the fallen caryatide, and sit quite still, and let the stones tell you what they remember, and the leaves say what the sun once saw; and then the shades of the great dead will come to you. only you must love them truly, else you will see them never. * * * "how he loves that thing already--as he never will love me," thought bruno, looking down at him in the starlight, with that dull sense of hopeless rivalry and alien inferiority which the self-absorption of genius inflicts innocently and unconsciously on the human affections that cling to it, and which later on love avenges upon it in the same manner. * * * who can look at the old maps in herodotus or xenophon, without a wish that the charm of those unknown limits and those untraversed seas was ours?--without an irresistible sense that to have sailed away, in vaguest hazard, into the endless mystery of the utterly unknown, must have had a sweetness and a greatness in it that is never to be extracted from the "tour of the world in ninety days." * * * fair faiths are the blossoms of life. when the faith drops, spring is over. * * * in the country of virgil, life remains pastoral still. the field-labourer of northern counties may be but a hapless hind, hedging and ditching dolefully, or at least serving a steam-beast with oil and fire, but in the land of the georgics there is the poetry of agriculture still. * * * the fatal desire of fame, which is to art the corroding element, as the desire of the senses is to love--bearing with it the seeds of satiety and mortality--had entered into him without his knowing what it was that ailed him. * * * genius lives in isolation, and suffers from it. but perhaps it creates it. the breath of its lips is like ether; purer than the air around it, it changes the air for others into ice. * * * conscience and genius--the instinct of the heart, and the desire of the mind--the voice that warns and the voice that ordains: when these are in conflict, it is bitter for life in which they are at war; most bitter of all when that life is in its opening youth, and sure of everything, and yet sure of nothing. * * * between them there was that bottomless chasm of mental difference, across which mutual affection can throw a rope-chain of habit and forbearance for the summer days, but which no power on earth can ever bridge over with that iron of sympathy which stands throughout all storms. * * * when the heart is fullest of pain, and the mouth purest with truth, there is a cruel destiny in things, which often makes the words worst chosen and surest to defeat the end they seek. * * * there is a chord in every human heart that has a sigh in it if touched aright. when the artist finds the key-note which that chord will answer to--in the dullest as in the highest--then he is great. * * * life without a central purpose around which it can revolve, is like a star that has fallen out of its orbit. with a great affection or a great aim gone, the practical life may go on loosely, indifferently, mechanically, but it takes no grip on outer things, it has no vital interest, it gravitates to nothing. * * * fame has only the span of a day, they say. but to live in the hearts of the people--that is worth something. * * * keep young. keep innocent. innocence does not come back: and repentance is a poor thing beside it. * * * the chimes of the monastery were ringing out for the first mass; deep bells of sweet tone, that came down the river like a benediction on the day. signa kneeled down on the grass. "did you pray for the holy men?" bruno asked him when they rose, and they went on under the tall green quivering trees. "no," said signa under his breath. "i prayed for the devil." "for him?" echoed bruno aghast; "what are you about, child? are you possessed? do you know what the good priests would say?" "i prayed for him," said signa. "it is he who wants it. to be wicked _there_ where god is, and the sun, and the bells"---- "but he is the foe of god. it is horrible to pray for him." "no," said signa, sturdily. "god says we are to forgive our enemies, and help them. i only asked him to begin with his." bruno was silent. _tricotrin._ at every point where her eyes glanced there was a picture of exquisite colour, and light, and variety. but the scene in its loveliness was so old to her, so familiar, that it was scarcely lovely, only monotonous. with all a child's usual ignorant impatience of the joys of the present--joys so little valued at the time, so futilely regretted in the after-years--she was heedless of the hour's pleasure, she was longing for what had not come. * * * on the whole, the waif fared better, having fallen to the hands of a vagabond philosopher, than if she had drifted to those of a respected philanthropist. the latter would have had her glistening hair shorn short, as a crown with which that immortal and inconsistent socialist nature had no justification in crowning a foundling, and, in his desire to make her fully expiate the lawless crime of entering the world without purse or passport, would have left her no choice, as she grew into womanhood, save that between sinning and starving. the former bade the long fair tresses float on the air, sunny rebels against bondage, and saw no reason why the childhood of the castaway should not have its share of childish joyousness as well as the childhood prince-begotten and palace-cradled; holding that the fresh life just budded on earth was as free from all soil, no matter whence it came, as is the brook of pure rivulet water, no matter whether it spring from classic lake or from darksome cavern. * * * the desire to be "great" possessed her. when that insatiate passion enters a living soul, be it the soul of a woman-child dreaming of a coquette's conquests, or a crowned hero craving for a new world, it becomes blind to all else. moral death falls on it; and any sin looks sweet that takes it nearer to its goal. it is a passion that generates at once all the loftiest and all the vilest things, which between them ennoble and corrupt the world--even as heat generates at once the harvest and the maggot, the purpling vine and the lice that devour it. it is a passion without which the world would decay in darkness, as it would do without heat, yet to which, as to heat, all its filthiest corruption is due. * * * a woman's fair repute is like a blue harebell--a touch can wither it. * * * viva had gained the "great world;" and because she had gained it all the old things of her lost past grew unalterably sweet to her now that they no longer could be called hers. the brown, kind, homely, tender face of grand'mère; the gambols of white and frolicsome bébé; the woods where, with every spring, she had filled her arms with sheaves of delicate primroses; the quaint little room with its strings of melons and sweet herbs, its glittering brass and pewter, its wood-fire with the soup-pot simmering above the flame; the glad free days in the vineyard and on the river, with the winds blowing fragrance from over the clover and flax, and the acacias and lindens; nay, even the old, quiet, sleepy hours within the convent-walls, lying on the lush unshaven grass, while the drowsy bells rang to vespers or compline,--all became suddenly precious and dear to her when once she knew that they had drifted away from her for evermore. * * * then he bent his head, letting her desire be his law; and that music, which had given its hymn for the vintage-feast of the loire, and which had brought back the steps of the suicide from the river-brink in the darkness of the paris night, which sovereigns could not command and which held peasants entranced by its spell, thrilled through the stillness of the chamber. human in its sadness, more than human in its eloquence, now melancholy as the miserere that sighs through the gloom of a cathedral at midnight, now rich as the glory of the afterglow in egypt, a poem beyond words, a prayer grand as that which seems to breathe from the hush of mountain solitudes when the eternal snows are lighted by the rising of the sun--the melody of the violin filled the silence of the closing day. the melancholy, ever latent in the vivid natures of men of genius, is betrayed and finds voice in their art. goethe laughs with the riotous revellers, and rejoices with the summer of the vines, and loves the glad abandonment of woman's soft embraces, and with his last words prays for light. but the profound sadness of the great and many-sided master-mind thrills through and breaks out in the intense humanity, the passionate despair of faust; the melancholy and the yearning of the soul are there. with tricotrin they were uttered in his music. * * * "let me be but amused! let me only laugh if i die!" cries the world in every age. it has so much of grief and tragedy in its own realities, it has so many bitter tears to shed in its solitude, it has such weariness of labour without end, it has such infinitude of woe to regard in its prisons, in its homes, in its battlefields, in its harlotries, in its avarices, in its famines; it is so heart-sick of them all, that it would fain be lulled to forgetfulness of its own terrors; it asks only to laugh for awhile, even if it laugh but at shadows. "the world is vain, frivolous, reckless of that which is earnest; it is a courtesan who thinks only of pleasure, of adornment, of gewgaws, of the toys of the hour!" is the reproach which its satirists in every age hoot at it. alas! it is a courtesan who, having sold herself to evil, strives to forget her vile bargain; who, having washed her cheeks white with saltest tears, strives to believe that the paint calls the true colour back; who, having been face to face for so long with blackest guilt, keenest hunger, dreadest woe, strives to lose their ghosts, that incessantly follow her, in the tumult of her own thoughtless laughter. "let me be but amused!"--the cry is the aching cry of a world that is overborne with pain, and with longing for the golden years of its youth; that cry is never louder than when the world is most conscious of its own infamy. in the roman empire, in the byzantine empire, in the second empire of napoleonic france, the world, reeking with corruption, staggering under the burden of tyrannies, and delivered over to the dominion of lust, has shrieked loudest in its blindness of suffering, "let me only laugh if i die!" * * * not as others! why, my waif? is your foot less swift, your limb less strong, your face less fair than theirs? does the sun shine less often, have the flowers less fragrance, does sleep come less sweetly to you than to them? nature has been very good, very generous to you, viva. be content with her gifts. what you lack is only a thing of man's invention--a quibble, a bauble, a pharisee's phylactery. look at the river-lilies that drift yonder--how white they are, how their leaves enclose and caress them, how the water buoys them up and plays with them! well, are they not better off than the poor rare flowers that live painfully in hothouse air, and are labelled, and matted, and given long names by men's petty precise laws? you are like the river-lilies. o child, do not pine for the glass house that would ennoble you, only to force you and kill you? * * * wrong to be proud, you ask? no. but then the pride must be of a right fashion. it must be the pride which says, "let me not envy, for that were meanness. let me not covet, for that were akin to theft. let me not repine, for that were weakness." it must be the pride which says, "i can be sufficient for myself. my life makes my nobility; and i need no accident of rank, because i have a stainless honour." it must be pride too proud to let an aged woman work where youthful limbs can help her; too proud to trample basely on what lies low already; too proud to be a coward, and shrink from following conscience in the confession of known error; too proud to despise the withered toil-worn hands of the poor and old, and be vilely forgetful that those hands succoured you in your utmost need of helpless infancy! * * * philosophy, viva, is the pomegranate of life, ever cool and most fragrant, and the deeper you cut in it the richer only will the core grow. power is the dead-sea apple, golden and fair to sight while the hand strives to reach it, dry grey ashes between dry fevered lips when once it is grasped and eaten! * * * pleasure is but labour to those who do not know also that labour in its turn is pleasure. * * * happy! as a mollusc is happy so long as the sea sweeps prey into its jaws; what does the mollusc care how many lives have been shipwrecked so long as the tide wafts it worms? she has killed her conscience, viva; there is no murder more awful. it is to slay what touch of god we have in us! * * * have i been cruel, my child? your fever of discontent needed a sharp cure. life lies before you, viva, and you alone can mould it for yourself. sin and anguish fill nine-tenths of the world: to one soul that basks in light, a thousand perish in darkness; i dare not let you go on longer in your dangerous belief that the world is one wide paradise, and that the high-road of its joys is the path of reckless selfishness. can you not think that there are lots worse than that of a guiltless child who is well loved and well guarded, and has all her future still before her? * * * it rests with you to live your life nobly or vilely. we have not our choice to be rich or poor, to be happy or unhappy, to be in health or in sickness; but we have our choice to be worthy or worthless. no antagonist can kill our soul in us; that can perish only from its own suicide. ever remember that. * * * but they are hollow inside, you still urge? fie, for shame! what a plea that is! have you the face to make it? if you have, let me bargain with you. when all the love that is fair and false goes begging for believers, and all the passion that is a sham fails to find one fool to buy it; when all the priests and politicians clap in vain together the brazen cymbals of their tongues, because their listeners will not hearken to brass clangour, nor accept it for the music of the spheres; when all the creeds, that feast and fatten upon the cowardice and selfishness of men, are driven out of hearth and home, and mart and temple, as impostors that put on the white beard of reverence and righteousness to pass current a cheater's coin; when all the kings that promise peace while they swell their armouries and armies; when all the statesmen that chatter of the people's weal as they steal up to the locked casket where coronets are kept; when all the men who talk of "glory," and prate of an "idea" that they may stretch their nation's boundary, and filch their neighbour's province--when all these are no longer in the land, and no more looked on with favour, then i will believe your cry that you hate the toys which are hollow. * * * can an ignorant or an untrained brain follow the theory of light, or the metamorphosis of plants? yet it may rejoice in the rays of a summer sun, in the scent of a nest of wild-flowers. so may it do in my music. shall i ask higher payment than the god of the sun and the violets asks for himself? * * * once there were three handmaidens of krishna's; invisible, of course, to the world of men. they begged of krishna, one day, to test their wisdom, and krishna gave them three drops of dew. it was in the season of drought,--and he bade them go and bestow them where each deemed best in the world. now one flew earthward, and saw a king's fountain leaping and shining in the sun; the people died of thirst, and the fields and the plains were cracked with heat, but the king's fountain was still fed and played on. so she thought, "surely, my dew will best fall where such glorious water dances?" and she shook the drop into the torrent. the second hovered over the sea, and saw the indian oysters lying under the waves, among the sea-weed and the coral. then she thought, "a rain-drop that falls in an oyster's shell becomes a pearl; it may bring riches untold to man, and shine in the diadem of a monarch. surely it is best bestowed where it will change to a jewel?"--and she shook the dew into the open mouth of a shell. the third had scarcely hovered a moment over the parched white lands, ere she beheld a little, helpless brown bird dying of thirst upon the sand, its bright eyes glazed, its life going out in torture. then she thought, "surely my gift will be best given in succour to the first and lowliest thing i see in pain?"--and she shook the dew-drop down into the silent throat of the bird, that fluttered, and arose, and was strengthened. then krishna said that she alone had bestowed her power wisely; and he bade her take the tidings of rain to the aching earth, and the earth rejoiced exceedingly. genius is the morning dew that keeps the world from perishing in drought. can you read my parable? * * * to die when life can be lived no longer with honour is greatness indeed; but to die because life galls and wearies and is hard to pursue--there is no greatness in that? it is the suicide's plea for his own self-pity. you live under tyranny, corruption, dynastic lies hard to bear, despotic enemies hard to bear, i know. but you forget--what all followers of your creed ever forget--that without corruption, untruth, weakness, ignorance in a nation itself, such things could not be in its rulers. men can bridle the ass and can drive the sheep; but who can drive the eagle or bridle the lion? a people that was strong and pure no despot could yoke to his vices. * * * no matter! he must have _race_ in him. heraldry may lie; but voices do not. low people make money, drive in state, throng to palaces, receive kings at their tables by the force of gold; but their antecedents always croak out in their voices. they either screech or purr; they have no clear modulations; besides, their women always stumble over their train, and their men bow worse than their servants. * * * ere long he drew near a street which in the late night was still partially filled with vehicles and with foot-passengers, hurrying through the now fast-falling snow, and over the slippery icy pavements. in one spot a crowd had gathered--of artisans, women, soldiers, and idlers, under the light of a gas-lamp. in the midst of the throng some gendarmes had seized a young girl, accused by one of the bystanders of having stolen a broad silver piece from his pocket. she offered no resistance; she stood like a stricken thing, speechless and motionless, as the men roughly laid hands on her. tricotrin crossed over the road, and with difficulty made his way into the throng of blouses and looked at her. degraded she was, but scarcely above a child's years; and her features had a look as if innocence were in some sort still there, and sin still loathed in her soul. as he drew near he heard her mutter, "mother, mother! she will die of hunger!--it was for her, only for her!" he stooped in the snow, and letting fall, unperceived, a five-franc piece, picked it up again. "here is some silver," he said, turning to the infuriated owner, a lemonade-seller, who could ill afford to lose it now that it was winter, and people were too cold for lemonade, and who seized it with rapturous delight. "that is it, monsieur, that is it. holy jesus! how can i thank you? ah, if i had convicted the poor creature--and all in error!--i should never have forgiven myself! messieurs les gendarmes, let her go! it was my mistake. my silver piece was in the snow!" the gendarmes reluctantly let quit their prey: they muttered, they hesitated, they gripped her arms tighter, and murmured of the prison-cell. "let her go," said tricotrin quietly: and in a little while they did so,--the girl stood bareheaded and motionless in the snow like a frost-bound creature. soon the crowd dispersed: nothing can be still long in paris, and since there had been no theft there was no interest! they were soon left almost alone, none were within hearing. then he stooped to her: she had never taken off him the wild, senseless, incredulous gaze of her great eyes. "were you guilty?" he asked her. she caught his hands, she tried to bless him and to thank him, and broke down in hysterical sobs. "i took it--yes! what would you have? i took it for my mother. she is old, and blind, and without food. it is for her that i came on the streets; but she does not know it, it would kill her to know; she thinks my money honest; and she is so proud and glad with it! that was the first thing i _stole_! o god! are you an angel? if they had put me in prison my mother would have starved!" he looked on her gently, and with a pity that fell upon her heart like balm. "i saw it was your first theft. hardened robbers do not wear your stricken face," he said softly, as he slipped two coins into her hand. "ah, child! let your mother die rather than allow her to eat the bread of your dishonour: which choice between the twain do you not think a mother would make? and know your trade she must, soon or late. sin no more, were it only for that love you bear her." * * * their lives had drifted asunder, as two boats drift north and south on a river, the distance betwixt them growing longer and longer with each beat of the oars and each sigh of the tide. and for the lives that part thus, there is no reunion. one floats out to the open and sunlit sea; and one passes away to the grave of the stream. meet again on the river they cannot. * * * "they shudder when they read of the huns and the ostrogoths pouring down into rome," he mused, as he passed toward the pandemonium. "they keep a horde as savage, imprisoned in their midst, buried in the very core of their capitals, side by side with their churches and palaces, and never remember the earthquake that would whelm them if once the pent volcano burst, if once the black mass covered below took flame and broke to the surface! statesmen multiply their prisons, and strengthen their laws against the crime that is done--and they never take the canker out of the bud, they never save the young child from pollution. their political economy never studies prevention; it never cleanses the sewers, it only curses the fever-stricken!" * * * "what avail?" he thought. "what avail to strive to bring men nearer to the right? they love their darkness best--why not leave them to it? age after age the few cast away their lives striving to raise and to ransom the many. what use? juvenal scourged rome, and the same vices that his stripes lashed then, laugh triumphant in paris to-day! the satirist, and the poet, and the prophet strain their voices in vain as the crowds rush on; they are drowned in the chorus of mad sins and sweet falsehoods! o god! the waste of hope, the waste of travail, the waste of pure desire, the waste of high ambitions!--nothing endures but the wellspring of lies that ever rises afresh, and the bay-tree of sin that is green, and stately, and deathless!" * * * he himself went onward through the valley, through the deep belt of the woods, through the avenues of the park. the whole front of the antique building was lighted, and the painted oriels gleamed ruby, and amber, and soft brown, in the dusky evening, through the green screen of foliage. the fragrance of the orange alleys, and of the acres of flowers, was heavy on the air; there was the sound of music borne down the low southerly wind; here and there through the boughs was the dainty glisten of gliding silks:--it was such a scene as once belonged to the terraces and gardens of versailles. from beyond the myrtle fence and gilded railings which severed the park from the pleasaunce, enough could be seen, enough heard, of the brilliant revelry within to tell of its extravagance, and its elegance, in the radiance that streamed from all the illumined avenues. he stood and looked long; hearing the faint echo of the music, seeing the effulgence of the light through the dark myrtle barrier. a very old crippled peasant, searching in the grass for truffles, with a little dog, stole timidly up and looked too. "how can it feel, to live like _that?_" he asked, in a wistful, tremulous voice. tricotrin did not hear: his hand was grasped on one of the gilded rails with a nervous force as from bodily pain. the old truffle-gatherer, with his little white dog panting at his feet, crossed himself as he peered through the myrtle screen. "god!" he muttered; "how strange it seems that people are there who never once knew what it was to want bread, and to find it nowhere, though the lands all teemed with harvest! they never feel hungry, or cold, or hot, or tired, or thirsty: they never feel their bones ache, and their throat parch, and their entrails gnaw! these people ought not to get to heaven--they have it on earth!" tricotrin heard at last: he turned his head and looked down on the old man's careworn, hollow face. "'verily they have their reward,' you mean? nay, that is a cruel religion, which would excruciate hereafter those who enjoy now. judge them not; in their laurel crowns there is full often twisted a serpent. the hunger of the body is bad indeed, but the hunger of the mind is worse perhaps; and from that they suffer, because from every fulfilled desire springs the pain of a fresh satiety." the truffle-hunter, wise in his peasant-fashion, gazed wistfully up at the face above him, half comprehending the answer. "it may be so," he murmured; "but then--they _have_ enjoyed! ah, christ! that is what i envy them. now we--we die, starved amidst abundance; we see the years go, and the sun never shines once in them; and all we have is a hope--a hope that may be cheated at last; for none have come back from the grave to tell us whether _that_ fools us as well." * * * "i incline to think you live twenty centuries too late, or--twenty centuries too early." viva turned on him a swift and eager glance. "of course!" she said, with a certain emotion, whose meaning he could not analyse. "was there ever yet a man of genius who was not either the relic of some great dead age, or the precursor of some noble future one, in which he alone has faith?" "chut!" said tricotrin, rapidly; he could not trust himself to hear her speak in his own defence. "fine genius mine! to fiddle to a few villagers, and dash colour on an alehouse shutter! i have the genius of indolence, if you like. as to my belonging to a bygone age,--well! i am not sure that i have not got the soul in me of some barefooted friar of moyen age, who went about where he listed, praying here, laughing there, painting a missal with a pagan love-god, and saying a verse of horace instead of a chant of the church. or, maybe, i am more like some greek gossiper, who loitered away his days in the sun, and ate his dates in the market-place, and listened here and there to a philosopher, and--just by taking no thought--hit on a truer philosophy than ever came out of porch or garden. ah, my lord of estmere! you have two hundred servants over there at villiers, i have been told; do you not think i am better served here by one little, brown-eyed, brown-cheeked maiden, who sings her béranger like a lark, while she brings me her dish of wild strawberries? there is fame too for you--his--the king of the chansons! when a girl washes her linen in the brook--when a herdsman drives his flock through the lanes--when a boy throws his line in a fishing-stream--when a grisette sits and works at her attic lattice--when a student dreams under the linden leaves--he is on their lips, in their hearts, in their fancies and joys. what a power! what a dominion! wider than any that emperors boast!" "and," added estmere, with a smile, "if you were not tricotrin you would be béranger?" * * * "aye! hymns forbad at noonday are ever so sung at night; and oftentimes, what at noon would have been a lark's chant of liberty, grows at night to a vampire's screech for blood!" he murmured. "they are gay at your château up yonder." * * * be not a coward who leaves the near duty that is as cruel to grasp as a nettle, and flies to gather the far-off duty that will flaunt in men's sight like a sun-flower. * * * "a great character!" says society, when it means--"a great scamp!" * * * estmere laid the panel down as he heard. "whoever painted it must have genius." "genius!" interrupted tricotrin. "pooh! what is genius? only the power to see a little deeper and a little clearer than most other people. that is all." "the power of vision? of course. but that renders it none the less rare." "oh yes, it is rare--rare like kingfishers, and sandpipers, and herons, and black eagles. and so men always shoot it down, as they do the birds, and stick up the dead body in glass cases, and label it, and stare at it, and bemoan it as 'so singular,' having done their best to insure its extinction!" estmere looked keenly at him. "surely genius that secretes itself as your friend's must do," he said, touching the panel afresh, "commits suicide, and desires its own extinction." "pshaw!" said tricotrin, impatiently, and with none of his habitual courtesy. "you think the kingfisher and the black eagle have no better thing to live for than to become the decorations of a great personage's glass cabinets. you think genius can find no higher end than to furnish frescoes and panellings for a nobleman's halls and ante-chambers. you mistake very much; the mistake is a general one in your order. but believe me, the kingfisher enjoys his brown moorland stream, and his tufts of green rushes, and his water-swept bough of hawthorn; the eagle enjoys his wild rocks, and his sweep through the air, and his steady gaze at the sun that blinds all human eyes;--and neither ever imagine that the great men below pity them because they are not stuffed, and labelled, and praised by rule in their palaces! and genius is much of the birds' fashion of thinking. it lives its own life; and is not, as your connoisseurs are given to fancy, wretched unless you see fit in your graciousness to deem it worth the glass-case of your criticism, and the straw-stuffing of your gold. for it knows, as kingfisher and eagle knew also, that stuffed birds nevermore use their wings, and are evermore subject to be bought and be sold." * * * against the foreign foes of your country die in your youth if she need it. but against her internecine enemies live out your life in continual warfare. when i tell you this, do you dream that i spare you? children!--you have yet to learn what life is! who could think it hard to die in the glory of strife, drunk with the sound of the combat, and feeling no pain in the swoon of a triumph? few men whose blood was hot and young would ask a greater ending. but to keep your souls in patience; to strive unceasingly with evil; to live in self-negation, in ceaseless sacrifices of desire; to give strength to the weak, and sight to the blind, and light where there is darkness, and hope where there is bondage; to do all these through many years unrecognised of men, content only that they are done with such force as lies within you,--this is harder than to seek the cannons' mouths, this is more bitter than to rush, with drawn steel, on your tyrants. your women cry out against you because you leave them to starve and to weep while you give your hearts to revolution and your bodies to the sword. their cry is the cry of selfishness, of weakness, of narrowness, the cry of the sex that sees no sun save the flame on its hearth: yet there is truth in it--a truth you forget. the truth--that, forsaking the gold-mine of duty which lies at your feet, you grasp at the rainbow of glory; that, neglectful of your own secret sins, you fly at public woes and at national crimes. can you not see that if every man took heed of the guilt of his own thoughts and acts, the world would be free and at peace? it is easier to rise with the knife unsheathed than to keep watch and ward over your own passions; but do not cheat yourself into believing that it is nobler, and higher, and harder. what reproach is cast against all revolutionists?--that the men who have nothing to lose, the men who are reckless and outlawed, alone raise the flag of revolt. it is a satire; but in every satire there lies the germ of a terrible fact. you--you who are children still, you whose manhood is still a gold scarcely touched in your hands, a gold you can spend in all great ways, or squander for all base uses;--you can give the lie to that public reproach, if only you will live in such wise that your hands shall be clean, and your paths straight, and your honour unsullied through all temptations. wait, and live so that the right to judge, to rebuke, to avenge, to purify, become yours through your earning of them. live nobly, first; and then teach others how to live. * * * "so you have brought fame to lélis, my english lord?" said tricotrin, without ceremony. "that was a good work of yours. she is a comet that has a strange fancy only to come forth like a corpse-candle, and dance over men's graves. it is her way. when men will have her out in the noon of their youth, she kills them; and the painter's bier is set under his transfiguration, and the soldier's body is chained to the st. helena rock, and the poet's grave is made at missolonghi. it is always so." estmere bowed his head in assent; he was endeavouring to remember where he had once met this stranger who thus addressed him--where he had once heard these mellow, ringing, harmonious accents. "was it because you were afraid of dying in your prime that you would never woo fame then yourself?" asked lélis, with a smile. "oh-hè!" answered tricotrin, seating himself on a deal box that served as a table, and whereat he and the artist had eaten many a meal of roast chestnuts and black coffee; "i never wanted her; she is a weather vane, never still two moments; she is a spaniel that quits the plantagenet the moment the battle goes against him, and fawns on bolingbroke; she is an alchemist's crucible, that has every fair and rich thing thrown into it, but will only yield in return the calcined stones of chagrin and disappointment; she is a harlot, whose kisses are to be bought, and who runs after those who brawl the loudest and swagger the finest in the world's market-places. no! i want nothing of her. my lord here condemned her as i came in; he said she was the offspring of echoing parrots, of imitative sheep, of fawning hounds. who can want the creature of such progenitors?" * * * "there are many kinds of appreciation. the man of science appreciates when he marvels before the exquisite structure of the sea-shell, the perfect organism of the flower; but the young girl appreciates, too, when she holds the shell to her ear for its music, when she kisses the flower for its fragrance. appreciation! it is an affair of the reason, indeed; but it is an affair of the emotions also." "and you prefer what is born of the latter?" "not always; but for my music i do. it speaks in an unknown tongue. science may have its alphabet, but it is feeling that translates its poems. delaroche, who leaves off his work to listen; descamps, in whose eyes i see tears; ingres, who dreams idyls while i play; a young poet whose face reflects my thoughts, an old man whose youth i bring back, an hour of pain that i soothe, an hour of laughter that i give; these are my recompense. think you i would exchange them for the gold showers and the diamond boxes of a farinelli?" "surely not. all i meant was that you might gain a world-wide celebrity did you choose----" "gain a honey-coating that every fly may eat me and every gnat may sting? i thank you. i have a taste to be at peace, and not to become food to sate the public famine for a thing to tear." estmere smiled; he did not understand the man who thus addressed him, but he was attracted despite all his strongest prejudices. "you are right! under the coat of honey is a shirt of turpentine. still--to see so great a gift as yours wasted----" "wasted? because the multitudes have it, such as it is, instead of the units? droll arithmetic! i am with you in thinking that minorities should have a good share of power, for all that is wisest and purest is ever in a minority, as we know; but i do not see, as you see, that minorities should command a monopoly--of sweet sounds or of anything else." "i speak to the musician, not to the politician," said estmere, with the calm, chill contempt of his colder manner: the cold side of his character was touched, and his sympathies were alienated at once. tricotrin, indifferent to the hint as to the rebuff, looked at him amusedly. "oh, i know you well, lord estmere; i told you so not long ago, to your great disgust. you and your order think no man should ever presume to touch politics unless his coat be velvet and his rent-roll large, like yours. but, you see, we of the _école buissonnière_ generally do as we like; and we get pecking at public questions for the same reason as our brother birds peck at the hips and the haws--because we have no granaries as you have. you do not like socialism? ah! and yet affect to follow it." "i!" estmere looked at this wayside wit, this wine-house philosopher, with a regard that asked plainly, "are you fool or knave?" "to be sure," answered tricotrin. "you have chapel and chaplain yonder at your château, i believe? the book of the christians is the very manual of socialism: '_you_ read the gospel, marat?' they cried. 'to be sure,' said marat. 'it is the most republican book in the world, and sends all the rich people to hell.' if you do not like my politics, _beau sire_, do not listen to the revolutionist of galilee." * * * not rare on this earth is the love that cleaves to the thing it has cherished through guilt, and through wrong, and through misery. but rare, indeed, is the love that still lives while its portion is oblivion, and the thing which it has followed passes away out to a joy that it cannot share, to a light that it cannot behold. for this is as the love of a god, which forsakes not, though its creatures revile, and blaspheme, and deride it. * * * ever and anon the old, dark, eager, noble face was lifted from its pillow, and the withered lips murmured three words: "is she come?" for tricotrin had bent over her bed, and had murmured, "i go to seek her, she is near;" and grand'mère had believed and been comforted, for she knew that no lie passed his lips. and she was very still and only the nervous working of the hard, brown, aged hand showed the longing of her soul. life was going out rapidly, as the flame sinks fast in a lamp whose oil is spent. the strong and vigorous frame, the keen and cheery will, had warded off death so long and bravely; and now they bent under, all suddenly, as those hardy trees will bend after a century of wind and storm--bend but once, and only to break for ever. the red sun in the west was in its evening glory; and through the open lattice there were seen in the deep blue of the sky, the bough of a snow-blossomed pear-tree, the network of the ivy, and the bees humming among the jasmine flowers. from the distance there came faintly the musical cries of the boatmen down the river, the voices of the vine-tenders in the fields, the singing of a throstle on a wild-grape tendril. only, in the little darkened chamber the old peasant lay quite still--listening, through all the sweet and busy sounds of summer, for a step that never came. and little by little all those sounds grew fainter on her ear: the dulness of death was stealing over all her senses; and all she heard was the song of the thrush where the bird swayed on the vine, half in, half out, of the lattice. but the lips moved still, though no voice came, with the same words: "is she come?" and when the lips no more could move, the dark and straining wistfulness of the eyes asked the question more earnestly, more terribly, more ceaselessly. the thrush sang on, and on, and on; but to the prayer of the dying eyes no answer came. the red sun sank into the purple mists of cloud; the song of the bird was ended; the voice of the watching girl murmured, "they will come too late!" for, as the sun faded off from the vine in the lattice, and the singing of the bird grew silent, grand'mère raised herself with her arms outstretched, and the strength of her youth returned in the hour of dissolution. "they never come back!" she cried. "they never come back! nor will she! one dead in africa--and one crushed beneath the stone--and one shot on the barricade. the three went forth together; but not one returned. we breed them, we nurse them, we foster them; and the world slays them body and soul, and eats the limbs that lay in our bosoms, and burns up the souls that we knew so pure. and she went where they went: she is dead like them." her head fell back; her mouth was grey and parched, her eyes had no longer sight; a shiver ran through the hardy frame that winter storms and summer droughts had bruised and scorched so long; and a passionless and immeasurable grief came on the brown, weary, age-worn face. "all dead!" she murmured in the stillness of the chamber, where the song of the bird had ceased, and the darkness of night had come. then through her lips the last breath quivered in a deep-drawn sigh, and the brave, patient, unrewarded life passed out for ever. * * * "you surely find no debtor such an ingrate, no master such a tyrant, as the people?" "perhaps. but, rather i find it a dog that bullies and tears where it is feared, but may be made faithful by genuine courage and strict justice shown to it." "the experience of the musician, then, must be much more fortunate than the experience of the statesman." "why, yes. it is ungrateful to great men, i grant; but it has the irritation of its own vague sense that it is but their tool, their ladder, their grappling-iron, to excuse it. still--i know well what you mean; the man who works for mankind works for a taskmaster who makes bitter every hour of his life only to forget him with the instant of his death; he is ever rolling the stone of human nature upward toward purer heights, to see it recoil and rush down into darkness and bloodshed. i know----" _a provence rose._ flowers are like your poets: they give ungrudgingly, and, like all lavish givers, are seldom recompensed in kind. we cast all our world of blossom, all our treasure or fragrance, at the feet of the one we love; and then, having spent ourselves in that too abundant sacrifice, you cry, "a yellow, faded thing! to the dust-hole with it!" and root us up violently, and fling us to rot with the refuse and offal; not remembering the days when our burden of beauty made sunlight in your darkest places, and brought the odours of a lost paradise to breathe over your bed of fever. well, there is one consolation. just so likewise do you deal with your human wonder-flower of genius. * * * i sighed at my square open pane in the hot, sulphurous mists of the street, and tried to see the stars and could not. for, between me and the one small breadth of sky which alone the innumerable roofs left visible, a vintner had hung out a huge gilded imperial crown as a sign on his roof-tree; and the crown, with its sham gold turning black in the shadow, hung between me and the planets. i knew that there must be many human souls in a like plight with myself, with the light of heaven blocked from them by a gilded tyranny, and yet i sighed, and sighed, and sighed, thinking of the white pure stars of provence throbbing in the violet skies. a rose is hardly wiser than a poet, you see: neither rose nor poet will be comforted, and be content to dwell in darkness because a crown of tinsel swings on high. * * * ah! in the lives of you who have wealth and leisure we, the flowers, are but one thing among many: we have a thousand rivals in your porcelains, your jewels, your luxuries, your intaglios, your mosaics, all your treasures of art, all your baubles of fancy. but in the lives of the poor we are alone: we are all the art, all the treasure, all the grace, all the beauty of outline, all the purity of hue that they possess: often we are all their innocence and all their religion too. why do you not set yourselves to make us more abundant in those joyless homes, in those sunless windows? * * * for the life of a painter is beautiful when he is still young, and loves truly, and has a genius in him stronger than calamity, and hears a voice in which he believes say always in his ear, "fear nothing. men must believe as i do in thee, one day. and meanwhile--we can wait!" and a painter in paris, even though he starve on a few sous a day, can have so much that is lovely and full of picturesque charm in his daily pursuits: the long, wondrous galleries full of the arts he adores; the _réalité de l'idéal_ around him in that perfect world; the slow, sweet, studious hours in the calm wherein all that is great in humanity alone survives; the trance--half adoration, half aspiration, at once desire and despair--before the face of the mona lisa; then, without, the streets so glad and so gay in the sweet, living sunshine; the quiver of green leaves among gilded balconies; the groups at every turn about the doors; the glow of colour in market-place and peopled square; the quaint grey piles in old historic ways; the stones, from every one of which some voice from the imperishable past cries out; the green and silent woods, the little leafy villages, the winding waters garden-girt; the forest heights, with the city gleaming and golden in the plain; all these are his. with these--and youth--who shall dare say the painter is not rich--ay, though his board be empty, and his cup be dry? i had not loved paris--i, a little imprisoned rose, caged in a clay pot, and seeing nothing but the sky-line of the roofs. but i grew to love it, hearing from rené and from lili of all the poetry and gladness that paris made possible in their young and burdened lives, and which could have been thus possible in no other city of the earth. city of pleasure you have called her, and with truth; but why not also city of the poor? for what city, like herself, has remembered the poor in her pleasure, and given to them, no less than to the richest, the treasure of her laughing sunlight, of her melodious music, of her gracious hues, of her million flowers, of her shady leaves, of her divine ideals? _pipistrello._ it was a strange, gaunt wilderness of stone, this old villa of the marchioni. it would have held hundreds of serving-men. it had as many chambers as one of the palaces down in rome; but life is homely and frugal here, and has few graces. the ways of everyday italian life in these grand old places are like nettles and thistles set in an old majolica vase that has had knights and angels painted on it. you know what i mean, you who know italy. do you remember those pictures of vittario carpacio and of gentile? they say that is the life our italy saw once in her cities and her villas;--that is the life she wants. sometimes when you are all alone in these vast deserted places the ghosts of all that pageantry pass by you, and they seem fitter than the living people for these courts and halls. * * * i had been no saint. i had always been ready for jest or dance or intrigue with a pretty woman, and sometimes women far above me had cast their eyes down on the arena as in spain ladies do in the bull-ring to pick a lover out thence for his strength: but i had never cared. i had loved, laughed, and wandered away with the stroller's happy liberty; but i had never cared. now all at once the whole world seemed dead; dead, heaven and earth; and only one woman's two eyes left living in the universe; living, and looking into my soul and burning it to ashes. do you know what i mean? no?--ay, then you know not love. * * * sometimes i think love is the darkest mystery of life: mere desire will not explain it, nor will the passions or the affections. you pass years amidst crowds, and know naught of it; then all at once you meet a stranger's eyes, and never are you free. that is love. who shall say whence it comes? it is a bolt from the gods that descends from heaven and strikes us down into hell. we can do nothing. * * * in italy one wants so little; the air and the light, and a little red wine, and the warmth of the wind, and a handful of maize or of grapes, and an old guitar, and a niche to sleep in near a fountain that murmurs and sings to the mosses and marbles--these are enough in italy. * * * petty laws breed great crimes. few rulers, little or big, remember that. * * * _l'esprit du clocher_ is derided nowadays. but it may well be doubted whether the age which derides it will give the world anything one-half as tender and true in its stead. it is peace because it is content; and it is a peace which has in it the germ of heroism: menaced, it produces patriotism--the patriotism whose symbol is tell. * * * the tyrannies of petty law hurt the authority of the state more with the populace than all the severity of a draconian code against great offences. petty laws may annoy but can never harm the rich, for they can always evade them or purchase immunity; but petty laws for the poor are as the horse-fly on the neck and on the eyelids of the horse. * * * it was in the month of april; outside the walls and on the banks of tiber, still swollen by the floods of winter, one could see the gold of a million daffodils and the bright crimson and yellow of tulips in the green corn. the scent of flowers and herbs came into the town and filled its dusky and narrow ways; the boatmen had green branches fastened to their masts; in the stillness of evening one heard the song of crickets, and even a mosquito would come and blow his shrill little trumpet, and one was willing to say to him "welcome!" because on his little horn he blew the glad news, "summer is here!" _held in bondage._ "a young man married is a man that's marred." that's a golden rule, arthur; take it to heart. anne hathaway, i have not a doubt, suggested it; experience is the sole asbestos, only unluckily one seldom gets it before one's hands are burnt irrevocably. shakespeare took to wife the ignorant, rosy-cheeked warwickshire peasant girl at _eighteen_! poor fellow! i picture him, with all his untried powers, struggling like new-born hercules for strength and utterance, and the great germ of poetry within him, tingeing all the common realities of life with its rose hue; genius giving him power to see with god-like vision the "fairies nestling in the cowslip chalices," and the golden gleam of cleopatra's sails; to feel the "spiced indian air" by night, and the wild working of kings' ambitious lust; to know by intuition, alike the voices of nature unheard by common ears, and the fierce schemes and passions of a world from which social position shut him out! i picture him in his hot, imaginative youth, finding his first love in the yeoman's daughter at shottery, strolling with her by the avon, making her an "odorous chaplet of sweet summer buds," and dressing her up in the fond array of a boy's poetic imaginings! then--when he had married her, he, with the passionate ideals of juliets and violas, ophelias and hermiones in his brain and heart, must have awakened to find that the voices so sweet to him were dumb to her. the "cinque spotted cowslip bells" brought only thoughts of wine to her. when he was watching "certain stars shoot madly from their spheres," she most likely was grumbling at him for mooning there after curfew bell. when he was learning nature's lore in "the fresh cup of the crimson rose," she was dinning in his ear that hammet and judith wanted worsted socks. when he was listening in fancy to the "sea-maid's song," and weaving thoughts to which a world still stands reverentially to listen, she was buzzing behind him, and bidding him go card the wool, and weeping that, in her girlhood, she had not chosen some rich glover or ale-taster, instead of idle, useless, wayward willie shakespeare. poor fellow! he did not write, i would swear, without fellow-feeling, and yearning over souls similarly shipwrecked, that wise saw, "a young man married is a man that's marred." _pascarÈl._ when a man's eyes meet yours, and his faith trusts you, and his heart upon a vague impulse is laid bare to you, it always has seemed to me the basest treachery the world can hold to pass the gold of confidence which he pours out to you from hand to hand as common coin for common circulation. * * * circumstance is so odd and so cruel a thing. it is wholly apart from talent. genius will do so little for a man if he do not know how to seize or seduce opportunity. no doubt, in his youth, ambrogiò had been shy, silent, out of his art timid, and in his person ungraceful, and unlovely. so the world had passed by him turning a deaf ear to his melodies, and he had let it pass, because he had not that splendid audacity to grasp it perforce, and hold it until it blessed him, without which no genius will ever gain the benediction of the angel of fame. which is a fallen angel, no doubt; but still, perhaps, the spirit most worth wrestling with after all; since wrestle we must in this world, if we do not care to lie down and form a pavement for other men's cars of triumph, as the assyrians of old stretched themselves on their faces before the coming of the chariot of their kings. * * * one of the saddest things perhaps in all the sadness of this world is the frightful loss at which so much of the best and strongest work of a man's life has to be thrown away at the onset. if you desire a name amongst men, you must buy the crown of it at such a costly price! true, the price will in the end be paid back to you, no doubt, when you are worn out, and what you do is as worthless as the rustling canes that blow together in autumn by dull river sides: then you scrawl your signature across your soulless work, and it fetches thrice its weight in gold. but though you thus have your turn, and can laugh at your will at the world that you fool, what can that compensate you for all those dear dead darlings?--those bright first-fruits, those precious earliest nestlings of your genius, which had to be sold into bondage for a broken crust, which drifted away from you never to be found again, which you know well were a million fold better, fresher, stronger, higher, better than anything you have begotten since then; and yet in which none could be found to believe, only because you had not won that magic spell which lies in--being known? * * * when i think of the sweet sigh of the violin melodies through the white winter silence of raffaelino's eager, dreamy eyes, misty with the student's unutterable sadness and delight; of old ambrogiò, with his semicircle of children round him, lifting their fresh voices at his word; of the little robin that came every day upon the waterpipe, and listened, and thrilled in harmony, and ate joyfully the crumbs which the old maestro daily spared to it from his scanty meal--when i think of those hours, it seems to me that they must have been happiness too. "could we but know when we are happy!" sighs some poet. as well might he write, "could we but set the dewdrop with our diamonds! could we but stay the rainbow in our skies!" * * * every old italian city has this awe about it--holds close the past and moves the living to a curious sense that they are dead and in their graves are dreaming; for the old cities themselves have beheld so much perish around them, and yet have kept so firm a hold upon tradition and upon the supreme beauty of great arts, that those who wander there grow, as it were, bewildered, and know not which is life and which is death amongst them. * * * the sun was setting. over the whole valdarno there was everywhere a faint ethereal golden mist that rose from the water and the woods. the town floated on it as upon a lake; her spires, and domes, and towers, and palaces bathed at their base in its amber waves, and rising upward into the rose-hued radiance of the upper air. the mountains that encircled her took all the varying hues of the sunset on their pale heights until they flushed to scarlet, glowered to violet, wavered with flame, and paled to whiteness, as the opal burns and fades. warmth, fragrance, silence, loveliness encompassed her; and in the great stillness the bell of the basilica tolled slowly the evening call to prayer. thus florence rose before me. a strange tremor of exceeding joy thrilled through me as i beheld the reddened shadows of those close-lying roofs, and those marble heights of towers and of temples. at last my eyes gazed on her! the daughter of flowers, the mistress of art, the nursing mother of liberty and of aspiration. i fell on my knees and thanked god. i pity those who, in such a moment, have not done likewise. * * * there is nothing upon earth, i think, like the smile of italy as she awakes when the winter has dozed itself away in the odours of its oakwood fires. the whole land seems to laugh. the springtide of the north is green and beautiful, but it has nothing of the radiance, the dreamfulness, the ecstasy of spring in the southern countries. the springtide of the north is pale with the gentle colourless sweetness of its world of primroses; the springtide of italy is rainbow-hued, like the profusion of anemones that laugh with it in every hue of glory under every ancient wall and beside every hill-fed stream. spring in the north is a child that wakes from dreams of death; spring in the south is a child that wakes from dreams of love. one is rescued and welcomed from the grave; but the other comes smiling on a sunbeam from heaven. * * * the landscape that has the olive is spiritual as no landscape can ever be from which the olive is absent; for where is there spirituality without some hue of sadness? but this spiritual loveliness is one for which the human creature that is set amidst it needs a certain education as for the power of euripides, for the dreams of phædrus, for the strength of michaelangelo, for the symphonies of mozart or beethoven. the mind must itself be in a measure spiritualised ere aright it can receive it. it is too pure, too impalpable, too nearly divine, to be grasped by those for whom all beauty centres in strong heats of colour and great breadths of effect; it floats over the senses like a string of perfect cadences in music; it has a breath of heaven in it; though on the earth it is not of the earth; when the world was young, ere men had sinned on it, and gods forsaken it, it must have had the smile of this light that lingers here. * * * bad? good? pshaw! those are phrases. no one uses them but fools. you have seen the monkeys' cage in the beast-garden here. that is the world. it is not strength, or merit, or talent, or reason that is of any use there; it is just which monkey has the skill to squeeze to the front and jabber through the bars, and make his teeth meet in his neighbours' tails till they shriek and leave him free passage--it is that monkey which gets all the cakes and the nuts of the folk on a feast-day. the monkey is not bad; it is only a little quicker and more cunning than the rest; that is all. * * * it is a kind of blindness--poverty. we can only grope through life when we are poor, hitting and maiming ourselves against every angle. * * * count art by gold, and it fetters the feet it once winged. * * * "is that all you know?" he cried, while his voice rang like a trumpet-call. "listen here, then, little lady, and learn better. what is it to be a player? it is this. a thing despised and rejected on all sides; a thing that was a century since denied what they call christian burial; a thing that is still deemed for a woman disgraceful, and for a man degrading and emasculate; a thing that is mute as a dunce save when, parrot-like, it repeats by rote with a mirthless grin or a tearless sob; a wooden doll, as you say, applauded as a brave puppet in its prime, hissed at in its first hour of failure or decay; a thing made up of tinsel and paint, and patchwork, of the tailor's shreds and the barber's curls of tow--a ridiculous thing to be sure. that is a player. and yet again--a thing without which laughter and jest were dead in the sad lives of the populace; a thing that breathes the poet's words of fire so that the humblest heart is set aflame; a thing that has a magic on its lips to waken smiles or weeping at its will; a thing which holds a people silent, breathless, intoxicated with mirth or with awe, as it chooses; a thing whose grace kings envy, and whose wit great men will steal; a thing by whose utterance alone the poor can know the fair follies of a thoughtless hour, and escape for a little space from the dull prisons of their colourless lives into the sunlit paradise where genius dwells--_that_ is a player, too!" * * * the instrument on which we histrions play is that strange thing, the human heart. it looks a little matter to strike its chords of laughter or of sorrow; but, indeed, to do that aright and rouse a melody which shall leave all who hear it the better and the braver for the hearing, that may well take a man's lifetime, and, perhaps, may well repay it. * * * oh, cara mia, when one has run about in one's time with a tinker's tools, and seen the lives of the poor, and the woe of them, and the wretchedness of it all, and the utter uselessness of everything, and the horrible, intolerable, unending pain of all the things that breathe, one comes to think that in this meaningless mystery which men call life a little laughter and a little love are the only things which save us all from madness--the madness that would curse god and die. * * * it always seems as if that well-spring of poetry and art which arose in italy, to feed and fertilise the world when it was half dead and wholly barren under the tyrannies of the church and the lusts of feudalism; it would always seem, i say, as though that water of life had so saturated the italian soil, that the lowliest hut upon its hills and plains will ever nourish and put forth some flower of fancy. the people cannot read, but they can rhyme. they cannot reason, but they can keep perfect rhythm. they cannot write their own names, but written on their hearts are the names of those who made their country's greatness. they believe in the virtues of a red rag tied to a stick amidst their fields, but they treasure tenderly the heroes and the prophets of an unforgotten time. they are ignorant of all laws of science or of sound, but when they go home by moonlight through the maize yonder alight with lùcciole, they will never falsify a note, or overload a harmony, in their love-songs. the poetry, the art, in them is sheer instinct; it is not the genius of isolated accident, but the genius of inalienable heritage. * * * do you ever think of those artist-monks who have strewed italy with altar-pieces and missal miniatures till there is not any little lonely dusky town of hers that is not rich by art? do you often think of them? i do. there must have been a beauty in their lives--a great beauty--though they missed of much, of more than they ever knew or dreamed of, let us hope. in visions of the madonna they grew blind to the meaning of a woman's smile, and illuminating the golden olive wreath above the heads of saints they lost the laughter of the children under the homely olive-trees without. but they did a noble work in their day; and leisure for meditation is no mean treasure, though the modern world does not number it amongst its joys. one can understand how men born with nervous frames and spiritual fancies into the world when it was one vast battle-ground, where its thrones were won by steel and poison, and its religion enforced by torch and faggot, grew so weary of the never-ending turmoil, and of the riotous life which was always either a pageant or a slaughter-house, that it seemed beautiful to them to withdraw themselves into some peaceful place like this badià and spend their years in study and in recommendation of their souls to god, with the green and fruitful fields before their cloister windows, and no intruders on the summer stillness as they painted their dreams of a worthier and fairer world except the blue butterflies that strayed in on a sunbeam, or the gold porsellini that hummed at the lilies in the virgin's chalice. * * * florence, where she sits throned amidst her meadows white with lenten lilies, florence is never terrible, florence is never old. in her infancy they fed her on the manna of freedom, and that fairest food gave her eternal youth. in her early years she worshipped ignorantly indeed, but truly always the day-star of liberty; and it has been with her always so that the light shed upon her is still as the light of morning. does this sound a fanciful folly? nay, there is a real truth in it. the past is so close to you in florence. you touch it at every step. it is not the dead past that men bury and then forget. it is an unquenchable thing; beautiful, and full of lustre, even in the tomb, like the gold from the sepulchres of the Ætruscan kings that shines on the breast of some fair living woman, undimmed by the dust and the length of the ages. the music of the old greatness thrills through all the commonest things of life like the grilli's chant through the wooden cages on ascension day; and, like the song of the grilli, its poetry stays in the warmth of the common hearth for the ears of the little children, and loses nothing of its melody. the beauty of the past in florence is like the beauty of the great duomo. about the duomo there is stir and strife at all times; crowds come and go; men buy and sell; lads laugh and fight; piles of fruit blaze gold and crimson; metal pails clash down on the stones with shrillest clangour; on the steps boys play at dominoes, and women give their children food, and merry maskers grin in carnival fooleries; but there in their midst is the duomo all unharmed and undegraded, a poem and a prayer in one, its marbles shining in the upper air, a thing so majestic in its strength, and yet so human in its tenderness, that nothing can assail, and nothing equal it. other, though not many, cities have histories as noble, treasuries as vast; but no other city has them living and ever present in her midst, familiar as household words, and touched by every baby's hand and peasant's step, as florence has. every line, every rood, every gable, every tower, has some story of the past present in it. every tocsin that sounds is a chronicle; every bridge that unites the two banks of the river unites also the crowds of the living with the heroism of the dead. in the winding dusky irregular streets, with the outlines of their logge and arcades, and the glow of colour that fills their niches and galleries, the men who "have gone before" walk with you; not as elsewhere mere gliding shades clad in the pallor of a misty memory, but present, as in their daily lives, shading their dreamful eyes against the noonday sun or setting their brave brows against the mountain wind, laughing and jesting in their manful mirth and speaking as brother to brother of great gifts to give the world. all this while, though the past is thus close about you the present is beautiful also, and does not shock you by discord and unseemliness as it will ever do elsewhere. the throngs that pass you are the same in likeness as those that brushed against dante or calvacanti; the populace that you move amidst is the same bold, vivid, fearless, eager people with eyes full of dreams, and lips braced close for war, which welcomed vinci and cimabue and fought from montaperto to solferino. and as you go through the streets you will surely see at every step some colour of a fresco on a wall, some quaint curve of a bas-relief on a lintel, some vista of romanesque arches in a palace court, some dusky interior of a smith's forge or a wood-seller's shop, some renaissance seal-ring glimmering on a trader's stall, some lovely hues of fruits and herbs tossed down together in a tre cento window, some gigantic mass of blossoms being borne aloft on men's shoulders for a church festivity of roses, something at every step that has some beauty or some charm in it, some graciousness of the ancient time, or some poetry of the present hour. the beauty of the past goes with you at every step in florence. buy eggs in the market, and you buy them where donatello bought those which fell down in a broken heap before the wonder of the crucifix. pause in a narrow bye-street in a crowd and it shall be that borgo allegri, which the people so baptized for love of the old painter and the new-born art. stray into a great dark church at evening time, where peasants tell their beads in the vast marble silence, and you are where the whole city flocked, weeping, at midnight to look their last upon the face of their michael angelo. pace up the steps of the palace of the signorìa and you tread the stone that felt the feet of him to whom so bitterly was known "_com' è duro calle, lo scendere è'l salir per l'altrúi scale_." buy a knot of march anemoni or april arum lilies, and you may bear them with you through the same city ward in which the child ghirlandajo once played amidst the gold and silver garlands that his father fashioned for the young heads of the renaissance. ask for a shoemaker and you shall find the cobbler sitting with his board in the same old twisting, shadowy street way, where the old man toscanelli drew his charts that served a fair-haired sailor of genoa, called columbus. toil to fetch a tinker through the squalor of san niccolò, and there shall fall on you the shadow of the bell-tower where the old sacristan saved to the world the genius of the night and day. glance up to see the hour of the evening time, and there, sombre and tragical, will loom above you the walls of the communal palace on which the traitors were painted by the brush of sarto, and the tower of giotto, fair and fresh in its perfect grace as though angels had builded it in the night just past, "_ond' ella toglie ancora e terza e nona_," as in the noble and simple days before she brake the "_cerchia antìca_." everywhere there are flowers, and breaks of songs, and rills of laughter, and wonderful eyes that look as if they too, like their poets, had gazed into the heights of heaven and the depths of hell. and then you will pass out at the gates beyond the city walls, and all around you there will be a radiance and serenity of light that seems to throb in its intensity and yet is divinely restful, like the passion and the peace of love when it has all to adore and nothing to desire. the water will be broad and gold, and darkened here and there into shadows of porphyrine amber. amidst the grey and green of the olive and acacia foliage there will arise the low pale roofs and flat-topped towers of innumerable villages. everywhere there will be a wonderful width of amethystine hills and mystical depths of seven-chorded light. above, masses of rosy cloud will drift, like rose-leaves leaning on a summer wind. and, like a magic girdle which has shut her out from all the curse of age and death and man's oblivion, and given her a youth and loveliness which will endure so long as the earth itself endures, there will be the circle of the mountains, purple and white and golden, lying around florence. * * * amidst all her commerce, her wars, her hard work, her money-making, florence was always dominated and spiritualised, at her noisiest and worst, by a poetic and picturesque imagination. florentine life had always an ideal side to it; and an idealism, pure and lofty, runs through her darkest histories and busiest times like a thread of gold through a coat of armour and a vest of frieze. the florentine was a citizen, a banker, a workman, a carder of wool, a weaver of silk, indeed; but he was also always a lover, and always a soldier; that is, always half a poet. he had his caròccio and his ginevra as well as his tools and his sacks of florins. he had his sword as well as his shuttle. his scarlet giglio was the flower of love no less than the blazonry of battle on his standard, and the mint stamp of the commonwealth on his coinage. herein lay the secret of the influence of florence: the secret which rendered the little city, stretched by her river's side, amongst her quiet meadows white with arums, a sacred name to all generations of men for all she dared and all she did. "she amassed wealth," they say: no doubt she did--and why? to pour it with both hands to melt in the foundries of ghiberti--to bring it in floods to cement the mortar that joined the marbles of brunelleschi! she always spent to great ends, and to mighty uses. when she called a shepherd from his flocks in the green valley to build for her a bell-tower so that she might hear, night and morning, the call to the altar, the shepherd built for her in such fashion that the belfry has been the pharos of art for five centuries. here is the secret of florence--supreme aspiration. the aspiration which gave her citizens force to live in poverty, and clothe themselves in simplicity, so as to be able to give up their millions of florins to bequeath miracles in stone and metal and colour to the future. the aspiration which so purified her soil, red with carnage, black with smoke of war, trodden continuously by hurrying feet of labourers, rioters, mercenaries, and murderers, that from that soil there could spring, in all its purity and perfection, the paradise-blossom of the vita nuova. venice perished for her pride and carnal lust; rome perished for her tyrannies and her blood-thirst; but florence--though many a time nearly strangled under the heel of the empire and the hand of the church--florence was never slain utterly either in body or soul; florence still crowned herself with flowers even in her throes of agony, because she kept always within her that love--impersonal, consecrate, void of greed--which is the purification of the individual life and the regeneration of the body politic. "we labour for the ideal," said the florentines of old, lifting to heaven their red flower de luce--and to this day europe bows before what they did and cannot equal it. "but she had so many great men, so many mighty masters!" i would urge, whereon pascarèl would glance on me with his lightest and yet utmost scorn. "o wise female thing, who always traces the root to the branch and deduces the cause from the effect! did her great men spring up full-armed like athene, or was it the pure, elastic atmosphere of her that made her mere mortals strong as immortals? the supreme success of modern government is to flatten down all men into one uniform likeness, so that it is only by most frightful, and often destructive, effort that any originality can contrive to get loose in its own shape for a moment's breathing space; but in the commonwealth of florence a man, being born with any genius in him, drew in strength to do and dare greatly with the very air he breathed." moreover, it was not only the great men that made her what she was. it was, above all, the men who knew they were not great, but yet had the patience and unselfishness to do their appointed work for her zealously, and with every possible perfection in the doing of it. it was not only orcagna planning the loggia, but every workman who chiselled out a piece of its stone, that put all his head and heart into the doing thereof. it was not only michaelangelo in his studio, but every poor painter who taught the mere a, b, c, d of the craft to a crowd of pupils out of the streets, who did whatsoever came before them to do mightily and with reverence. in those days all the servants as well as the sovereigns of art were penetrated with the sense of her holiness. it was the mass of patient, intelligent, poetic, and sincere servitors of art, who, instead of wildly consuming their souls in envy and desire, cultured their one talent to the uttermost, so that the mediocrity of that age would have been the excellence of any other. not alone from the great workshops of the great masters did the light shine on the people. from every scaffold where a palace ceiling was being decorated with its fresco, from every bottega where the children of the poor learned to grind and to mingle the colours, from every cell where some solitary monk studied to produce an offering to the glory of his god, from every nook and corner where the youths gathered in the streets to see some nunziata or ecce homo lifted to its niche in the city wall, from every smallest and most hidden home of art--from the nest under the eaves as well as from the cloud-reaching temples,--there went out amidst the multitudes an ever-flowing, ever-pellucid stream of light, from that aspiration which is in itself inspiration. so that even to this day the people of italy have not forgotten the supreme excellence of all beauty, but are, by the sheer instinct of inherited faith, incapable of infidelity to those traditions; so that the commonest craftsman of them all will sweep his curves and shade his hues upon a plaster cornice with a perfection that is the despair of the maestri of other nations. * * * the broad plains that have been the battle-ground of so many races and so many ages were green and peaceful under the primitive husbandry of the contadini. everywhere under the long lines of the yet unbudded vines the seed was springing, and the trenches of the earth were brimful with brown bubbling water left from the floods of winter, when reno and adda had broken loose from their beds. here and there was some old fortress grey amongst the silver of the olive orchards; some village with white bleak house-walls and flat roofs pale and bare against the level fields; or some little long-forgotten city once a stronghold of war and a palace for princes, now a little hushed and lonely place, with weed-grown ramparts and gates rusted on their hinges, and tapestry weavers throwing the shuttle in its deserted and dismantled ways. but chiefly it was always the green, fruitful, weary, endless plain trodden by the bullocks and the goats, and silent, strangely silent, as though fearful still of its tremendous past. * * * the long bright day draws to a close. the west is in a blaze of gold, against which the ilex and the acacia are black as funeral plumes. the innumerable scents of fruits and flowers and spices, and tropical seeds, and sweet essences, that fill the streets at every step from shops and stalls, and monks' pharmacies, are fanned out in a thousand delicious odours on the cooling air. the wind has risen, blowing softly from mountain and from sea across the plains through the pines of pisa, across to the oak-forests of green casentìno. whilst the sun still glows in the intense amber of his own dying glory, away in the tender violet hues of the east the young moon rises. rosy clouds drift against the azure of the zenith, and are reflected as in a mirror in the shallow river waters. a little white cloud of doves flies homeward against the sky. all the bells chime for the ave maria. the evening falls. wonderful hues, creamy, and golden, and purple, and soft as the colours of a dove's throat, spread themselves slowly over the sky; the bell tower rises like a shaft of porcelain clear against the intense azure; amongst the tall canes by the river the fire-flies sparkle; the shores are mirrored in the stream with every line and curve, and roof and cupola, drawn in sharp deep shadow; every lamp glows again thrice its size in the glass of the current, and the arches of the bridges meet their own image there; the boats glide down the water that is now white under the moon, now amber under the lights, now black under the walls, for ever changing; night draws on, then closes quite. but it is night as radiant as day, and ethereal as day can never be; on the hills the cypresses still stand out against the faint gold that lingers in the west; there is the odour of carnations and of acacias everywhere. noiseless footsteps come and go. people pass softly in shadow, like a dream. * * * you know how st. michael made the italian? he is saying to them, and the clear crystal ring of the sonorous tuscan reaches to the farthest corner of the square. nay?--oh, for shame! well, then, it was in this fashion; long, long ago, when the world was but just called from chaos, the dominiddio was tired, as you all know, and took his rest on the seventh day; and four of the saints, george and denis and jago and michael, stood round him with their wings folded and their swords idle. so to them the good lord said: "look at those odds and ends, that are all lying about after the earth is set rolling. gather them up, and make them into four living nations to people the globe." the saints obeyed and set to the work. st. george got a piece of pure gold and a huge lump of lead, and buried the gold in the lead, so that none ever would guess it was there, and so sent it rolling and bumping to earth, and called it the english people. st. jago got a bladder filled with wind, and put in it the heart of a fox, and the fang of a wolf, and whilst it puffed and swelled like the frog that called itself a bull, it was despatched to the world as the spaniard. st. denis did better than that; he caught a sunbeam flying, and he tied it with a bright knot of ribbons, and he flashed it on earth as the people of france; only, alas! he made two mistakes, he gave it no ballast, and he dyed the ribbons blood-red. now st. michael, marking their errors, caught a sunbeam likewise, and many other things too; a mask of velvet, a poniard of steel, the chords of a lute, the heart of a child, the sigh of a poet, the kiss of a lover, a rose out of paradise, and a silver string from an angel's lyre. then with these in his hand he went and knelt down at the throne of the father. "dear and great lord," he prayed, "to make my work perfect, give me one thing; give me a smile of god." and god smiled. then st. michael sent his creation to earth, and called it the italian. but--most unhappily, as chance would have it--satanas watching at the gates of hell, thought to himself, "if i spoil not his work, earth will be eden in italy." so he drew his bow in envy, and sped a poisoned arrow; and the arrow cleft the rose of paradise, and broke the silver string of the angel. and to this day the italian keeps the smile that god gave in his eyes; but in his heart the devil's arrow rankles still. some call this barbed shaft cruelty; some superstition; some ignorance; some priestcraft; maybe its poison is drawn from all four; be it how it may, it is the duty of all italians to pluck hard at the arrow of hell, so that the smile of god alone shall remain with their children's children. yonder in the plains we have done much; the rest will lie with you, the freed nation. * * * there is an old legend, he made answer to me, an old monkish tale, which tells how, in the days of king clovis, a woman, old and miserable, forsaken of all, and at the point of death, strayed into the merovingian woods, and lingering there, and hearkening to the birds, and loving them, and so learning from them of god, regained, by no effort of her own, her youth; and lived, always young and always beautiful, a hundred years; through all which time she never failed to seek the forests when the sun rose, and hear the first song of the creatures to whom she owed her joy. whoever to the human soul can be, in ever so faint a sense, that which the birds were to the woman in the merovingian woods, he, i think, has a true greatness. but i am but an outcast, you know; and my wisdom is not of the world. yet it seemed the true wisdom, there, at least, with the rose light shining across half the heavens, and the bells ringing far away in the plains below over the white waves of the sea of olives. * * * only for the people! altro! did not sperone and all the critics at his heels pronounce ariosto only fit for the vulgar multitude? and was not dante himself called the laureate of the cobblers and the bakers? and does not sacchetti record that the great man took the trouble to quarrel with an ass-driver and a blacksmith because they recited his verses badly? if he had not written "only for the people," we might never have got beyond the purisms of virgilio, and the ciceronian imitations of bembo. dante now-a-days may have become the poet of the scholars and the sages, but in his own times he seemed to the sciolists a most terribly low fellow for using his mother tongue; and he was most essentially the poet of the vulgar--of the _vulgare eloquio_, of the _vulgare illustre_; and pray what does the "commedia" mean if not a _canto villereccio_, a song for the rustics? will you tell me that? only for the people! ah, that is the error. only! how like a woman that is! any trash will do for the people; that is the modern notion; vile roulades in music, tawdry crudities in painting, cheap balderdash in print--all that will do for the people. so they say now-a-days. was the bell tower yonder set in a ducal garden or in a public place? was cimabue's masterpiece veiled in a palace or borne aloft through the throngs of the streets? * * * a man, be he bramble or vine, likes to grow in the open air in his own fashion; but a woman, be she flower or weed, always thinks she would be better under glass. when she gets the glass she breaks it--generally; but till she gets it she pines. * * * when they grew up in italy, all that joyous band,--arlecchino in bergamo, stenterello in florence, pulcinello in naples, pantaleone in venice, dulcamara in bologna, beltramo in milan, brighella in brescia--masked their mirthful visages and ran together and jumped on that travelling stage before the world, what a force they were for the world, those impudent mimes! "only pantomimi?" when they joined hands with one another and rolled their wandering house before st. mark's they were only players indeed; but their laughter blew out the fires of the inquisition, their fools' caps made the papal tiara look but paper toy, their wooden swords struck to earth the steel of the nobles, their arrows of epigram, feathered from goose and from falcon, slew, flying, the many-winged dragon of superstition. they were old as the old latin land, indeed. they had mouldered for ages in etruscan cities, with the dust of uncounted centuries upon them, and been only led out in carnival times, pale, voiceless, frail ghosts of dead powers, whose very meaning the people had long forgotten. but the trumpet-call of the renaissance woke them from their rip van winkle sleep. they got up, young again, and keen for every frolic--barbarossas of sock and buskin, whose helmets were caps and bells, breaking the magic spell of their slumber to burst upon men afresh; buoyant incarnations of the new-born scorn for tradition, of the nascent revolts of democracy, with which the air was rife. "only pantomimi?" oh, altro! the world when it reckons its saviours should rate high all it owed to the pantomimi,--the privileged pantomimi--who first dared take license to say in their quips and cranks, in their capers and jests, what had sent all speakers before them to the rack and the faggots. who think of that when they hear the shrill squeak of pulcinello in the dark bye-streets of northern towns, or see lean pantaleone slip and tumble through the transformation-scene of some gorgeous theatre? not one in a million. yet it is true for all that. free speech was first due to the pantomimi. a proud boast that. they hymn tell and chant savonarola and glorify the gracchi, but i doubt if any of the gods in the world's pantheon or the other world's valhalla did so much for freedom as those merry mimes that the children scamper after upon every holiday. * * * we are straws on the wind of the hour, too frail and too brittle to float into the future. our little day of greatness is a mere child's puff-ball, inflated by men's laughter, floated by women's tears; what breeze so changeful as the one, what waters so shallow as the other?--the bladder dances a little while; then sinks, and who remembers? * * * do you know the delicate delights of a summer morning in italy? morning i mean between four and five of the clock, and not the full hot mid-day that means morning to the languid associations of this weary century. the nights, perfect as they are, have scarcely more loveliness than the birth of light, the first rippling laughter of the early day. the air is cool, almost cold, and clear as glass. there is an endless murmur from birds' throats and wings, and from far away there will ring from village or city the chimes of the first mass. the deep broad shadows lie so fresh, so grave, so calm, that by them the very dust is stilled and spiritualised. softly the sun comes, striking first the loftier trees and then the blossoming magnolias, and lastly the green lowliness of the gentle vines; until all above is in a glow of new-born radiance, whilst all beneath the leaves still is dreamily dusk and cool. the sky is of a soft sea-blue; great vapours will float here and there, iris-coloured and snow-white. the stone parapets of bridge and tower shine against the purple of the mountains, which are low in tone, and look like hovering storm-clouds. across the fields dun oxen pass to their labour; through the shadows peasants go their way to mass; down the river a raft drifts slowly, with the pearly water swaying against the canes; all is clear, tranquil, fresh as roses washed with rain. * * * to the art of the stage, as to every other art, there are two sides: the truth of it, which comes by inspiration--that is, by instincts subtler, deeper, and stronger than those of most minds; and the artifice of it, in which it must clothe itself to get understood by the people. it is this latter which must be learnt; it is the leathern harness in which the horses of the sun must run when they come down to race upon earth. * * * for in italy life is all contrast, and there is no laugh and love-song without a sigh beside them; there is no velvet mask of mirth and passion without the marble mask of art and death near to it. for everywhere the wild tulip burns red upon a ruined altar, and everywhere the blue borage rolls its azure waves through the silent temples of forgotten gods. * * * to enter bologna at midnight is to plunge into the depths of the middle ages. those desolate sombre streets, those immense dark arches, dark as tartarus, those endless arcades where scarce a footfall breaks the stillness, that labyrinth of marble, of stone, of antiquity; the past alone broods over them all. as you go it seems to you that you see the gleam of a snowy plume and the shine of a straight rapier striking home through cuirass and doublet, whilst on the stones the dead body falls, and high above over the lamp-iron, where the torch is flaring, a casement uncloses, and a woman's voice murmurs, with a cruel little laugh, "cosa fatta capo ha!" there is nothing to break the spell of that old-world enchantment. nothing to recall to you that the ages of bentivoglio and of visconti have fled for ever. the mighty academy of luvena juris is so old, so old, so old!--the folly and frippery of modern life cannot dwell in it a moment; it is as that enchanted throne which turned into stone like itself whosoever dared to seat himself upon its majestic heights. for fifteen centuries bologna has grimly watched and seen the mad life of the world go by; it sits amidst the plains as the sphynx amidst her deserts. * * * it is women's way. they always love colour better than form, rhetoric better than logic, priestcraft better than philosophy, and flourishes better than fugues. it has been said scores of times before i said it. nay, he pursued, thinking he had pained me, you have a bright wit enough, and a beautiful voice, though you sing without knowing very well what you do sing. but genius you have not, look you; say your thanksgiving to the madonna at the next shrine we come to; genius you have not. what is it? well, it is hard to tell; but this is certain, that it puts peas unboiled into the shoes of every pilgrim who really gets up to its olivet. genius has all manner of dead dreams and sorrowful lost loves for its scallop-shells; and the palm that it carries is the bundle of rods wherewith fools have beaten it for calling them blind. genius has eyes so clear that it sees straight down into the hearts of others through all their veils of sophistry and simulation; but its own heart is pierced often to the quick for shame of what it reads there. it has such long and faithful remembrance of other worlds and other lives which most minds have forgotten, that beside the beauty of those memories all things of earth seem poor and valueless. men call this imagination or idealism; the name does not matter much; whether it be desire or remembrance, it comes to the same issue; so that genius, going ever beyond the thing it sees in infinite longing for some higher greatness which it has either lost or otherwise cannot reach, finds the art, and the humanity, and the creations, and the affections which seem to others so exquisite most imperfect and scarcely to be endured. the heaven of phædrus is the world which haunts genius--where there shall not be women but woman, not friends but friendship, not poems but poetry; everything in its uttermost wholeness and perfection; so that there shall be no possibility of regret nor any place for desire. for in this present world there is only one thing which can content it, and that thing is music; because music has nothing to do with earth, but sighs always for the lands beyond the sun. and yet all this while genius, though sick at heart, and alone, and finding little in man or in woman, in human art or in human nature, that can equal what it remembers--or, as men choose to say, it imagines--is half a child too, always: for something of the eternal light which streams from the throne of god is always shed about it, though sadly dimmed and broken by the clouds and vapours that men call their atmosphere. half a child always, taking a delight in the frolic of the kids, the dancing of the daffodils, the playtime of the children, the romp of the winds with the waters, the loves of the birds in the blossoms. half a child always, but always with tears lying close to its laughter, and always with desires that are death in its dreams. no; you have not genius, cara mia. say your grazie at the next shrine we pass. * * * therefore, in those days men, giving themselves leave to be glad for a little space, were glad with the same sinewy force and manful singleness of purpose as made them in other times laborious, self-denying, patient, and fruitful of high thoughts and deeds. because they laboured for their fellows, therefore they could laugh with them; and because they served god, therefore they dared be glad. in those grave, dauntless, austere lives the carnival's jocund revelry was as one golden bead in a pilgrim's rosary of thorn-berries. they had aimed highly and highly achieved; therefore they could go forth amidst their children and rejoice. but we--in whom all art is the mere empty shibboleth of a ruined religion whose priests are all dead; we--whose whole year-long course is one dance of death over the putridity of our pleasures; we--whose solitary purpose it is to fly faster and faster from desire to satiety, from satiety to desire, in an endless eddy of fruitless effort; we--whose greatest genius can only raise for us some inarticulate protest of despair against some unknown god;--we have strangled king carnival and killed him, and buried him in the ashes of our own unutterable weariness and woe. * * * oh, i believe it was all true enough. there were mighty pascarèlli in the olden days. but i am very glad that i was not of them; except, indeed, that i should have liked to strike a blow or two for guido calvacanti and have hindered the merrymaking of those precious rascals who sent him out to die of the marsh fever. great? no; certainly i would not be great. to be a great man is endlessly to crave something that you have not; to kiss the hands of monarchs and lick the feet of peoples. to be great? who was ever more great than dante, and what was his experience?--the bitterness of begged bread, and the steepness of palace stairs. besides, given the genius to deserve it, the up-shot of a life spent for greatness is absolutely uncertain. look at machiavelli. after having laid down infallible rules for social and public success with such unapproachable astuteness that his name has become a synonym for unerring policy, machiavelli passed his existence in obedience and submission to rome, to florence, to charles, to cosmo, to leo, to clement. he was born into a time favourable beyond every other to sudden changes of fortune; a time in which any fearless audacity might easily become the stepping-stone to a supreme authority; and yet machiavelli, whom the world still holds as its ablest statesman--in principle--never in practice rose above the level of a servant of civil and papal tyrannies, and, when his end came, died in obscurity and almost in penury. theoretically, machiavelli could rule the universe; but practically he never attained to anything finer than a more or less advantageous change of masters. to reign doctrinally may be all very well, but when it only results in serving actually, it seems very much better to be obscure and content without any trouble. "fumo di gloria non vale fumo di pipa." i, for one, at any rate, am thoroughly convinced of that truth of truths. i hearkened to him sorrowful; for to my ignorant eyes the witch candle of fame seemed a pure and perfect planet; and i felt that the planet might have ruled his horoscope had he chosen. is there no glory at all worth having, then? i murmured. he stretched himself where he rested amongst the arum-whitened grass, and took his cigaretto from his mouth: well, there is one, perhaps. but it is to be had about once in five centuries. you know or san michele? it would have been a world's wonder had it stood alone, and not been companioned with such wondrous rivals that its own exceeding beauty scarce ever receives full justice. where the jasper of giotto and the marble of brunelleschi, where the bronze of ghiberti and the granite of arnolfo rise everywhere in the sunlit air to challenge vision and adoration, or san michele fails of its full meed from men. yet, perchance, in all the width of florence there is not a nobler thing. it is like some massive casket of silver oxydised by time; such a casket as might have been made to hold the tables of the law by men to whose faith sinai was the holy and imperishable truth. i know nothing of the rule or phrase of architecture, but it seems to me surely that that square-set strength, as of a fortress, towering against the clouds, and catching the last light always on its fretted parapet, and everywhere embossed and enriched with foliage, and tracery, and the figures of saints, and the shadows of vast arches, and the light of niches gold-starred and filled with divine forms, is a gift so perfect to the whole world, that, passing it, one should need say a prayer for great taddeo's soul. surely, nowhere is the rugged, changeless, mountain force of hewn stone piled against the sky, and the luxuriant, dreamlike, poetic delicacy of stone carven and shaped into leafage and loveliness more perfectly blended and made one than where or san michele rises out of the dim, many-coloured, twisting streets, in its mass of ebon darkness and of silvery light. well, the other day, under the walls of it i stood, and looked at its saint george where he leans upon his shield, so calm, so young, with his bared head and his quiet eyes. "that is our donatello's," said a florentine beside me--a man of the people, who drove a horse for hire in the public ways, and who paused, cracking his whip, to tell this tale to me. "donatello did that, and it killed him. do you not know? when he had done that saint george, he showed it to his master. and the master said, 'it wants one thing only.' now this saying our donatello took gravely to heart, chiefly of all because his master would never explain where the fault lay; and so much did it hurt him, that he fell ill of it, and came nigh to death. then he called his master to him. 'dear and great one, do tell me before i die,' he said, 'what is the one thing my statue lacks.' the master smiled, and said, 'only--speech.' 'then i die happy,' said our donatello. and he died--indeed, that hour." "now, i cannot say that the pretty story is true; it is not in the least true; donato died when he was eighty-three, in the street of the melon; and it was he himself who cried, 'speak then--speak!' to his statue, as it was carried through the city. but whether true or false the tale, this fact is surely true, that it is well--nobly and purely well--with a people when the men amongst it who ply for hire on its public ways think caressingly of a sculptor dead five hundred years ago, and tell such a tale standing idly in the noonday sun, feeling the beauty and the pathos of it all. "'our donatello' still to the people of florence. 'our own little donato' still, our pet and pride, even as though he were living and working in their midst to-day, here in the shadows of the stocking-maker's street, where his saint george keeps watch and ward. "'our little donato' still, though dead so many hundred years ago. "that is glory, if you will. and something more beautiful than any glory--love." he was silent a long while, gathering lazily with his left hand the arum lilies to bind them together for me. perhaps the wish for the moment passed over him that he had chosen to set his life up in stone, like to donato's, in the face of florence, rather than to weave its light and tangled skein out from the breaths of the wandering winds and the sands of the shifting shore. * * * come out here in the young months of summer, and leave, as we left, the highways that grim walls fence in, and stray, as we strayed, through the field-paths and the bridle-roads in the steps of the contadini, and you will find this green world about your feet touched with the may-day suns to tenderest and most lavish wealth of nature. the green corn uncurling underneath the blossoming vines. the vine foliage that tosses and climbs and coils in league on league of verdure. the breast-high grasses full of gold and red and purple from the countless flowers growing with it. the millet filled with crimson gladioli and great scarlet poppies. the hill-sides that look a sheet of rose-colour where the lupinelli are in bloom. the tall plumes of the canes, new-born, by the side of every stream and rivulet. the sheaves of arum leaves that thrust themselves out from every joint of masonry or spout of broken fountain. the flame of roses that burns on every handbreadth of untilled ground and springs like a rainbow above the cloud of every darkling roof or wall. the ocean spray of arbutus and acacia shedding its snow against the cypress darkness. the sea-green of the young ilex leaves scattered like light over the bronze and purple of the older growth. the dreamy blue of the iris lilies rising underneath the olives and along the edges of the fields. * * * all greatest gifts that have enriched the modern world have come from italy. take those gifts from the world, and it would lie in darkness, a dumb, barbaric, joyless thing. leave rome alone, or question as you will whether she were the mightiest mother, or the blackest curse that ever came on earth. i do not speak of rome, imperial or republican, i speak of italy. of italy, after the greatness of rome dropped as the labarum was raised on high, and the fisher of galilee came to fill the desolate place of the cæsars. of italy, when she was no more a vast dominion, ruling over half the races of the globe, from the persian to the pict, but a narrow slip bounded by adriatic and mediterranean, divided into hostile sections, racked by foreign foes, and torn by internecine feud. of italy, ravaged by the longobardo, plundered by the french, scourged by the popes, tortured by the kaisers; of italy, with her cities at war with each other, her dukedoms against her free towns, her tyrants in conflict with her municipalities; of italy, in a word, as she has been from the days of theodoric and theodolinda to the days of napoleon and francis joseph. it is this italy--our italy--which through all the centuries of bloodshed and of suffering never ceased to bear aloft and unharmed its divining-rod of inspiration as s. christopher bore the young christ above the swell of the torrent and the rage of the tempest. all over italy from north to south men arose in the darkness of those ages who became the guides and the torchbearers of a humanity that had gone astray in the carnage and gloom. the faith of columbus of genoa gave to mankind a new world. the insight of galileo of pisa revealed to it the truth of its laws of being. guido monacco of arezzo bestowed on it the most spiritual of all earthly joys by finding a visible record for the fugitive creations of harmony ere then impalpable and evanescent as the passing glories of the clouds. dante alighieri taught to it the might of that vulgar tongue in which the child babbles at its mother's knee, and the orator leads a breathless multitude at his will to death or triumph. teofilo of empoli discovered for it the mysteries of colour that lie in the mere earths of the rocks and the shores, and the mere oils of the roots and the poppies. arnoldo of breccia lit for it the first flame of free opinion, and amatus of breccia perfected for it the most delicate and exquisite of all instruments of sound, which men of cremona, or of bologna, had first created. maestro giorgio, and scores of earnest workers whose names are lost in pesaro and in gubbio, bestowed on it those homelier treasures of the graver's and the potter's labours which have carried the alphabet of art into the lowliest home. brunelleschi of florence left it in legacy the secret of lifting a mound of marble to the upper air as easily as a child can blow a bubble; and giordano bruno of nola found for it those elements of philosophic thought, which have been perfected into the clear and prismatic crystals of the metaphysics of the teuton and the scot. from south and north, from east and west, they rose, the ministers and teachers of mankind. from mountain and from valley, from fortress smoking under battle, and from hamlet laughing under vines; from her great wasted cities, from her small fierce walled towns, from her lone sea-shores ravaged by the galleys of the turks, from her villages on hill and plain that struggled into life through the invaders' fires, and pushed their vineshoots over the tombs of kings, everywhere all over her peaceful soil, such men arose. not men alone who were great in a known art, thought or science, of these the name was legion; but men in whose brains, art, thought, or science took new forms, was born into new life, spoke with new voice, and sprang full armed a new athene. leave rome aside, i say, and think of italy; measure her gifts, which with the lavish waste of genius she has flung broadcast in grand and heedless sacrifice, and tell me if the face of earth would not be dark and drear as any scythian desert without these? she was the rose of the world, aye--so they bruised and trampled her, and yet the breath of heaven was ever in her. she was the world's nightingale, aye--so they burned her eyes out and sheared her wings, and yet she sang. but she was yet more than these: she was the light of the world: a light set on a hill, a light unquenchable. a light which through the darkness of the darkest night has been a pharos to the drowning faiths and dying hopes of man. * * * "it must have been such a good life--a painter's--in those days; those early days of art. fancy the gladness of it then--modern painters can know nothing of it. "when all the delicate delights of distance were only half perceived; when the treatment of light and shadow was barely dreamed of; when aerial perspective was just breaking on the mind in all its wonder and power; when it was still regarded as a marvellous boldness to draw from the natural form in a natural fashion;--in those early days only fancy the delights of a painter! "something fresh to be won at each step; something new to be penetrated at each moment; something beautiful and rash to be ventured on with each touch of colour,--the painter in those days had all the breathless pleasure of an explorer; without leaving his birthplace he knew the joys of columbus. "and then the reverence that waited on him. "he was a man who glorified god amongst a people that believed in god. "what he did was a reality to himself and those around him. spinello fainted before the satanas he portrayed, and angelico deemed it blasphemy to alter a feature of the angels who visited him that they might live visibly for men in his colours in the cloister. "of all men the artist was nearest to heaven, therefore of all men was he held most blessed. "when francis valois stooped for the brush he only represented the spirit of the age he lived in. it is what all wise kings do. it is their only form of genius. "now-a-days what can men do in the arts! nothing. "all has been painted--all sung--all said. "all is twice told--in verse, in stone, in colour. there is no untraversed ocean to tempt the columbus of any art. "it is dreary--very dreary--that. all had been said and done so much better than we can ever say or do it again. one envies those men who gathered all the paradise flowers half opened, and could watch them bloom. "art can only live by faith: and what faith have we? "instead of art we have indeed science; but science is very sad, for she doubts all things and would prove all things, and doubt is endless, and proof is a quagmire that looks like solid earth, and is but shifting waters." his voice was sad as it fell on the stillness of arezzo--arezzo who had seen the dead gods come and go, and the old faiths rise and fall, there where the mule trod its patient way and the cicala sang its summer song above the place where the temple of the bona dea and the church of christ had alike passed away, so that no man could tell their place. it was all quiet around. "i would rather have been spinello than petrarca," he pursued, after a while. "yes; though the sonnets will live as long as men love: and the old man's work has almost every line of it crumbled away. "but one can fancy nothing better than a life such as spinello led for nigh a century up on the hill here, painting, because he loved it, till death took him. of all lives, perhaps, that this world has ever seen, the lives of painters, i say, in those days were the most perfect. "not only the magnificent pageants of leonardo's, of raffaelle's, of giorgone's: but the lowlier lives--the lives of men such as santi, and ridolfi, and benozzo, and francia, and timoteo, and many lesser men than they, painters in fresco and grisaille, painters of miniatures, painters of majolica and montelupo, painters who were never great, but who attained infinite peacefulness and beauty in their native towns and cities all over the face of italy. "in quiet places, such as arezzo and volterra, and modena and urbino, and cortona and perugia, there would grow up a gentle lad who from infancy most loved to stand and gaze at the missal paintings in his mother's house, and the coena in the monk's refectory, and when he had fulfilled some twelve or fifteen years, his people would give in to his wish and send him to some bottega to learn the management of colours. "then he would grow to be a man; and his town would be proud of him, and find him the choicest of all work in its churches and its convents, so that all his days were filled without his ever wandering out of reach of his native vesper bells. "he would make his dwelling in the heart of his birthplace, close under its cathedral, with the tender sadness of the olive hills stretching above and around; in the basiliche or the monasteries his labour would daily lie; he would have a docile band of hopeful boyish pupils with innocent eyes of wonder for all he did or said; he would paint his wife's face for the madonna's, and his little son's for the child angel's; he would go out into the fields and gather the olive bough, and the feathery corn, and the golden fruits, and paint them tenderly on ground of gold or blue, in symbol of those heavenly things of which the bells were for ever telling all those who chose to hear; he would sit in the lustrous nights in the shade of his own vines and pity those who were not as he was; now and then horsemen would come spurring in across the hills and bring news with them of battles fought, of cities lost and won; and he would listen with the rest in the market-place, and go home through the moonlight thinking that it was well to create the holy things before which the fiercest reiter and the rudest free-lance would drop the point of the sword and make the sign of the cross. "it must have been a good life--good to its close in the cathedral crypt--and so common too; there were scores such lived out in these little towns of italy, half monastery and half fortress, that were scattered over hill and plain, by sea and river, on marsh and mountain, from the day-dawn of cimabue to the afterglow of the carracci. "and their work lives after them; the little towns are all grey and still and half peopled now; the iris grows on the ramparts, the canes wave in the moats, the shadows sleep in the silent market-place, the great convents shelter half-a-dozen monks, the dim majestic churches are damp and desolate, and have the scent of the sepulchre. "but there, above the altars, the wife lives in the madonna and the child smiles in the angel, and the olive and the wheat are fadeless on their ground of gold and blue; and by the tomb in the crypt the sacristan will shade his lantern and murmur with a sacred tenderness:-- "'here he sleeps.' "'he,' even now, so long, long after, to the people of his birthplace. who can want more of life--or death?" so he talked on in that dreamy, wistful manner that was as natural with him in some moments as his buoyant and ironical gaiety at others. then he rose as the shadows grew longer and pulled down a knot of pomegranate blossom for me, and we went together under the old walls, across the maize fields, down the slope of the hills to the olive orchard, where a peasant, digging deep his trenches against the autumn rains, had struck his mattock on the sepulchre of the etruscan king. there was only a little heap of fine dust when we reach the spot. * * * "there was so much more colour in those days," he had said, rolling a big green papone before him with his foot. "if, indeed, it were laid on sometimes too roughly. and then there was so much more play for character. now-a-days, if a man dare go out of the common ways to seek a manner of life suited to him, and unlike others, he is voted a vagabond, or, at least, a lunatic, supposing he is rich enough to get the sentence so softened. in those days the impossible was possible--a paradox? oh, of course. the perfection of those days was, that they were full of paradoxes. no democracy will ever compass the immensity of hope, the vastness of possibility, with which the church of those ages filled the lives of the poorest poor. not hope spiritual only, but hope terrestrial, hope material and substantial. a swineherd, glad to gnaw the husks that his pigs left, might become the viceregent of christ, and spurn emperors prostrate before his throne. the most famished student who girt his lean loins to pass the gates of pavia or ravenna, knew that if he bowed his head for the tonsure he might live to lift it in a pontiff's arrogance in the mighty reality and the yet mightier metaphor of a canosa. the abuses of the mediæval church have been gibbeted in every language; but i doubt if the wonderful absolute _equality_ which that church actually contained and caused has ever been sufficiently remembered. then only think how great it was to _be_ great in those years, when men were fresh enough of heart to feel emotion and not ashamed to show it. think of petrarca's entry into rome; think of the superb life of raffael; think of the crowds that hung on the lips of the improvisatori: think of the influence of s. bruno, of s. bernard, of s. francis; think of the enormous power on his generation of fra girolamo! and if one were not great at all, but only a sort of brute with stronger sinews than most men, what a fearless and happy brute one might be, riding with hawkwood's lances, or fighting with the black bands! whilst, if one were a peaceable, gentle soul, with a turn for art and grace, what a calm, tender life one might lead in little, old, quiet cities, painting praying saints on their tiptoes, or moulding marriage-plates in majolica! it must have been such a great thing to live when the world was still all open-eyed with wonder at itself, like a child on its sixth birthday. now-a-days, science makes a great discovery; the tired world yawns, feels its pockets, and only asks, "will it pay?" galileo ran the risk of the stake, and giordano bruno suffered at it; but i think that chance of the faggots must have been better to bear than the languid apathy and the absorbed avarice of the present age, which is chiefly tolerant because it has no interest except in new invented ways for getting money and for spending it." _in maremma._ he remembered two years before, when he had passed through italy on his way eastward, pausing in ferrara, and brescia, and mantua, and staying longer in the latter city on account of a trial then in course of hearing in the court of justice, which had interested him by its passionate and romantic history; it had been the trial of the young count d'este, accused of the assassination of his mistress. sanctis had gone with the rest of the town to the hearing of the long and tedious examination of the witnesses and of accused. it had been a warm day in early autumn, three months after the night of the murder; mantua had looked beautiful in her golden mantle of sunshine and silver veil of mist; there was a white, light fog on the water meadows and the lakes, and under it the willows waved and the tall reeds rustled; whilst the dark towers, the forked battlements, the vast lombard walls, seemed to float on it like sombre vessels on a foamy sea. he remembered the country people flocking in over the bridge, the bells ringing, the red sails drifting by, the townsfolk gathering together in the covered arcades and talking with angry rancour against the dead woman's lord. he remembered sitting in the hush and gloom of the judgment-hall and furtively sketching the head of the prisoner because of its extreme and typical beauty. he remembered how at the time he had thought this accused lover guiltless, and wondered that the tribunal did not sooner suspect the miserly, malicious, and subtle meaning of the husband's face. he remembered listening to the tragic tale that seemed so well to suit those sombre, feudal streets, those melancholy waters, seeing the three-edged dagger passed from hand to hand, hearing how the woman had been found dead in her beauty on her old golden and crimson bed with the lilies on her breast, and looking at the attitude of the prisoner--in which the judges saw remorse and guilt, and he could only see the unutterable horror of a bereaved lover to whom the world was stripped and naked. he had stayed but two days in mantua, but those two days had left an impression on him like that left by the reading at the fall of night of some ghastly poem of the middle ages. he had thought that they had condemned an innocent man, as the judge gave his sentence of the galleys for life: and the scene had often come back to his thoughts. the vaulted audience chamber; the strong light pouring in through high grated windows; the pillars of many-coloured marbles, the frescoed roof; the country people massed together in the public place, with faces that were like paintings of mantegna or masaccio; the slender supple form of the accused drooping like a bruised lily between the upright figures of two carabineers; the judge leaning down over his high desk in black robes and black square cap, like some venetian lawgiver of veronese or of titian; and beyond, through an open casement, the silvery, watery, sun-swept landscape that was still the same as when romeo came, banished, to mantua. all these had remained impressed upon his mind by the tragedy which there came to its close as a lover, passionate as romeo and yet more unfortunate, was condemned to the galleys for his life. "they have ill judged a guiltless man," he had said to himself as he had left the court with a sense of pain before injustice done, and went with heart saddened by a stranger's fate into the misty air, along the shining water where the mills of the twelve apostles were churning the great dam into froth, as they had done through seven centuries, since first, with reverent care, the builder had set the sacred statues there that they might bless the grinding of the corn. sitting now in the silence of the tomb, sanctis recalled that day, when, towards the setting of the sun, he had strolled there by the water-wheels of the twelve disciples, and allowed the fate of an unknown man, declared a criminal by impartial judges, to cloud over for him the radiance of evening on the willowy serraglio and chase away his peaceful thoughts of virgil. he remembered how the country people had come out by the bridge and glided away in their boats, and talked of the murder of donna aloysia; and how they had, one and all of them, said, going back over the lake water or along the reed-fringed roads, to their farmhouses, that there could be no manner of doubt about it--the lover had been moon-struck and mad with jealousy, and his dagger had found its way to her breast. they had not blamed him much, but they had never doubted his guilt; and the foreigner alone, standing by the mill gateway, and seeing the golden sun go down beyond the furthermost fields of reeds that grew blood-red as the waters grew, had thought to himself and said half aloud: "poor romeo! he is guiltless, even though the dagger were his"---- and a prior, black-robed, with broad looped-up black hat, who was also watching the sunset, breviary in hand, had smiled and said, "nay, romeo, banished to us, had no blood on his hand; but this romeo, native of our city, has. mantua will be not ill rid of luitbrand d'este." then he again, in obstinacy and against all the priest's better knowledge as a mantuan, had insisted and said, "the man is innocent." and the sun had gone down as he had spoken, and the priest had smiled--a smile cold as a dagger's blade--perhaps recalling sins confessed to him of love that had changed to hate, of fierce delight ending in as fierce a death-blow. mantua in her day had seen so much alike of love and hate. "the man is innocent," he had said insisting, whilst the carmine light had glowed on the lagoons and bridges, and on the lombard walls, and gothic gables, and high bell-towers, and ducal palaces, and feudal fortresses of the city in whose street crichton fell to the hired steel of bravoes. * * * she had the heaven-born faculty of observation of the poets, and she had that instinct of delight in natural beauty which made linnæus fall on his knees before the english gorse and thank god for having made so beautiful a thing. her sympathies and her imaginings spent themselves in solitary song as she made the old strings of the lute throb in low cadence when she sat solitary by her hearth on the rock floor of the grave; and out of doors her eyes filled and her lips laughed when she wandered through the leafy land and found the warbler's nest hung upon the reeds, or the first branching asphodel in flower. she could not have told why these made her happy, why she could watch for half a day untired the little wren building where the gladwyn blossomed on the water's edge. it was only human life that hurt her, embittered her, and filled her with hatred of it. as she walked one golden noon by the sasso scritto, clothed with its myrtle and thyme and its quaint cacti that later would bear their purple heads of fruit; the shining sea beside her, and above her the bold arbutus-covered heights, with the little bells of the sheep sounding on their sides, she saw a large fish, radiant as a gem, with eyes like rubies. some men had it; a hook was in its golden gills, and they had tied its tail to the hook so that it could not stir, and they had put it in a pail of water that it might not die too quickly, die ere they could sell it. a little further on she saw a large green and gold snake, one of the most harmless of all earth's creatures, that only asked to creep into the sunshine, to sleep in its hole in the rock, to live out its short, innocent life under the honey smile of the rosemary; the same men stoned it to death, heaping the pebbles and broken sandstone on it, and it perished slowly in long agony, being large and tenacious of life. yet a little further on, again, she saw a big square trap of netting, with a blinded chaffinch as decoy. the trap was full of birds, some fifty or sixty of them, all kinds of birds, from the plain brown minstrel, beloved of the poets, to the merry and amber-winged oriole, from the dark grey or russet-bodied fly-catcher and whinchat to the glossy and handsome jay, cheated and caught as he was going back to the north; they had been trapped, and would be strung on a string and sold for a copper coin the dozen; and of many of them the wings or the legs were broken and the eyes were already dim. the men who had taken them were seated on the thymy turf grinning like apes, with pipes in their mouths, and a flask of wine between their knees. she passed on, helpless. she thought of words that joconda had once quoted to her, words which said that men were made in god's likeness! * * * while it is winter the porphyrion sails down the willowy streams beside the sultan-hen that is to be his love, and sees her not, and stays not her passage upon the water or through the air; she does not live as yet to him. but when the breath of the spring brings the catkins from the willows, and the violets amidst the wood-moss on the banks, then he awakes and beholds her; and then the stream reflects but her shape for him, and the rushes are full of the melody of his love-call. it was still winter with este--a bitter winter of discontent; and he had no eyes for this water-bird that swam with him through the icy current of his adversity. to break the frozen flood that imprisoned him was his only thought. * * * air is the king of physicians; he who stands often with nothing between him and the open heavens will gain from them health both moral and physical. * * * "yes; you have a right to know. after all, it was ruin to me, but it is not much of a story; a tale-teller with his guitar on a vintage night would soon make a better one. i loved a woman. she lived in mantua. so did i, too. for her sake i lost three whole years--three years of the best of my life. and yet, what is gain except love, and what better than joy can we have? a pomegranate is ripe but once. and i--my pomegranate is rotten for evermore! we lived in mantua. it is a strange sad place. it was great and gay enough once. grander pomp than mantua's there was never known in italy. felix mantua!--and now it is all decaying, mouldering, sinking, fading; it is silent as death; the mists, the waters, the empty palaces, the walls that the marshes are eating little by little every day, the grass and the moss and the wild birds' nests on the roofs, on the temples, on the bridges, all are desolate in mantua now. yet is it beautiful in its loneliness, when the sunrise comes over the seas of reeds, and the towers and the arches are reflected in the pools and streams; and yet again at night, when the moon is high and the lagoons are as sheets of silver, and the shadows come and go over the bulrushes and st. andrea lifts itself against the stars. yes; then it is still mantova la gloriosa." his voice dropped; the tears came into his closing eyes as though he looked on the dead face of a familiar friend. he felt the home sickness of the exile, of the wanderer who knows not where to lay his head. the glory was gone from the city. its greatness was but as a ghost that glided through its deserted streets calling in vain on dead men to arise. the rough red sail of the fishing-boat was alone on the waters once crowded with the silken sails of gilded galleys; the toad croaked and the stork made her nest where the lords of gonzaga had gone forth to meet their brides of este or of medici; virgil, alboin, great karl, otho, petrarca, ariosto, had passed by here over this world of waters and become no more than dreams; and the vapours and the dust together had stolen the smile from giulio's psyche, and the light from mantegna's arabesques. on the vast walls the grass grew, and in the palaces of princes the winds wandered and the beggars slept. all was still, disarmed, lonely, forgotten; left to a silence like the silence of the endless night of death. yet it was dear to him; this sad and stately city, waiting for the slow death of an unpitied and lingering decay. it was dear to him from habit, from birth, from memory, from affinity, as the reeds of its stagnant waters were dear to the sedge-warbler that hung its slender nest on the stem of a rush. a price was set on his head; and never more, he thought, would he see the sunshine in ripples of gold come over the grey lagoons. * * * no one cared; the terrible, barren, acrid truth, that science trumpets abroad as though it were some new-found joy, touched her ignorance with its desolating despair. no one cared. life was only sustained by death. the harmless and lovely children of the air and of the moor were given over, year after year, century after century, to the bestial play and the ferocious appetites of men. the wondrous beauty of the earth renewed itself only to be the scene of endless suffering, of interminable torture. the human tyrant, without pity, greedy as a child, more brutal than the tiger in his cruelty, had all his way upon the innocent races to which he begrudged a tuft of reeds, a palm's breadth of moss or sand. the slaughter, the misery, the injustice, renewed themselves as the greenness of the world did. no one cared. there was no voice upon the blood-stained waters. there was no rebuke from the offended heavens. to all prayer or pain there was eternal silence as the sole reply. * * * the uneducated are perhaps unjustly judged sometimes. to the ignorant both right and wrong are only instincts; when one remembers their piteous and innocent confusion of ideas, the twilight of dim comprehension in which they dwell, one feels that oftentimes the laws of cultured men are too hard on them, and that, in a better sense than that of injustice and reproach, there ought indeed to be two laws for rich and poor. * * * it needs a great nature to bear the weight of a great gratitude. to a great nature it gives wings that bear it up to heaven; a lower nature feels it always as a clog that impatiently is dragged only so long as force compels. * * * when the thoughts of youth return, fresh as the scent of new-gathered blossoms, to the tired old age which has so long forgot them, the coming of death is seldom very distant. * * * the boat went through the waters swiftly, as the wind blew more strongly; the sandy shore with its scrub of low-growing rock-rose and prickly christ's thorn did not change its landscape, but what she looked at always was the sea; the sea that in the light had the smiling azure of a young child's eyes, and when the clouds cast shadows on it, had the intense impenetrable brilliancy of a jewel. in the distance were puffs of white and grey, like smoke or mist; those mists were corsica and caprajà. elba towered close at hand. gorgona lay far beyond, with all the other little isles that seem made to shelter miranda and ariel, but of gorgona she knew nothing; she was steering straight towards it, but it was many a league distant on the northerly water. when she at last stopped her boat in its course she was at the sasso scritto: a favourite resting-place with her, where, on feast-days, when joconda let her have liberty from housework and rush-plaiting and spinning of flax, she always came. northward, there was a long smooth level beach of sand, and beyond that a lagoon where all the waterbirds that love both the sea and the marsh came in large flocks, and spread their wings over the broad spaces in which the salt water and the fresh were mingled. beyond this there were cliffs of the humid red tufa, and the myrtle and the holy thorn grew down their sides, and met in summer the fragrant hesperis of the shore. these cliffs were fine bold bluffs, and one of them had been called from time immemorial the sasso scritto,--why, no one knew; the only writing on it was done by the hand of nature. it was steep and lofty; on its summit were the ruins of an old fortress of the middle ages; its sides were clothed with myrtle, aloe, and rosemary, and at its feet were boulders of marble, rose and white in the sun; rock pools, with exquisite network of sunbeams crossing their rippling surface, and filled with green ribbon-grasses and red sea-foliage, and shining gleams of broken porphyry, and pieces of agate and cornelian. the yellow sands hereabouts were bright just now with the sea-daffodil, and the sea-stocks, which would blossom later, were pricking upward to the lenten light; great clusters of southern-wood waved in the wind, and the pungent sea-rush grew in long lines along the shore, where the sand-piper was dropping her eggs, and the blue-rock was carrying dry twigs and grass to his home in the ruins above or the caverns beneath, and the stock-doves in large companies were winging their way over sea towards the maritime or the pennine alps. this was a place that musa loved, and she would come here and sit for hours, and watch the roseate cloud of the returning flamingoes winging their way from sardinia, and the martins busy at their masonry in the cliffs, and the arctic longipennes going away northward as the weather opened, and the stream-swallows hunting early gnats and frogs on the water, and the kingfisher digging his tortuous underground home in the sand. here she would lie for hours amongst the rosemary, and make silent friendships with the populations of the air, while the sweet blue sky was above her head, and the sea, as blue, stretched away till it was lost in light. once up above, on these cliffs, the eye could sweep over the sea north and south, and the soil was more than ever scented with that fragrant and humble blue-flowered shrub of which the english madrigals and glees of the stuart and hanoverian poets so often speak, and seem to smell. behind the cliffs stretched moorland, marshes, woodland, intermingled, crossed by many streams, holding many pools, blue-fringed in may with iris, and osier beds, and vast fields of reeds, and breadths of forest with dense thorny underwood, where all wild birds came in their season, and where all was quiet save for a bittern's cry, a boar's snort, a snipe's scream, on the lands once crowded with the multitudes that gave the eagle of persia and the brazen trumpets of lydia to the legions of rome. under their thickets of the prickly sloe-tree and the sweet-smelling bay lay the winding ways of buried cities; their runlets of water rippled where kings and warriors slept beneath the soil, and the yellow marsh lily, and the purple and the rose of the wind-flower and the pasque-flower, and the bright red of the easter tulips, and the white and the gold of the asphodels, and the colours of a thousand other rarer and less homelike blossoms, spread their innocent glory in their turn to the sky and the breeze, above the sunken stones of courts and gates and palaces and prisons. these moors were almost as solitary as the deserts are. now and then against the blue of the sky and the brown of the wood, there rose the shapes of shepherds and their flocks; now and then herds of young horses went by, fleet and unconscious of their doom; now and then the sound of a rifle cracked the silence of the windless air; but these came but seldom. maremma is wide, and its people are scattered. in autumn and in winter, hunters, shepherds, swineherds, sportsmen, birdcatchers, might spoil the solemn peace of these moors, but in spring and summer no human soul was seen upon them. the boar and the buffalo, the flamingo and the roebuck, the great plover and the woodcock, reigned alone. * * * "they say he sang too well, and that was why they burnt him," said andreino to her to-day, after telling her for the hundredth time of what he had seen once on the ligurian shore, far away yonder northward, when he, who knew nothing of adonais or prometheus, had been called, a stout seafaring man in that time, amongst other peasants of the country-side, to help bring in the wood for a funeral pyre by the sea. he had known nought of the songs or the singer, but he loved to tell the tale he had heard then; and say how he had seen, he himself, with his own eyes, the drowned poet burn, far away yonder where the pines stood by the sea, and how the flames had curled around the heart that men had done their best to break, and how it had remained unburnt in the midst, whilst all the rest drifted in ashes down the wind. he knew nought of the skylark's ode, and nought of the cor cordium; but the scene by the seashore had burned itself as though with flame into his mind, and he spoke of it a thousand times if once, sitting by the edge of the sea that had killed the singer. "will they burn me if i sing too well?" the child asked him this day, the words of joconda being with her. "oh, that is sure," said andreino, half in jest and half in earnest. "they burnt him because he sang better than all of them. so they said. i do not know. i know the resin ran out of the pinewood all golden and hissing and his heart would not burn, all we could do. you are a female thing, musa; your heart will be the first to burn, the first of all!" "will it?" said musa seriously, but not any way alarmed, for the thought of that flaming pile by the seashore by night was a familiar image to her. "ay, for sure; you will be a woman!" said andreino, hammering into his boat. * * * "though there is not a soul here, still sometimes they come--lucchese, pistoiese, what not--they come as they go; they are a faithless lot; they love all winter, and while the corn is in the ear it goes well, but after harvest--phew!--they put their gains in their pockets and they are off and away back to their mountains. there are broken hearts in maremma when the threshing is done." "yes," said musa again. it was nothing to her, and she heeded but little. "yes, because men speak too lightly and women hearken too quickly; that is how the mischief is born. with the autumn the mountaineers come. they are strong and bold; they are ruddy and brown; they work all day, but in the long nights they dance and they sing; then the girl listens. she thinks it is all true, though it has all been said before in his own hills to other ears. the winter nights are long, and the devil is always near; when the corn goes down and the heat is come there is another sad soul the more, another burden to carry, and he--he goes back to the mountains. what does he care? only when he comes down into the plains again he goes to another place to work, because men do not love women's tears. that is how it goes in maremma." * * * "so the saints will pluck her to themselves at last," thought joconda; and the dreariness, the lovelessness, the hopelessness of such an existence did not occur to her, because age, which has learned the solace and sweetness of peace, never remembers that to youth peace seems only stagnation, inanition, death. the exhausted swimmer, reaching the land, falls prone on it, and blesses it; but the outgoing swimmer, full of strength, spurns the land, and only loves the high-crested wave, the abyss of the deep sea. * * * imagination without culture is crippled and moves slowly; but it can be pure imagination, and rich also, as folk-lore will tell the vainest. * * * it is this narrowness of the peasant mind which philosophers never fairly understand, and demagogues understand but too well, and warp to their own selfish purposes and profits. * * * flying, the flamingoes are like a sunset cloud; walking, they are like slender spirals of flame traversing the curling foam. when one looks on them across black lines of storm-blown weeds on a november morning in the marshes, as their long throats twist in the air with the flexile motion of the snake, the grace of a lily blown by wind, one thinks of thebes, of babylon, of the gorgeous persia of xerxes, of the lascivious egypt of the ptolemies. the world has grown grey and joyless in the twilight of age and fatigue, but these birds keep the colour of its morning. eos has kissed them. * * * for want of a word lives often drift apart. * * * nausicaa, in the safe shelter of her father's halls, had never tended odysseus with more serenity and purity than the daughter of saturnino tended his fellow-slave. the sanctity of the tombs lay on them, the dead were so near; neither profanity nor passion seemed to have any place here in this mysterious twilight alive with the memories of a vanished people. her innocence was a grand and noble thing, like any one of the largest white lilies that rose up from the noxious mud of the marshes; a cup of ivory wet with the dewdrops of dawn, blossoming fair on fetid waters. and in him the languor of sickness and of despair borrowed unconsciously for awhile the liveries of chastity; and he spoke no word, he made no gesture, that would have scared from its original calm the soul of this lonely creature, who succoured him with so much courage and so much compassion that they awed him with the sense of an eternal, infinite, and overwhelming obligation. it needs a great nature to bear the weight of a great gratitude. to a great nature it gives wings that bear it up to heaven; a lower nature feels it always a clog that impatiently is dragged only so long as force compels. * * * her daily labours remained the same, but it seemed to her as if she had the strength of those immortals he told her she resembled. she felt as though she trod on air, as though she drank the sunbeams and they gave her force like wine; she had no sense of fatigue; she might have had wings at her ankles, and nectar in her veins. she was so happy, with that perfect happiness which only comes where the world cannot enter, and the free nature has lifted itself to the light, knowing nothing of, and caring nothing for, the bonds of custom and of prejudice with which men have paralysed and cramped themselves, calling the lower the higher law. * * * the world was so far from her; she knew not of it; she was a law to herself, and her whole duty seemed to her set forth in one single word, perhaps the noblest word in human language--fidelity. when life is cast in solitary places, filled with high passions, and led aloof from men, the laws which are needful to curb the multitudes, but yet are poor conventional foolish things at their best, sink back into their true signification, and lose their fictitious awe. * * * moreover, love is for ever measureless, and the deepest and most passionate love is that which survives the death of esteem. friendship needs to be rooted in respect, but love can live upon itself alone. love is born of a glance, a touch, a murmur, a caress; esteem cannot beget it, nor lack of esteem slay it. _questi che mai da me non fia diviso_, shall be for ever its consolation amidst hell. one life alone is beloved, is beautiful, is needful, is desired: one life alone out of all the millions of earth. though it fall, err, betray, be mocked of others and forsaken by itself, what does this matter? this cannot alter love. the more it is injured by itself, derided of men, abandoned of god, the more will love still see that it has need of love, and to the faithless will be faithful. * * * he stood mute and motionless awhile. then as the truth was borne in on him, tears gushed from his eyes like rain, and he laughed long, and laughed loud as madmen do. he never doubted her. he sprang up the stone steps, and leapt into the open air: into that light of day which he had been forbidden to see so long. to stand erect there, to look over the plains, to breathe, and move, and gaze, and stretch his arms out to the infinite spaces of the sea and sky--this alone was so intense a joy that he felt mad with it. never again to hide with the snake and the fox; never again to tremble as his shadow went beside him on the sand; never to waste the sunlit hours hidden in the bowels of the earth; never to be afraid of every leaf that stirred, of every bird that flew, of every moon-beam that fell across his path!--he laughed and sobbed with the ecstasy of his release. "o god, thou hast not forgotten!" he cried in that rapture of freedom. all the old childish faiths that had been taught him by dim old altars in stately mantuan churches came back to his memory and heart. on the barren rock of gorgona he had cursed and blasphemed the creator and creation of a world that was hell; he had been without hope: he had derided all the faiths of his youth as illusions woven by devils to make the disappointment of man the more bitter. but now in the sweetness of his liberty, all the old happy beliefs rushed back to him; he saw deity in the smile of the seas, in the light upon the plains. he was free! * * * the world has lost the secret of making labour a joy; but nature has given it to a few. where the maidens dance the _saltarello_ under the deep sardinian forests, and the honey and the grapes are gathered beneath the snowy sides of etna, and the oxen walk up to their loins in flowing grass where the long aisles of pines grow down the adrian shore, this wood-magic is known still of the old simple charm of the pastoral life. * * * "does it vex you that i am not a boy?" said the girl--"why should it vex you? i can do all they can, i can row better than many, and sail and steer; i can drive too, and i know what to do with the nets; if i had a boat of my own you would see what i could do." "all that is very well," said joconda with a little nod. "i do not say it is not. but you have not a boat of your own, that is just it; that is what women always suffer from; they have to steer, but the craft is some one else's, and the haul too." * * * wild bird of sea and cloud, you are a stormy petrel, but there may come a storm too many--and i am old. i have done my best, but that is little. if you were a lad one would not be so uneasy. i suppose the good god knows best--if one could be sure of that--i am a hard working woman, and i have done no great sin that i know of, but up in heaven they never take any thought of me. when i was young, i asked them at my marriage altar to help me, and when my boys were born, i did the same, but they never noticed; my man was drowned, and my beautiful boys got the fever and sickened one by one and died: that was all i got. priests say it is best; priests are not mothers. * * * "they were greater than the men that live now," she said with a solemn tenderness, "perhaps; why think so?" "because they were not afraid of their dead; they built them beautiful houses, and gave them beautiful things. now, men are afraid or ashamed, or they have no remembrance. their dead are huddled away in dust or mud as though they were hateful or sinful. that is what i think so cowardly, so thankless. if they will not bear the sight of death, it were better to let great ships go slowly out, far out to sea, and give the waves their lost ones." _moths._ when gardeners plant and graft, they know very well what will be the issue of their work; they do not expect the rose from a bulb of garlic, or look for the fragrant olive from a slip of briar; but the culturers of human nature are less wise, and they sow poison, yet rave in reproaches when it breeds and brings forth its like. "the rosebud garden of girls" is a favourite theme for poets, and the maiden in her likeness to a half-opened blossom, is as near purity and sweetness as a human creature can be, yet what does the world do with its opening buds?--it thrusts them in the forcing-house amidst the ordure, and then, if they perish prematurely, never blames itself. the streets absorb the girls of the poor; society absorbs the daughters of the rich; and not seldom one form of prostitution, like the other, keeps its captives "bound in the dungeon of their own corruption." * * * the frivolous are always frightened at any strength or depth of nature, or any glimpse of sheer despair. not to be consoled! what can seem more strange to the shallow? what can seem more obstinate to the weak? not to be consoled is to offend all swiftly forgetting humanity, most of whose memories are writ on water. * * * it is harder to keep true to high laws and pure instincts in modern society than it was in days of martyrdom. there is nothing in the whole range of life so dispiriting and so unnerving as a monotony of indifference. active persecution and fierce chastisement are tonics to the nerves; but the mere weary conviction that no one cares, that no one notices, that there is no humanity that honours, and no deity that pities, is more destructive of all higher effort than any conflict with tyranny or with barbarism. * * * yet as he thought, so he did not realise that he would ever cease to be in the world--who does? life was still young in him, was prodigal to him of good gifts; of enmity he only knew so much as made his triumph finer, and of love he had more than enough. his life was full--at times laborious--but always poetical and always victorious. he could not realise that the day of darkness would ever come for him, when neither woman nor man would delight him, when no roses would have fragrance for him, and no song any spell to rouse him. genius gives immortality in another way than in the vulgar one of being praised by others after death; it gives elasticity, unwearied sympathy, and that sense of some essence stronger than death, of some spirit higher than the tomb, which nothing can destroy. it is in this sense that genius walks with the immortals. * * * a cruel story runs on wheels, and every hand oils the wheels as they run. * * * you may weep your eyes blind, you may shout your throat dry, you may deafen the ears of your world for half a lifetime, and you may never get a truth believed in, never have a simple fact accredited. but the lie flies like the swallow, multiplies itself like the caterpillar, is accepted everywhere, like the visits of a king; it is a royal guest for whom the gates fly open, the red carpet is unrolled, the trumpets sound, the crowds applaud. * * * she lived, like all women of her stamp and her epoch, in an atmosphere of sugared sophisms; she never reflected, she never admitted, that she did wrong; in her world nothing mattered much, unless, indeed, it were found out, and got into the public mouth. shifting as the sands, shallow as the rain-pools, drifting in all danger to a lie, incapable of loyalty, insatiably curious, still as a friend and ill as a foe, kissing like judas, denying like peter, impure of thought, even where by physical bias or political prudence still pure in act, the woman of modern society is too often at once the feeblest and the foulest outcome of a false civilisation. useless as a butterfly, corrupt as a canker, untrue to even lovers and friends because mentally incapable of comprehending what truth means, caring only for physical comfort and mental inclination, tired of living, but afraid of dying; believing some in priests, and some in physiologists, but none at all in virtue; sent to sleep by chloral, kept awake by strong waters and raw meat; bored at twenty, and exhausted at thirty, yet dying in the harness of pleasure rather than drop out of the race and live naturally; pricking their sated senses with the spur of lust, and fancying it love; taking their passions as they take absinthe before dinner; false in everything, from the swell of their breast to the curls at their throat;--beside them the guilty and tragic figures of old, the medea, the clytemnæstra, the phædra, look almost pure, seem almost noble. when one thinks that they are the only shape of womanhood which comes hourly before so many men, one comprehends why the old christianity which made womanhood sacred dies out day by day, and why the new positivism, which would make her divine, can find no lasting root. the faith of men can only live by the purity of women, and there is both impurity and feebleness at the core of the dolls of worth, as the canker of the phylloxera works at the root of the vine. * * * "what an actress was lost in your mother!" he added with his rough laugh; but he confused the talent of the comedian of society with that of the comedian of the stage, and they are very dissimilar. the latter almost always forgets herself in her part; the former never. * * * the scorn of genius is the most arrogant and the most boundless of all scorn. * * * "the fame of the singer can never be but a breath, a sound through a reed. when our lips are once shut, there is on us for ever eternal silence. who can remember a summer breeze when it has passed by, or tell in any after-time how a laugh or a sigh sounded?" * * * "when the soldier dies at his post, unhonoured and unpitied, and out of sheer duty, is that unreal because it is noble?" he said one night to his companions. "when the sister of charity hides her youth and her sex under a grey shroud, and gives up her whole life to woe and solitude, to sickness and pain, is that unreal because it is wonderful? a man paints a spluttering candle, a greasy cloth, a mouldy cheese, a pewter can; 'how real!' they cry. if he paint the spirituality of dawn, the light of the summer sea, the flame of arctic nights, of tropic woods, they are called unreal, though they exist no less than the candle and the cloth, the cheese and the can. ruy blas is now condemned as unreal because the lovers kill themselves; the realists forget that there are lovers still to whom that death would be possible, would be preferable, to low intrigue and yet more lowering falsehood. they can only see the mouldy cheese, they cannot see the sunrise glory. all that is heroic, all that is sublime, impersonal, or glorious, is derided as unreal. it is a dreary creed. it will make a dreary world. is not my venetian glass with its iridescent hues of opal as real every whit as your pot of pewter? yet the time is coming when every one, morally and mentally at least, will be allowed no other than a pewter pot to drink out of, under pain of being 'writ down an ass'--or worse. it is a dreary prospect." * * * "good? bad? if there were only good and bad in this world it would not matter so much," said corrèze a little recklessly and at random. "life would not be such a disheartening affair as it is. unfortunately the majority of people are neither one nor the other, and have little inclination for either crime or virtue. it would be almost as absurd to condemn them as to admire them. they are like tracts of shifting sand, in which nothing good or bad can take root. to me they are more despairing to contemplate than the darkest depth of evil; out of that may come such hope as comes of redemption and remorse, but in the vast, frivolous, featureless mass of society there is no hope." * * * "no!" he said with some warmth: "i refuse to recognise the divinity of noise; i utterly deny the majesty of monster choruses; clamour and clangour are the death-knell of music as drapery and so-called realism (which means, if it mean aught, that the dress is more real than the form underneath it!) are the destruction of sculpture. it is very strange. every day art in every other way becomes more natural and music more artificial. every day i wake up expecting to hear myself _dénigré_ and denounced as old-fashioned, because i sing as my nature as well as my training teaches me to do. it is very odd; there is such a cry for naturalism in other arts--we have millet instead of claude; we have zola instead of georges sand; we have dumas _fils_ instead of corneille; we have mercié instead of canova; but in music we have precisely the reverse, and we have the elephantine creations, the elaborate and pompous combinations of baireuth, and the tone school, instead of the old sweet strains of melody that went straight and clear to the ear and the heart of man. sometimes my enemies write in their journals that i sing as if i were a tuscan peasant strolling through his corn--how proud they make me! but they do not mean to do so. i will not twist and emphasise. i trust to melody. i was taught music in its own country, and i will not sin against the canons of the italians. they are right. rhetoric is one thing, and song is another. why confuse the two? simplicity is the soul of great music; as it is the mark of great passion. ornament is out of place in melody which represents single emotions at their height, be they joy, or fear, or hate, or love, or shame, or vengeance, or whatsoever they will. music is not a science any more than poetry is. it is a sublime instinct, like genius of all kinds. i sing as naturally as other men speak; let me remain natural"---- * * * childhood goes with us like an echo always, a refrain to the ballad of our life. one always wants one's cradle-air. * * * "the poor you have always with you," she said to a bevy of great ladies once. "christ said so. you profess to follow christ. how have you the poor with you? the back of their garret, the roof of their hovel, touches the wall of your palace, and the wall is thick. you have dissipations, spectacles, diversions that you call charities; you have a tombola for a famine, you have a dramatic performance for a flood, you have a concert for a fire, you have a fancy fair for a leprosy. do you never think how horrible it is, that mockery of woe? do you ever wonder at revolutions? why do you not say honestly that you care nothing? you do care nothing. the poor might forgive the avowal of indifference; they will never forgive the insult of affected pity." * * * "why do you go to such a place?" he asked her as she stood on the staircase. "there are poor there, and great misery," she answered him reluctantly; she did not care to speak of these things at any time. "and what good will you do? you will be cheated and robbed, and even if you are not, you should know that political science has found that private charity is the hotbed of all idleness." "when political science has advanced enough to prevent poverty, it may have the right to prevent charity too," she answered him, with a contempt that showed thought on the theme was not new to her. "perhaps charity--i dislike the word--may do no good; but friendship from the rich to the poor must do good; it must lessen class hatreds." "are you a socialist?" said zouroff with a little laugh, and drew back and let her pass onward. * * * "my dear! i never say rude things; but, if you wish me to be sincere, i confess i think everybody is a little vulgar now, except old women like me, who adhered to the faubourg while you all were dancing and changing your dresses seven times a day at st. cloud. there is a sort of vulgarity in the air; it is difficult to escape imbibing it; there is too little reticence, there is too much tearing about; men are not well-mannered, and women are too solicitous to please, and too indifferent how far they stoop in pleasing. it may be the fault of steam; it may be the fault of smoking; it may come from that flood of new people of whom 'l'etrangère' is the scarcely exaggerated sample; but, whatever it comes from, there it is--a vulgarity that taints everything, courts and cabinets as well as society. your daughter somehow or other has escaped it, and so you find her odd, and the world thinks her stiff. she is neither; but no dignified long-descended point-lace, you know, will ever let itself be twisted and twirled into a cascade and a _fouillis_ like your brétonne lace that is just the fashion of the hour, and worth nothing. i admire your vera very greatly; she always makes me think of those dear old stately hotels with their grand gardens in which i saw, in my girlhood, the women who, in theirs, had known france before ' . these hotels and their gardens are gone, most of them, and there are stucco and gilt paint in their places. and here are people who think that a gain. i am not one of them." _under two flags._ the old viscount, haughtiest of haughty nobles, would never abate one jot of his magnificence; and his sons had but imbibed the teaching of all that surrounded them; they did but do in manhood what they had been unconsciously moulded to do in boyhood, when they were sent to eton at ten with gold dressing-boxes to grace their dame's tables, embryo dukes for their co-fags, and tastes that already knew to a nicety the worth of the champagnes at christopher's. the old, old story--how it repeats itself! boys grow up amidst profuse prodigality, and are launched into a world where they can no more arrest themselves, than the feather-weight can pull in the lightning-stride of the two-year-old, who defies all check, and takes the flat as he chooses. they are brought up like young dauphins, and tossed into the costly whirl to float as best they can--on nothing. then on the lives and deaths that follow; on the graves where a dishonoured alien lies forgotten by the dark austrian lake-side, or under the monastic shadow of some crumbling spanish crypt; where a red cross chills the lonely traveller in the virgin solitudes of amazonian forest aisles, or the wild scarlet creepers of australia trail over a nameless mound above the trackless stretch of sun-warmed waters--then, at them the world "shoots out its lips with scorn." not on _them_ lies the blame. * * * his influence had done more to humanise the men he was associated with than any preachers or teachers could have done. almost insensibly they grew ashamed to be beaten by him, and strove to do like him as far as they could. they never knew him drunk, they never heard him swear, they never found him unjust, even to a poverty-stricken _indigène_, or brutal, even to a _fille de joie_. insensibly his presence humanised them. of a surety, the last part bertie dreamed of playing was that of a teacher to any mortal thing. yet--here in africa--it might reasonably be questioned if a second augustine or françois xavier would ever have done half the good among the devil-may-care roumis that was wrought by the dauntless, listless, reckless soldier, who followed instinctively the one religion which has no cant in its brave, simple creed, and binds man to man in links that are as true as steel--the religion of a gallant gentleman's loyalty and honour. * * * the child had been flung upward, a little straw floating in the gutter of paris iniquities; a little foam-bell, bubbling on the sewer waters of barrack vice; the stick had been her teacher, the baggage-waggon her cradle, the camp-dogs her playfellows, the _caserne_ oaths her lullaby, the _guidons_ her sole guiding-stars, the _razzia_ her sole fete-day: it was little marvel that the bright, bold, insolent little friend of the flag had nothing left of her sex save a kitten's mischief and coquette's archness. it said much rather for the straight, fair, sunlit instincts of the untaught nature, that cigarette had gleaned, even out of such a life, two virtues that she would have held by to the death, if tried--a truthfulness that would have scorned a lie as only fit for cowards, and a loyalty that cleaved to france as a religion. * * * tired as over-worked cattle, and crouched or stretched like worn-out homeless dogs, they had never wakened as he had noiselessly harnessed himself, and he looked at them with that interest in other lives which had come to him through adversity; for if misfortune had given him strength, it had also given him sympathy. * * * and he did her that injustice which the best amongst us are apt to do to those whom we do not feel interest enough in to study with that closeness which can alone give comprehension of the intricate and complex rebus, so faintly sketched, so marvellously involved, of human nature. * * * the gleam of the dawn spread in one golden glow of the morning, and the day rose radiant over the world; they stayed not for its beauty or its peace; the carnage went on hour upon hour; men began to grow drunk with slaughter as with raki. it was sublimely grand; it was hideously hateful--this wild-beast struggle, that heaving tumult of striving lives that ever and anon stirred the vast war-cloud of smoke and broke from it as the lightning from the night. the sun laughed in its warmth over a thousand hills and streams, over the blue seas lying northward, and over the yellow sands of the south; but the touch of its heat only made the flame in their blood burn fiercer; and the fulness of its light only served to show them clearer where to strike, and how to slay. * * * she might be a careless young coquette, a lawless little brigand, a child of sunny caprices, an elf of dauntless mischief; but she was more than these. the divine fire of genius had touched her, and cigarette would have perished for her country not less surely than jeanne d'arc. the holiness of an impersonal love, the glow of an imperishable patriotism, the melancholy of a passionate pity for the concrete and unnumbered sufferings of the people, were in her instinctive and inborn, as fragrance in the heart of flowers. and all these together moved her now, and made her young face beautiful as she looked down upon the crowding soldiery. * * * after all, diderot was in the right when he told rousseau which side of the question to take. on my life, civilisation develops comfort, but i do believe it kills nobility. individuality dies in it, and egotism grows strong and specious. why is it that in a polished life a man, whilst becoming incapable of sinking to crime, almost always becomes also incapable of rising to greatness? why is it that misery, tumult, privation, bloodshed, famine, beget, in such a life as this, such countless things of heroism, of endurance, of self-sacrifice--things mostly of demigods--in men who quarrel with the wolves for a wild-boar's carcase, for a sheep's offal? * * * as for death--when it comes it comes. every soldier carries it in his wallet, and it may jump out on him any minute. i would rather die young than old. pardi! age is nothing else but death that is _conscious_. * * * it is misery that is glory--the misery that toils with bleeding feet under burning suns without complaint; that lies half dead through the long night with but one care, to keep the torn flag free from the conqueror's touch; that bears the rain of blows in punishment rather than break silence and buy release by betrayal of a comrade's trust; that is beaten like the mule, and galled like the horse, and starved like the camel, and housed like the dog, and yet does the thing which is right, and the thing which is brave, despite all; that suffers, and endures, and pours out his blood like water to the thirsty sands whose thirst is never stilled, and goes up in the morning sun to the combat as though death were the paradise of the arbico's dream, knowing the while that no paradise waits save the crash of the hoof through the throbbing brain, or the roll of the gun-carriage over the writhing limb. _that_ is glory. the misery that is heroism because france needs it, because a soldier's honour wills it. _that_ is glory. it is to-day in the hospital as it never is in the cour des princes where the glittering host of the marshals gather! * * * spare me the old world-worn, thread-bare formulas. because the flax and the colza blossom for use, and the garden flowers grow trained and pruned, must there be no bud that opens for mere love of the sun, and swings free in the wind in its fearless fair fashion? believe me, it is the lives which follow no previous rule that do the most good, and give the most harvest. * * * "the first thing i saw of cigarette was this: she was seven years old; she had been beaten black and blue; she had had two of her tiny teeth knocked out. the men were furious, she was a pet with them; and she would not say who had done it, though she knew twenty swords would have beaten him flat as a fritter if she had given his name. i got her to sit to me some days after. i pleased her with her own picture. i asked her to tell me why she would not say who had ill-treated her. she put her head on one side like a robin, and told me, in a whisper: 'it was one of my comrades--because i would not steal for him. i would not have the army know--it would demoralise them. if a french soldier ever does a cowardly thing, another french soldier must not betray it.' that was cigarette--at seven years. the _esprit du corps_ was stronger than her own wrongs." * * * a better day's sport even the quorn had never had in all its brilliant annals, and faster things the melton men themselves had never wanted: both those who love the "quickest thing you ever knew--thirty minutes without a check--_such_ a pace!" and care little whether the _finale_ be "killed" or "broke away," and those of older fashion, who prefer "long day, you know, steady as old time, the beauties stuck like wax through fourteen parishes as i live; six hours if it were a minute; horses dead beat; positively walked, you know, no end of a day!" but must have the fatal "who-whoop" as conclusion--both of these, the "new style and the old," could not but be content with the doings of the "demoiselles" from start to finish. was it likely that cecil remembered the caustic lash of his father's ironies while he was lifting mother of pearl over the posts and rails, and sweeping on, with the halloo ringing down the wintry wind as the grasslands flew beneath him? was it likely that he recollected the difficulties that hung above him while he was dashing down the gorse happy as a king, with the wild hail driving in his face, and a break of stormy sunshine just welcoming the gallant few who were landed at the death, as twilight fell? was it likely that he could unlearn all the lessons of his life, and realise in how near a neighbourhood he stood to ruin when he was drinking regency sherry out of his gold flask as he crossed the saddle of his second horse, or, smoking, rode slowly homeward through the leafless muddy lanes in the gloaming? scarcely;--it is very easy to remember our difficulties when we are eating and drinking them, so to speak, in bad soups and worse wines in continental impecuniosity, sleeping on them as rough australian shake-downs, or wearing them perpetually in californian rags and tatters, it were impossible very well to escape from them then; but it is very hard to remember them when every touch and shape of life is pleasant to us--when everything about us is symbolical and redolent of wealth and ease--when the art of enjoyment is the only one we are called on to study, and the science of pleasure all we are asked to explore. it is well-nigh impossible to believe yourself a beggar when you never want sovereigns for whist; and it would be beyond the powers of human nature to conceive your ruin irrevocable, while you still eat turbot and terrapin with a powdered giant behind your chair daily. up in his garret a poor wretch knows very well what he is, and realises in stern fact the extremities of the last sou, the last shirt, and the last hope; but in these devil-may-care pleasures--in this pleasant, reckless, velvet-soft rush down-hill--in this club-palace, with every luxury that the heart of man can devise and desire, yours to command at your will--it is hard work, _then_, to grasp the truth that the crossing-sweeper yonder, in the dust of pall mall, is really not more utterly in the toils of poverty than you are! * * * the bell was clanging and clashing passionately, as cecil at last went down to the weights, all his friends of the household about him, and all standing "crushers" on their champion, for their stringent _esprit du corps_ was involved, and the guards are never backward in putting their gold down, as all the world knows. in the inclosure, the cynosure of devouring eyes, stood the king, with the _sang froid_ of a superb gentleman, amid the clamour raging round him, one delicate ear laid back now and then, but otherwise indifferent to the din, with his coat glistening like satin, the beautiful tracery of vein and muscle, like the veins of vine-leaves, standing out on the glossy, clear-carved neck that had the arch of circassia, and his dark antelope eyes gazing with a gentle, pensive earnestness on the shouting crowd. his rivals, too, were beyond par in fitness and in condition, and there were magnificent animals among them. bay regent was a huge, raking chestnut, upwards of sixteen hands, and enormously powerful, with very fine shoulders, and an all-over-like-going head; he belonged to a colonel in the rifles, but was to be ridden by jimmy delmar of the th lancers, whose colours were violet with orange hoops. montacute's horse, pas de charge, which carried all the money of the heavy cavalry, montacute himself being in the dragoon guards, was of much the same order, a black hunter with racing blood in him, loins and withers that assured any amount of force, and no fault but that of a rather coarse head, traceable to a slur on his 'scutcheon on the distaff side from a plebeian great-grandmother, who had been a cart mare, the only stain in his otherwise faultless pedigree. however, she had given him her massive shoulders, so that he was in some sense a gainer by her after all. wild geranium was a beautiful creature enough, a bright bay irish mare, with that rich red gloss that is like the glow of a horse-chestnut, very perfect in shape, though a trifle light perhaps, and with not quite strength enough in neck or barrel; she would jump the fences of her own paddock half a dozen times a day for sheer amusement, and was game to anything. she was entered by cartouche of the enniskillens, to be ridden by "baby grafton," of the same corps, a feather-weight, and quite a boy, but with plenty of science in him. these were the three favourites; day star ran them close, the property of durham vavassour, of the scots greys, and to be ridden by his owner; a handsome, flea-bitten, grey sixteen-hander, with ragged hips, and action that looked a trifle string-halty, but noble shoulders, and great force in the loins and withers; the rest of the field, though unusually excellent, did not find so many "sweet voices" for them, and were not so much to be feared: each starter was of course much backed by his party, but the betting was tolerably even on these four:--all famous steeplechasers;--the king at one time, and bay regent at another, slightly leading in the ring. thirty-two starters were hoisted up on the telegraph board, and as the field got at last under weigh, uncommonly handsome they looked, while the silk jackets of all the colours of the rainbow glittered in the bright noon sun. as forest king closed in, perfectly tranquil still, but beginning to glow and quiver all over with excitement, knowing as well as his rider the work that was before him, and longing for it in every muscle and every limb, while his eyes flashed fire as he pulled at the curb and tossed his head aloft, there went up a general shout of "favourite!" his beauty told on the populace, and even somewhat on the professionals, though the legs kept a strong business prejudice against the working powers of "the guards' crack." the ladies began to lay dozens in gloves on him; not altogether for his points, which perhaps they hardly appreciated, but for his owner and rider, who, in the scarlet and gold, with the white sash across his chest, and a look of serene indifference on his face, they considered the handsomest man of the field. the household is usually safe to win the suffrages of the sex. in the throng on the course rake instantly bonneted an audacious dealer who had ventured to consider that forest king was "light and curby in the 'ock." "you're a wise 'un, you are!" retorted the wrathful and ever-eloquent rake, "there's more strength in his clean flat legs, bless him! than in all the round, thick, mill-posts of _your_ half-breds, that have no more tendon than a bit of wood, and are just as flabby as a sponge!" which hit the dealer home just as his hat was hit over his eyes; rake's arguments being unquestionable in their force. the thoroughbreds pulled and fretted, and swerved in their impatience; one or two over-contumacious bolted incontinently, others put their heads between their knees in the endeavour to draw their riders over their withers; wild geranium reared straight upright, fidgeted all over with longing to be off, passaged with the prettiest, wickedest grace in the world, and would have given the world to neigh if she had dared, but she knew it would be very bad style, so, like an aristocrat as she was, restrained herself; bay regent almost sawed jimmy delmar's arms off looking like a titan bucephalus; while forest king, with his nostrils dilated till the scarlet tinge on them glowed in the sun, his muscles quivering with excitement as intense as the little irish mare's, and all his eastern and english blood on fire for the fray, stood steady as a statue for all that, under the curb of a hand light as a woman's, but firm as iron to control, and used to guide him by the slightest touch. all eyes were on that throng of the first mounts in the service; brilliant glances by the hundred gleamed down behind hot-house bouquets of their chosen colour, eager ones by the thousand stared thirstily from the crowded course, the roar of the ring subsided for a second, a breathless attention and suspense succeeded it; the guardsmen sat on their drags, or lounged near the ladies with their race-glasses ready, and their habitual expression of gentle and resigned weariness in nowise altered, because the household, all in all, had from sixty to seventy thousand on the event, and the seraph murmured mournfully to his cheroot, "that chestnut's no end _fit_," strong as his faith was in the champion of the brigades. a moment's good start was caught--the flag dropped--off they went, sweeping out for the first second like a line of cavalry about to charge. another moment, and they were scattered over the first field, forest king, wild geranium, and bay regent leading for two lengths, when montacute, with his habitual "fast burst," sent pas de charge past them like lightning. the irish mare gave a rush and got alongside of him; the king would have done the same, but cecil checked him, and kept him in that cool swinging canter which covered the grassland so lightly; bay regent's vast thundering stride was olympian, but jimmy delmar saw his worst foe in the "guards' crack," and waited on him warily, riding superbly himself. the first fence disposed of half the field, they crossed the second in the same order, wild geranium racing neck to neck with pas de charge; the king was all athirst to join the duello, but his owner kept him gently back, saving his pace and lifting him over the jumps as easily as a lapwing. the second fence proved a cropper to several, some awkward falls took place over it, and tailing commenced; after the third field, which was heavy plough, all knocked off but eight, and the real struggle began in sharp earnest: a good dozen who had shown a splendid stride over the grass being done up by the terrible work on the clods. the five favourites had it all to themselves; day star pounding onward at tremendous speed, pas de charge giving slight symptoms of distress owing to the madness of his first burst, the irish mare literally flying ahead of him, forest king and the chestnut waiting on one another. in the grand stand the seraph's eyes strained after the scarlet and white, and he muttered in his moustaches, "ye gods, what's up? the world's coming to an end!--beauty's turned cautious!" cautious, indeed,--with that giant of pytchley fame running neck to neck by him; cautious,--with two-thirds of the course unrun, and all the yawners yet to come; cautious,--with the blood of forest king lashing to boiling heat, and the wondrous greyhound stride stretching out faster and faster beneath him, ready at a touch to break away and take the lead: but he would be reckless enough by-and-by; reckless, as his nature was, under the indolent serenity of habit. two more fences came, laced high and stiff with the shire thorn, and with scarce twenty feet between them, the heavy ploughed land leading to them, clotted, and black, and hard, with the fresh earthy scent steaming up as the hoofs struck the clods with a dull thunder. pas de charge rose to the first: distressed too early, his hind feet caught in the thorn, and he came down rolling clear of his rider; montacute picked him up with true science, but the day was lost to the heavy cavalry men. forest king went in and out over both like a bird, and led for the first time; the chestnut was not to be beat at fencing, and ran even with him; wild geranium flew still as fleet as a deer, true to her sex, she would not bear rivalry; but little grafton, though he rode like a professional, was but a young one, and went too wildly--her spirit wanted cooler curb. and now only, cecil loosened the king to his full will and his full speed. now only, the beautiful arab head was stretched like a racer's in the run-in for the derby, and the grand stride swept out till the hoofs seemed never to touch the dark earth they skimmed over; neither whip nor spur was needed, bertie had only to leave the gallant temper and the generous fire that were roused in their might to go their way, and hold their own. his hands were low; his head was a little back; his face very calm; the eyes only had a daring, eager, resolute will lighting in them; brixworth lay before him. he knew well what forest king could do; but he did not know how great the chestnut regent's powers might be. the water gleamed before them, brown and swollen, and deepened with the meltings of winter snows a month before; the brook that has brought so many to grief over its famous banks, since cavaliers leapt it with their falcon on their wrist, or the mellow note of the horn rang over the woods in the hunting days of stuart reigns. they knew it well, that long dark line, skimmering there in the sunlight, the test that all must pass who go in for the soldiers' blue ribbon. forest king scented water, and went on with his ears pointed, and his greyhound stride lengthening, quickening, gathering up all its force and its impetus for the leap that was before--then like the rise and the swoop of the heron he spanned the water, and, landing clear, launched forward with the lunge of a spear darted through air. brixworth was passed--the scarlet and white, a mere gleam of bright colour, a mere speck in the landscape, to the breathless crowds in the stand, sped on over the brown and level grassland; two and a quarter miles done in four minutes and twenty seconds. bay regent was scarcely behind him; the chestnut abhorred the water, but a finer trained hunter was never sent over the shires, and jimmy delmar rode like grimshaw himself. the giant took the leap in magnificent style, and thundered on neck and neck with the "guards' crack." the irish mare followed, and, with miraculous gameness, landed safely; but her hind-legs slipped on the bank, a moment was lost, and "baby" grafton scarce knew enough to recover it, though he scoured on nothing daunted. pas de charge, much behind, refused the yawner; his strength was not more than his courage, but both had been strained too severely at first. montacute struck the spurs into him with a savage blow over the head; the madness was its own punishment; the poor brute rose blindly to the jump, and missed the bank with a reel and a crash; sir eyre was hurled out into the brook, and the hope of the heavies lay there with his breast and fore-legs resting on the ground, his hind-quarters in the water, and his back broken. pas de charge would never again see the starting-flag waved, or hear the music of the hounds, or feel the gallant life throb and glow through him at the rallying notes of the horn. his race was run. not knowing, or looking, or heeding what happened behind, the trio tore on over the meadow and the ploughed; the two favourites neck by neck, the game little mare hopelessly behind through that one fatal moment over brixworth. the turning-flags were passed; from the crowds on the course a great hoarse roar came louder and louder, and the shouts rang, changing every second, "forest king wins," "bay regent wins," "scarlet and white's ahead," "violet's up with him," "violet's past him," "scarlet recovers," "scarlet beats," "a cracker on the king," "ten to one on the regent," "guards are over the fence first," "guards are winning," "guards are losing," "guards are beat!!" were they? as the shout rose, cecil's left stirrup leather snapped and gave way; at the pace they were going most men, ay, and good riders too, would have been hurled out of their saddle by the shock; he scarcely swerved; a moment to ease the king and to recover his equilibrium, then he took the pace up again as though nothing had changed. and his comrades of the household, when they saw this through their race-glasses, broke through their serenity and burst into a cheer that echoed over the grasslands and the coppices like a clarion, the grand rich voice of the seraph leading foremost and loudest--a cheer that rolled mellow and triumphant down the cold bright air like the blast of trumpets, and thrilled on bertie's ear where he came down the course a mile away. it made his heart beat quicker with a victorious headlong delight, as his knees pressed closer into forest king's flanks, and, half stirrupless like the arabs, he thundered forward to the greatest riding feat of his life. his face was very calm still, but his blood was in tumult, the delirium of pace had got on him, a minute of life like this was worth a year, and he knew that he would win or die for it, as the land seemed to fly like a black sheet under him, and, in that killing speed, fence and hedge and double and water all went by him like a dream, whirling underneath him as the grey stretches, stomach to earth, over the level, and rose to leap after leap. for that instant's pause, when the stirrup broke, threatened to lose him the race. he was more than a length behind the regent, whose hoofs as they dashed the ground up sounded like thunder, and for whose herculean strength the plough has no terrors; it was more than the lead to keep now, there was ground to cover, and the king was losing like wild geranium. cecil felt drunk with that strong, keen, west wind that blew so strongly in his teeth, a passionate excitation was in him, every breath of winter air that rushed in its bracing currents round him seemed to lash him like a stripe--the household to look on and see him beaten! certain wild blood that lay latent in cecil under the tranquil gentleness of temper and of custom, woke, and had the mastery; he set his teeth hard, and his hands clenched like steel on the bridle. "oh! my beauty, my beauty," he cried, all unconsciously half aloud as they clear the thirty-sixth fence; "kill me if you like, but don't _fail_ me!" as though forest king heard the prayer and answered it with all his hero's heart, the splendid form launched faster out, the stretching stride stretched farther yet with lightning spontaneity, every fibre strained, every nerve struggled; with a magnificent bound like an antelope the grey recovered the ground he had lost, and passed bay regent by a quarter-length. it was a neck-to-neck race once more, across the three meadows with the last and lower fences that were between them and the final leap of all; that ditch of artificial water with the towering double hedge of oak rails and of blackthorn that was reared black and grim and well-nigh hopeless just in front of the grand stand. a roar like the roar of the sea broke up from the thronged course as the crowd hung breathless on the even race; ten thousand shouts rang as thrice ten thousand eyes watched the closing contest, as superb a sight as the shires ever saw, while the two ran together, the gigantic chestnut, with every massive sinew swelled and strained to tension, side by side with the marvellous grace, the shining flanks, and the arabian-like head of the guards' horse. louder and wilder the shrieked tumult rose: "the chestnut beats!" "the grey beats!" "scarlet's ahead!" "bay regent's caught him!" "violet's winning, violet's winning!" "the king's neck by neck!" "the king's beating!" "the guards will get it!" "the guards' crack has it!" "not yet, not yet!" "violet will thrash him at the jump!" "now for it!" "the guards, the guards, the guards!" "scarlet will win!" "the king has the finish!" "no, no, no, no!" sent along at a pace that epsom flat never saw eclipsed, sweeping by the grand stand like the flash of electric flame, they ran side to side one moment more, their foam flung on each other's withers, their breath hot in each other's nostrils, while the dark earth flew beneath their stride. the blackthorn was in front behind five bars of solid oak, the water yawning on its farther side, black and deep, and fenced, twelve feet wide if it were an inch, with the same thorn wall beyond it! a leap no horse should have been given, no steward should have set. cecil pressed his knees closer and closer, and worked the gallant hero for the test; the surging roar of the throng, though so close, was dull on his ear; he heard nothing, knew nothing, saw nothing but that lean chestnut head beside him, the dull thud on the turf of the flying gallop, and the black wall that reared in his face. forest king had done so much, could he have stay and strength for this? cecil's hands clenched unconsciously on the bridle, and his face was very pale--pale with excitation--as his foot where the stirrup was broken crushed closer and harder against the grey's flanks. "oh, my darling, my beauty--_now_!" one touch of the spur--the first--and forest king rose at the leap, all the life and power there were in him gathered for one superhuman and crowning effort; a flash of time, not half a second in duration, and he was lifted in the air higher, and higher, and higher in the cold, fresh, wild winter wind; stakes and rails, and thorn and water lay beneath him black and gaunt and shapeless, yawning like a grave; one bound, even in mid air, one last convulsive impulse of the gathered limbs, and forest king was over! and as he galloped up the straight run-in, he was alone. bay regent had refused the leap. as the grey swept to the judge's chair, the air was rent with deafening cheers that seemed to reel like drunken shouts from the multitude. "the guards win, the guards win;" and when his rider pulled up at the distance with the full sun shining on the scarlet and white, with the gold glisten of the embroidered "coeur vaillant se fait royaume," forest king stood in all his glory, winner of the soldier's blue ribbon, by a feat without its parallel in all the annals of the gold vase. * * * over there in england, you know, sir, pipe-clay is the deuce-and-all; you've always got to have the stock on, and look as stiff as a stake, or it's all up with you; you're that tormented about little things that you get riled and kick the traces before the great 'uns come to try you. there's a lot of lads would be game as game could be in battle, ay, and good lads to boot, doing their duty right as a trivet when it came to anything like war, that are clean druv' out of the service in time o' peace, along with all them petty persecutions that worry a man's skin like mosquito-bites. now here they know that, and lord! what soldiers they do make through knowing of it! it's tight enough and stern enough in big things; martial law sharp enough, and obedience to the letter all through the campaigning; but that don't grate on a fellow; if he's worth his salt he's sure to understand that he must move like clockwork in a fight, and that he's to go to hell at double-quick march, and mute as a mouse, if his officers see fit to send him. _that's_ all right, but they don't fidget you here about the little fal-lals; you may stick your pipe in your mouth, you may have your lark, you may do as you like, you may spend your _décompte_ how you choose, you may settle your little duel as you will, you may shout and sing and jump and riot on the march, so long as you _march on_; you may lounge about half dressed in any style as suits you best, so long as you're up to time when the trumpets sound for you; and that's what a man likes. he's ready to be a machine when the machine's wanted in working trim, but when it's run off the line and the steam all let off, he do like to oil his own wheels, and lie a bit in the sun at his fancy. there aren't better stuff to make soldiers out of nowhere than englishmen, god bless 'em, but they're badgered, they're horribly badgered, and that's why the service don't take over there, let alone the way the country grudge 'em every bit of pay. in england you go in the ranks--well, they all just tell you you're a blackguard, and there's the lash, and you'd better behave yourself or you'll get it hot and hot; they take for granted you're a bad lot or you wouldn't be there, and in course you're riled and go to the bad according, seeing that it's what's expected of you. here, contrariwise, you come in the ranks and get a welcome, and feel that it just rests with yourself whether you won't be a fine fellow or not; and just along of feelin' that you're pricked to show the best metal you're made on, and not to let nobody else beat you out of the race like. ah! it makes a wonderful difference to a fellow--a wonderful difference--whether the service he's come into look at him as a scamp that never will be nothin' _but_ a scamp, or as a rascal that's maybe got in him, all rascal though he is, the pluck to turn into a hero. it makes a wonderful difference, this 'ere, whether you're looked at as stuff that's only fit to be shovelled into the sand after a battle; or as stuff that'll belike churn into a great man. and it's just that difference, sir, that france has found out, and england hasn't--god bless her all the same. with which the soldier whom england had turned adrift, and france had won in her stead, concluded his long oration by dropping on his knees to refill his corporal's chibouque. "a army's just a machine, sir, in course," he concluded, as he rammed in the turkish tobacco. "but then it's a live machine for all that; and each little bit of it feels for itself like the joints in an eel's body. now, if only one of them little bits smarts, the whole crittur goes wrong--there's the mischief." * * * it makes all the difference in life, whether hope is left, or--left out! * * * she had been ere now a child and a hero; beneath this blow which struck at him she changed--she became a woman and a martyr. and she rode at full speed through the night, as she had done through the daylight, her eyes glancing all around in the keen instinct of a trooper, her hand always on the butt of her belt pistol. for she knew well what the danger was of these lonely, unguarded, untravelled leagues that yawned in so vast a distance between her and her goal. the arabs, beaten, but only rendered furious by defeat, swept down on to those plains with the old guerilla skill, the old marvellous rapidity. she knew that with every second shot or steel might send her reeling from her saddle, that with every moment she might be surrounded by some desperate band who would spare neither her sex nor her youth. but that intoxication of peril, the wine-draught she had drunk from her infancy, was all which sustained her in that race with death. it filled her veins with their old heat, her heart with its old daring, her nerves with their old matchless courage: but for it she would have dropped, heart-sick with terror and despair, ere her errand could be done; under it she had the coolness, the keenness, the sagacity, the sustained force, and the supernatural strength of some young hunted animal. they might slay her so that she left perforce her mission unaccomplished; but no dread of such a fate had even an instant's power to appal her or arrest her. while there should be breath in her, she would go on to the end. there were eight hours' hard riding before her, at the swiftest pace her horse could make; and she was already worn by the leagues already traversed. although this was nothing new that she did now, yet as time flew on and she flew with it, ceaselessly, through the dim solitary barren moonlit land, her brain now and then grew giddy, her heart now and then stood still with a sudden numbing faintness. she shook the weakness off her with the resolute scorn for it of her nature, and succeeded in its banishment. they had put in her hand as she had passed through the fortress gates a lance with a lantern muffled in arab fashion, so that the light was unseen from before, while it streamed over her herself, to enable her to guide her way if the moon should be veiled by clouds. with that single starry gleam aslant on a level with her eyes, she rode through the ghastly twilight of the half-lit plains, now flooded with lustre as the moon emerged, now engulfed in darkness as the stormy western winds drove the cirri over it. but neither darkness nor light differed to her; she noted neither; she was like one drunk with strong wine, and she had but one dread--that the power of her horse would give way under the unnatural strain made on it, and that she would reach too late, when the life she went to save would have fallen for ever, silent unto death, as she had seen the life of marquise _fall_. hour on hour, league on league, passed away; she felt the animal quiver under the spur, and she heard the catch in his panting breath as he strained to give his fleetest and best, that told her how, ere long, the racing speed, the extended gallop at which she kept him, would tell, and beat him down despite his desert strain. she had no pity; she would have killed twenty horses under her to reach her goal. she was giving her own life, she was willing to lose it, if by its loss she did this thing, to save even the man condemned to die with the rising of the sun. she did not spare herself; and she would have spared no living thing, to fulfil the mission that she undertook. she loved with the passionate blindness of her sex, with the absolute abandonment of the southern blood. if to spare him she must have bidden thousands fall, she would have given the word for their destruction without a moment's pause. once from some screen of gaunt and barren rock a shot was fired at her, and flew within a hair's-breadth of her brain; she never even looked around to see whence it had come; she knew it was from some arab prowler of the plains. her single spark of light through the half-veiled lantern passed as swiftly as a shooting-star across the plateau. and as she felt the hours steal on--so fast, so hideously fast--with that horrible relentlessness, "ohne hast, ohne rast," which tarries for no despair, as it hastens for no desire, her lips grew dry as dust, her tongue clove to the roof of her mouth, the blood beat like a thousand hammers on her brain. what she dreaded came. midway in her course, when, by the stars, she knew midnight was passed, the animal strained with hard-drawn panting gasps to answer the demand made on him by the spur and by the lance-shaft with which he was goaded onward. in the lantern-light she saw his head stretched out in the racing agony, his distended eyeballs, his neck covered with foam and blood, his heaving flanks that seem bursting with every throb that his heart gave; she knew that half a league more forced from him, he would drop like a dead thing never to rise again. she let the bridle drop upon the poor beast's neck, and threw her arms above her head with a shrill wailing cry, whose despair echoed over the noiseless plains like the cry of a shot-stricken animal. she saw it all; the breathing of the rosy, golden day; the stillness of the hushed camp; the tread of the few picked men; the open coffin by the open grave; the levelled carbines gleaming in the first rays of the sun.... she had seen it so many times--seen it to the awful end, when the living man fell down in the morning light a shattered, senseless, soulless, crushed-out mass. that single moment was all the soldier's nature in her gave to the abandonment of despair, to the paralysis that seized her. with that one cry from the depths of her breaking heart, the weakness spent itself: she knew that action alone could aid him. she looked across, southward and northward, east and west, to see if there were aught near from which she could get aid. if there were none, the horse must drop down to die, and with his life the other life would perish as surely as the sun would rise. her gaze, straining through the darkness, broken here and there by fitful gleams of moonlight, caught sight in the distance of some yet darker thing moving rapidly--a large cloud skimming the earth. she let the horse, which had paused the instant the bridle had touched his neck, stand still awhile, and kept her eyes fixed on the advancing cloud till, with the marvellous surety of her desert-trained vision, she disentangled it from the floating mists and wavering shadows, and recognised it, as it was, a band of arabs. if she turned eastward out of her route, the failing strength of her horse would be fully enough to take her into safety from their pursuit, or even from their perception, for they were coming straightly and swiftly across the plain. if she were seen by them she was certain of her fate; they could only be the desperate remnant of the decimated tribes, the foraging raiders of starving and desperate men, hunted from refuge to refuge, and carrying fire and sword in their vengeance wherever an unprotected caravan or a defenceless settlement gave them the power of plunder and of slaughter, that spared neither age nor sex. she was known throughout the length and the breadth of the land to the arabs: she was neither child nor woman to them; she was but the soldier who had brought up the french reserve at zaraila; she was but the foe who had seen them defeated, and ridden down with her comrades in their pursuit in twice a score of vanquished, bitter, intolerably shameful days. some among them had sworn by their god to put her to a fearful death if ever they made her captive, for they held her in superstitious awe, and thought the spell of the frankish successes would be broken if she were slain. she knew that; yet, knowing it, she looked at their advancing band one moment, then turned her horse's head and rode straight toward them. "they will kill me, but that may save him," she thought. "any other way he is lost." so she rode directly toward them; rode so that she crossed their front, and placed herself in their path, standing quite still, with the cloth torn from the lantern, so that its light fell full about her, as she held it above her head. in an instant they knew her. they were the remnant who had escaped from the carnage of zaraila; they knew her with all the rapid unerring surety of hate. they gave the shrill wild war-shout of their tribe, and the whole mass of gaunt, dark, mounted figures with their weapons whirling round their heads enclosed her: a cloud of kites settled down with their black wings and cruel beaks upon one young silvery-plumed gerfalcon. she sat unmoved, and looked up at the naked blades that flashed above her: there was no fear upon her face, only a calm resolute proud beauty, very pale, very still in the light that gleamed on it from the lantern rays. "i surrender," she said briefly. she had never thought to say these words of submission to her scorned foes; she would not have been brought to utter them to spare her own existence. their answer was a yell of furious delight, and their bare blades smote each other with a clash of brutal joy: they had her, the frankish child who had brought shame and destruction on them at zaraila, and they longed to draw their steel across the fair young throat, to plunge their lances into the bright bare bosom, to twine her hair round their spear handles, to rend her delicate limbs apart, as a tiger rends the antelope, to torture, to outrage, to wreak their vengeance on her. their chief, only, motioned their violence back from her, and bade them leave her untouched. at him she looked, still with the same fixed, serene, scornful resolve: she had encountered these men so often in battle, she knew so well how rich a prize she was to him. but she had one thought alone with her; and for it she subdued contempt, and hate, and pride, and every passion in her. "i surrender," she said, with the same tranquillity. "i have heard that you have sworn by your god and your prophet to tear me limb from limb because that i--a child, and a woman-child--brought you to shame and to grief on the day of zaraila. well, i am here; do it. you can slake your will on me. but that you are brave men, and that i have ever met you in fair fight, let me speak one word with you first." through the menaces and the rage around her, fierce as the yelling of starving wolves around a frozen corpse, her clear brave tones reached the ear of the chief in the lingua-sabir that she used. he was a young man, and his ear was caught by that tuneful voice, his eyes by that youthful face. he signed upward the swords of his followers, and motioned them back as their arms were stretched to seize her, and their shouts clamoured for her slaughter. "speak on," he said briefly to her. "you have sworn to take my body, sawn in two, to ben-ihreddin?" she pursued, naming the arab leader whom her spahis had driven off the field of zaraila. "well, here it is; you can take it to him; and you will receive the piastres, and the horse, and the arms that he has promised to whosoever shall slay me. i have surrendered; i am yours. but you are bold men, and the bold are never mean; therefore i will ask one thing of you. there is a man yonder, in my camp, condemned to death with the dawn. he is innocent. i have ridden from algiers to-day with the order of his release. if it is not there by sunrise, he will be shot; and he is guiltless as a child unborn. my horse is worn out; he could not go another half-league. i knew that, since he had failed, my comrade must die, unless i found a fresh beast or a messenger to go in my stead. i saw your band come across the plain. i knew that you would kill me, because of your oath and of your emir's bribe; but i thought that you would have greatness enough in you to save this man who is condemned, without crime, and who must perish unless you, his foes, have pity on him. therefore i came. take the paper that frees him; send your fleetest and surest with it, under a flag of truce, into our camp by the dawn; let him tell them there that i, cigarette, gave it him--he must say no word of what you have done to me, or his white flag will not protect him from the vengeance of my army--and then receive your reward from your chief, ben-ihreddin, when you lay my head down for his horse's hoofs to trample into the dust. answer me--is the compact fair? ride on with this paper northward, and then kill me with what torments you choose." she spoke with calm unwavering resolve, meaning that which she uttered to its very uttermost letter. she knew that these men had thirsted for her blood; she offered it to be shed to gain for him that messenger on whose speed his life was hanging; she knew that a price was set upon her head, but she delivered herself over to the hands of her enemies so that thereby she might purchase his redemption. as they heard, silence fell upon the brutal clamorous herd around--the silence of amaze and of respect. the young chief listened gravely; by the glistening of his keen black eyes, he was surprised and moved, though, true to his teaching, he showed neither emotion as he answered her: "who is this frank for whom you do this thing?" "he is the warrior to whom you offered life on the field of zaraila, because his courage was as the courage of gods." she knew the qualities of the desert character; knew how to appeal to its reverence and to its chivalry. "and for what does he perish?" he asked. "because he forgot for once that he was a slave; and because he has borne the burden of a guilt that was not his own." they were quite still now, closed around her; these ferocious plunderers, who had been thirsty a moment before to sheathe their weapons in her body, were spell-bound by the sympathy of courageous souls, by some vague perception that there was a greatness in this little tigress of france, whom they had sworn to hunt down and slaughter, which surpassed all they had known or dreamed. "and you have given yourself up to us that by your death you may purchase a messenger from us for this errand?" pursued their leader. he had been reared as a boy in the high tenets and the pure chivalries of the school of abd-el-kader; and they were not lost in him despite the crimes and the desperation of his life. she held the paper out to him with a passionate entreaty breaking through the enforced calm of despair with which she had hitherto spoken. "cut me in ten thousand pieces with your swords, but save _him_, as you are brave men, as you are generous foes!" with a single sign of his hand, their leader waved them back where they crowded around her, and leaped down from his saddle, and led the horse he had dismounted to her. "maiden," he said gently, "we are arabs, but we are not brutes. we swore to avenge ourselves on an enemy; we are not vile enough to accept a martyrdom. take my horse--he is the swiftest of my troop--and go you on your errand; you are safe from me." she looked at him in stupor; the sense of his words was not tangible to her; she had had no hope, no thought, that they would ever deal thus with her; all she had ever dreamed of was so to touch their hearts and their generosity that they would spare one from among their troop to do the errand of mercy she had begged of them. "you play with me;" she murmured, while her lips grew whiter and her great eyes larger in the intensity of her emotion. "ah! for pity's sake, make haste and kill me, so that this only may reach him!" the chief, standing by her, lifted her up in his sinewy arms, on to the saddle of his charger. his voice was very solemn, his glance was very gentle; all the nobility of the highest arab nature was aroused in him at the heroism of a child, a girl, an infidel--one, in his sight, abandoned and shameful among her sex. "go in peace," he said simply; "it is not with such as thee that we war." then, and then only, as she felt the fresh reins placed in her hands, and saw the ruthless horde around her fall back and leave her free, did she understand his meaning, did she comprehend that he gave her back both liberty and life, and, with the surrender of the horse he loved, the noblest and most precious gift that the arab ever bestows or ever receives. the unutterable joy seemed to blind her, and gleam upon her face like the blazing light of noon, as she turned her burning eyes full on him. "ah! now i believe that thine allah rules thee, equally with christians! if i live, thou shalt see me back ere another night; if i die, france will know how to thank thee!" "we do not do the thing that is right for the sake that men may recompense us," he answered her gently. "fly to thy friend, and hereafter do not judge that those who are in arms against thee must needs be as the brutes that seek out whom they shall devour." then, with one word in his own tongue, he bade the horse bear her southward, and, as swiftly as a spear launched from his hand, the animal obeyed him and flew across the plains. he looked after her awhile, through the dim tremulous darkness that seemed cleft by the rush of the gallop as the clouds are cleft by lightning, while his tribe sat silent on their horses in moody unwilling consent, savage in that they had been deprived of prey, moved in that they were sensible of this martyrdom which had been offered to them. "verily the courage of a woman has put the best among us unto shame," he said, rather to himself than them, as he mounted the stallion brought him from the rear and rode slowly northward, unconscious that the thing he had done was great, because conscious only that it was just. and, borne by the fleetness of the desert-bred beast, she went away through the heavy bronze-hued dulness of the night. her brain had no sense, her hands had no feeling, her eyes had no sight; the rushing as of waters was loud on her ears, the giddiness of fasting and of fatigue sent the gloom eddying round and round like a whirlpool of shadow. yet she had remembrance enough left to ride on, and on, and on without once flinching from the agonies that racked her cramped limbs and throbbed in her beating temples; she had remembrance enough to strain her blind eyes toward the east and murmur, in her terror of that white dawn, that must soon break, the only prayer that had been ever uttered by the lips no mother's kiss had ever touched: "_o god! keep the day back!_" * * * one of the most brilliant of algerian autumnal days shone over the great camp in the south. the war was almost at an end for a time; the arabs were defeated and driven desertwards; hostilities irksome, harassing, and annoying, like all guerilla warfare, would long continue, but peace was virtually established, and zaraila had been the chief glory that had been added by the campaign to the flag of imperial france. the kites and the vultures had left the bare bones by thousands to bleach upon the sands, and the hillocks of brown earth rose in crowds where those more cared for in death had been hastily thrust beneath the brown crust of the earth. the dead had received their portion of reward--in the jackall's teeth, in the crow's beak, in the worm's caress. and the living received theirs in this glorious rose-flecked glittering autumn morning, when the breath of winter made the air crisp and cool, but the ardent noon still lighted with its furnace glow the hillside and the plain. the whole of the army of the south was drawn up on the immense level of the plateau to witness the presentation of the cross of the legion of honour. it was full noon. the sun shone without a single cloud on the deep sparkling azure of the skies. the troops stretched east and west, north and south, formed up in three sides of one vast massive square. the red white and blue of the standards, the brass of the eagle guidons, the grey tossed manes of the chargers, the fierce swarthy faces of the soldiery, the scarlet of the spahis' cloaks, and the snowy folds of the demi-cavalerie turbans, the shine of the sloped lances, and the glisten of the carbine barrels, fused together in one sea of blended colour, flashed into a million of prismatic hues against the sombre bistre shadow of the sunburnt plains and the clear blue of the skies. it had been a sanguinary, fruitless, cruel campaign; it had availed nothing except to drive the arabs away from some hundred leagues of useless and profitless soil; hundreds of french soldiers had fallen by disease, and drought, and dysentery, as well as by shot and sabre, and were unrecorded save on the books of the bureaus, unlamented save, perhaps, in some little nestling hamlet among the great green woods of normandy, or some wooden hut among the olives and the vines of provence, where some woman toiling till sunset among the fields, or praying before some wayside saint's stone niche, would give a thought to the far-off and devouring desert that had drawn down beneath its sands the head that had used to lie upon her bosom, cradled as a child's, or caressed as a lover. but the drums rolled out their long deep thunder over the wastes; and the shot-torn standards fluttered gaily in the breeze blowing from the west, and the clear full music of the french bands echoed away to the dim distant terrible south, where the desert-scorch and the desert-thirst had murdered their bravest and best--and the army was _en fête_. _en fête_, for it did honour to its darling. cigarette received the cross. mounted on her own little bright bay, etoile-filante, with tricolour ribbons flying from his bridle and among the glossy fringes of his mane, the little one rode among her spahis. a scarlet _képi_ was set on her thick silken curls, a tricolour sash was knotted round her waist, her wine-barrel was slung on her left hip, her pistols thrust in her _ceinturon_, and a light carbine held in her hand with the butt-end resting on her foot. with the sun on her child-like brunette face, her eyes flashing like brown diamonds in the light, and her marvellous horsemanship, showing its skill in a hundred _désinvoltures_ and daring tricks, the little friend of the flag had come hither among her half-savage warriors, whose red robes surrounded her like a sea of blood. and on a sea of blood she, the child of war, had floated, never sinking in that awful flood, but buoyant ever above its darkest waves, catching ever some ray of sunlight upon her fair young head, and being oftentimes like a star of hope to those over whom its dreaded waters closed. therefore they loved her, these grim, slaughterous, and lustful warriors, to whom no other thing of womanhood was sacred, by whom in their wrath or their crime no friend and no brother was spared, whose law was license, and whose mercy was murder. they loved her, these brutes whose greed was like the tiger's, whose hate was like the devouring flame; and any who should have harmed a single lock of her curling hair would have had the spears of the african mussulmans buried by the score in his body. they loved her, with the one fond triumphant love these vultures of the army ever knew; and to-day they gloried in her with fierce passionate delight. to-day she was to her wild wolves of africa what jeanne of vaucouleurs was to her brethren of france. and to-day was the crown of her young life. it is given to most, if the desire of their soul ever become theirs, to possess it only when long and weary and fainting toil has brought them to its goal; when beholding the golden fruit so far off, through so dreary a pilgrimage, dulls its bloom as they approach; when having so long centred all their thoughts and hopes in the denied possession of that one fair thing, they find but little beauty in it when that possession is granted to satiate their love. but thrice happy, and few as happy, are they to whom the dream of their youth is fulfilled _in_ their youth, to whom their ambition comes in full sweet fruitage, while yet the colours of glory have not faded to the young, eager, longing eyes that watch its advent. and of these was cigarette. in the fair, slight, girlish body of the child-soldier there lived a courage as daring as danton's, a patriotism as pure as vergniaud's, a soul as aspiring as napoleon's. untaught, untutored, uninspired by poet's words or patriot's bidding, spontaneous as the rising and the blossoming of some wind-sown, sun-fed flower, there was, in this child of the battle and the razzia, the spirit of genius, the desire to live and to die greatly. it was unreasoned on, it was felt, not thought, it was often drowned in the gaiety of young laughter, and the ribaldry of military jest, it was often obscured by noxious influence, and stifled beneath the fumes of lawless pleasure; but there, ever, in the soul and the heart of cigarette, dwelt the germ of a pure ambition--the ambition to do some noble thing for france, and leave her name upon her soldiers' lips, a watchword and a rallying-cry for evermore. to be for ever a beloved tradition in the army of her country, to have her name remembered in the roll-call as "_mort sur le champ d'honneur_;" to be once shrined in the love and honour of france, cigarette--full of the boundless joys of life that knew no weakness and no pain, strong as the young goat, happy as the young lamb, careless as the young flower tossing on the summer breeze--cigarette would have died contentedly. and now, living, some measure of this desire had been fulfilled to her, some breath of this imperishable glory had passed over her. france had heard the story of zaraila; from the throne a message had been passed to her; what was far beyond all else to her, her own army of africa had crowned her, and thanked her, and adored her as with one voice, and wheresoever she passed the wild cheers rang through the roar of musketry, as through the silence of sunny air, and throughout the regiments every sword would have sprung from its scabbard in her defence if she had but lifted her hand and said one word--"zaraila!" the army looked on her with delight now. in all that mute, still, immovable mass that stretched out so far, in such gorgeous array, there was not one man whose eyes did not turn on her, whose pride did not centre in her--their little one who was so wholly theirs, and who had been under the shadow of their flag ever since the curls, so dark now, had been yellow as wheat in her infancy. the flag had been her shelter, her guardian, her plaything, her idol; the flutter of the striped folds had been the first thing at which her childish eyes had laughed; the preservation of its colours from the sacrilege of an enemy's touch had been her religion, a religion whose true following was, in her sight, salvation of the worst and the most worthless life; and that flag she had saved, and borne aloft in victory at zaraila. there was not one in all those hosts whose eyes did not turn on her with gratitude, and reverence, and delight in her as their own. but she had scarce time even for that flash of pain to quiver in impotent impatience through her. the trumpets sounded, the salvoes of artillery pealed out, the lances and the swords were carried up in salute; on to the ground rode the marshal of france, who represented the imperial will and presence, surrounded by his staff, by generals of division and brigade, by officers of rank, and by some few civilian riders. an _aide_ galloped up to her where she stood with the corps of her spahis, and gave her his orders. the little one nodded carelessly, and touched etoile-filante with the prick of the spur. like lightning the animal bounded forth from the ranks, rearing and plunging, and swerving from side to side, while his rider, with exquisite grace and address, kept her seat like the little semi-arab that she was, and with a thousand curves and bounds cantered down the line of the gathered troops, with the west wind blowing from the far-distant sea, and fanning her bright cheeks till they wore the soft scarlet flush of the glowing japonica flower. and all down the ranks a low, hoarse, strange, longing murmur went--the buzz of the voices which, but that discipline suppressed them, would have broken out in worshipping acclamations. as carelessly as though she reined up before the _café_ door of the _as de pique_, she arrested her horse before the great marshal who was the impersonation of authority, and put her hand up in the salute, with her saucy wayward laugh. he was the impersonation of that vast, silent, awful, irresponsible power which, under the name of the second empire, stretched its hand of iron across the sea, and forced the soldiers of france down into nameless graves, with the desert sand choking their mouths; but he was no more to cigarette than any drummer-boy that might be present. she had all the contempt for the laws of rank of your thorough inborn democrat, all the gay _insouciant_ indifference to station of the really free and untrammelled nature; and, in her sight, a dying soldier, lying quietly in a ditch to perish of shot-wounds without a word or a moan, was greater than all messieurs les maréchaux glittering in their stars and orders. as for impressing her, or hoping to impress her, with rank--pooh! you might as well have bid the sailing clouds pause in their floating passage because they came between royalty and the sun. all the sovereigns of europe would have awed cigarette not one whit more than a gathering of muleteers. "allied sovereigns--bah!" she would have said, "what did that mean in ' ? a chorus of magpies chattering over one stricken eagle!" so she reined up before the marshal and his staff, and the few great personages whom algeria could bring around them, as indifferently as she had many a time reined up before a knot of grim turcos, smoking under a barrack-gate. _he_ was nothing to her; it was her army that crowned her. "the generalissimo is the poppy-head, the men are the wheat; lay every ear of the wheat low, and of what use is the towering poppy that blazed so grand in the sun?" cigarette would say with metaphorical unction, forgetful, like most allegorists, that her fable was one-sided and unjust in figure and deduction. nevertheless, despite her gay contempt for rank, her heart beat fast under its golden-laced jacket as she reined up etoile and saluted. in that hot clear sun all the eyes of that immense host were fastened on her, and the hour of her longing desire was come at last. france had recognised that she had done greatly, and france, through the voice of this, its chief, spoke to her--france, her beloved, and her guiding-star, for whose sake the young brave soul within her would have dared and have endured all things. there was a group before her, large and brilliant, but at them cigarette never looked; what she saw were the sunburnt faces of her "children," of men who, in the majority, were old enough to be her grandsires, who had been with her through so many darksome hours, and whose black and rugged features lightened and grew tender whenever they looked upon their little one. for the moment she felt giddy with sweet fiery joy; they were here to behold her thanked in the name of france. the marshal, in advance of all his staff, touched his plumed hat and bowed to his saddle-bow as he faced her. he knew her well by sight, this pretty child of his army of africa, who had, before then, suppressed mutiny like a veteran, and led the charge like a murat--this kitten with a lion's heart, this humming-bird with an eagle's swoop. "mademoiselle," he commenced, while his voice, well skilled to such work, echoed to the farthest end of the long lines of troops, "i have the honour to discharge to-day the happiest duty of my life. in conveying to you the expression of the emperor's approval of your noble conduct in the present campaign, i express the sentiments of the whole army. your action on the day of zaraila was as brilliant in conception as it was great in execution; and the courage you displayed was only equalled by your patriotism. may the soldiers of many wars remember you and emulate you. in the name of france, i thank you. in the name of the emperor, i bring to you the cross of the legion of honour." as the brief and soldierly words rolled down the ranks of the listening regiments, he stooped forward from his saddle and fastened the red ribbon on her breast; while from the whole gathered mass, watching, hearing, waiting breathlessly to give their tribute of applause to their darling also, a great shout rose as with one voice, strong, full, echoing over and over again across the plains in thunder that joined her name with the name of france and of napoleon, and hurled it upward in fierce tumultuous idolatrous love to those cruel cloudless skies that shone above the dead. she was their child, their treasure, their idol, their young leader in war, their young angel in suffering; she was all their own, knowing with them one common mother--france. honour to her was honour to them; they gloried with heart and soul in this bright young fearless life that had been among them ever since her infant feet had waded through the blood of slaughter-fields, and her infant lips had laughed to see the tricolour float in the sun above the smoke of battle. and as she heard, her face became very pale, her large eyes grew dim and very soft, her mirthful mouth trembled with the pain of a too intense joy. she lifted her head, and all the unutterable love she bore her country and her people thrilled through the music of her voice: "_français!--ce n'était rien!_" that was all she said; in that one first word of their common nationality, she spoke alike to the marshal of the empire and to the conscript of the ranks. "français!" that one title made them all equal in her sight; whoever claimed it was honoured in her eyes, and was precious to her heart, and when she answered them that it was nothing, this thing which they glorified in her, she answered but what seemed the simple truth in her code. she would have thought it "nothing" to have perished by shot, or steel, or flame, in day-long torture, for that one fair sake of france. vain in all else, and to all else wayward, here she was docile and submissive as the most patient child; here she deemed the greatest and the hardest thing that she could ever do far less than all that she would willingly have done. and as she looked upon the host whose thousand and ten thousand voices rang up to the noonday sun in her homage, and in hers alone, a light like a glory beamed upon her face, that for once was white and still and very grave;--none who saw her face then, ever forgot that look. in that moment she touched the full sweetness of a proud and pure ambition, attained and possessed in all its intensity, in all its perfect splendour. in that moment she knew that divine hour which, born of a people's love and of the impossible desires of genius in its youth, comes to so few human lives--knew that which was known to the young napoleon when, in the hot hush of the nights of july, france welcomed the conqueror of italy. * * * she longed to do as some girl of whom she had once been told by an old invalide had done in the ' --a girl of the people, a fisher-girl of the cannébière who had loved one above her rank, a noble who deserted her for a woman of his own order, a beautiful, soft-skinned, lily-like scornful aristocrat, with the silver ring of merciless laughter, and the languid lustre of sweet contemptuous eyes. the marseillaise bore her wrong in silence--she was a daughter of the south and of the populace, with a dark, brooding, burning beauty, strong and fierce, and braced with the salt lashing of the sea and with the keen breath of the stormy mistral. she held her peace while the great lady was wooed and won, while the marriage joys came with the purple vintage time, while the people were made drunk at the bridal of their _châtelaine_ in those hot, ruddy, luscious autumn days. she held her peace; and the terror came, and the streets of the city by the sea ran blood, and the scorch of the sun blazed, every noon, on the scaffold. then she had her vengeance. she stood and saw the axe fall down on the proud snow-white neck that never had bent till it bent there, and she drew the severed head into her own bronzed hands and smote the lips his lips had kissed, a cruel blow that blurred their beauty out, and twined a fish-hook in the long and glistening hair, and drew it, laughing as she went, through dust, and mire, and gore, and over the rough stones of the town, and through the shouting crowds of the multitudes, and tossed it out on to the sea, laughing still as the waves flung it out from billow to billow, and the fish sucked it down to make their feast. "_voilà tes secondes noces!_" she cried where she stood, and laughed by the side of the gray angry water, watching the tresses of the floating hair sink downward like a heap of sea-tossed weed. * * * "there is only one thing worth doing--to die greatly!" thought the aching heart of the child-soldier, unconsciously returning to the only end that the genius and the greatness of greece could find as issue to the terrible jest, the mysterious despair, of all existence. * * * a very old man--one who had been a conscript in the bands of young france, and marched from his pyrenéan village to the battle-tramp of the marseillaise, and charged with the enfans de paris across the plains of gemappes; who had known the passage of the alps, and lifted the long curls from the dead brow of désaix, at marengo, and seen in the sultry noonday dust of a glorious summer the guard march into paris, while the people laughed and wept with joy, surging like the mighty sea around one pale frail form, so young by years, so absolute by genius. a very old man; long broken with poverty, with pain, with bereavement, with extreme old age; and by a long course of cruel accidents, alone, here in africa, without one left of the friends of his youth, or of the children of his name, and deprived even of the charities due from his country to his services--alone save for the little friend of the flag, who, for four years, had kept him on the proceeds of her wine trade, in this moorish attic, tending him herself when in town, taking heed that he should want for nothing when she was campaigning. she hid, as her lawless courage would not have stooped to hide a sin, had she chosen to commit one, this compassion which she, the young _condottiera_ of algeria, showed with so tender a charity to the soldier of bonaparte. to him, moreover, her fiery imperious voice was gentle as the dove, her wayward dominant will was pliant as the reed, her contemptuous sceptic spirit was reverent as a child's before an altar. in her sight the survivor of the army of italy was sacred; sacred the eyes which, when full of light, had seen the sun glitter on the breastplates of the hussars of murat, the dragoons of kellerman, the cuirassiers of milhaud; sacred the hands which, when nervous with youth, had borne the standard of the republic victorious against the gathered teuton host in the thermopylæ of champagne; sacred the ears which, when quick to hear, had heard the thunder of arcola, of lodi, of rivoli, and, above even the tempest of war, the clear, still voice of napoleon; sacred the lips which, when their beard was dark in the fulness of manhood, had quivered, as with a woman's weeping, at the farewell in the spring night in the moonlit cour des adieux. cigarette had a religion of her own; and followed it more closely than most disciples follow other creeds. * * * the way was long; the road ill-formed, leading for the most part across a sere and desolate country, with nothing to relieve its barrenness except long stretches of the great spear-headed reeds. at noon the heat was intense; the little cavalcade halted for half an hour under the shade of some black towering rocks which broke the monotony of the district, and commenced a more hilly and more picturesque portion of the country. cigarette came to the side of the temporary ambulance in which cecil was placed. he was asleep--sleeping for once peacefully with little trace of pain upon his features, as he had slept the previous night. she saw that his face and chest had not been touched by the stinging insect-swarm; he was doubly screened by a shirt hung above him dexterously on some bent sticks. "who has done that?" thought cigarette. as she glanced round she saw--without any linen to cover him, zackrist had reared himself up and leaned slightly forward over against his comrade. the shirt that protected cecil was his; and on his own bare shoulders and mighty chest the tiny armies of the flies and gnats were fastened, doing their will uninterrupted. as he caught her glance, a sullen ruddy glow of shame shone through the black hard skin of his sunburnt visage--shame to which he had been never touched when discovered in any one of his guilty and barbarous actions. "_dame!_" he growled savagely; "he gave me his wine; one must do something in return. not that i feel the insects--not i; my skin is leather, see you; they can't get through it; but his is _peau de femme_--white and soft--bah! like tissue paper!" "i see, zackrist; you are right. a french soldier can never take a kindness from an english fellow without outrunning him in generosity. look--here is some drink for you." she knew too well the strange nature with which she had to deal to say a syllable of praise to him for his self-devotion, or to appear to see that, despite his boast of his leather skin, the stings of the cruel winged tribes were drawing his blood and causing him alike pain and irritation which, under that sun, and added to the torment of his gunshot wound, were a martyrdom as great as the noblest saint ever endured. "_tiens! tiens!_ i did him wrong," murmured cigarette. "that is what they are--the children of france--even when they are at their worst, like that devil, zackrist. who dare say they are not the heroes of the world?" and all through the march she gave zackrist a double portion of her water dashed with red wine, that was so welcome and so precious to the parched and aching throats; and all through the march cecil lay asleep, and the man who had thieved from him, the man whose soul was stained with murder, and pillage, and rapine, sat erect beside him, letting the insects suck his veins and pierce his flesh. it was only when they drew near the camp of the main army that zackrist beat off the swarm and drew his old shirt over his head. "you do not want to say anything to him," he muttered to cigarette. "i am of leather, you know; i have not felt it." she nodded; she understood him. yet his shoulders and his chest were well-nigh flayed, despite the tough and horny skin of which he made his boast. "_dieu!_ we are droll!" mused cigarette. "if we do a good thing, we hide it as if it were a bit of stolen meat, we are so afraid it should be found out; but, if they do one in the world there, they bray it at the tops of their voices from the houses' roofs, and run all down the streets screaming about it for fear it should be lost. _dieu!_ we are droll!" and she dashed the spurs into her mare and galloped off at the height of her speed into camp--a very city of canvas, buzzing with the hum of life, regulated with the marvellous skill and precision of french warfare, yet with the carelessness and the picturesqueness of the desert-life pervading it. * * * like wave rushing on wave of some tempestuous ocean, the men swept out to meet her in one great surging tide of life, impetuous, passionate, idolatrous, exultant, with all the vivid ardour, all the uncontrolled emotion, of natures south-born, sun-nurtured. they broke away from their mid-day rest as from their military toil, moved as by one swift breath of fire, and flung themselves out to meet her, the chorus of a thousand voices ringing in deafening _vivas_ to the skies. she was enveloped in that vast sea of eager, furious lives, in that dizzy tumult of vociferous cries, and stretching hands, and upturned faces. as her soldiers had done the night before, so these did now--kissing her hands, her dress, her feet, sending her name in thunder through the sunlit air, lifting her from off her horse, and bearing her, in a score of stalwart arms, triumphant in their midst. she was theirs--their own--the child of the army, the little one whose voice above their dying brethren had the sweetness of an angel's song, and whose feet, in their hours of revelry, flew like the swift and dazzling flight of gold-winged orioles. and she had saved the honour of their eagles; she had given to them and to france their god of victory. they loved her--o god, how they loved her!--with that intense, breathless, intoxicating love of a multitude which, though it may stone to-morrow what it adores to-day, has yet for those on whom it has once been given thus a power no other love can know--a passion unutterably sad, deliriously strong. that passion moved her strangely. as she looked down upon them, she knew that not one man breathed among that tumultuous mass but would have died that moment at her word; not one mouth moved among that countless host but breathed her name in pride, and love, and honour. she might be a careless young coquette, a lawless little brigand, a child of sunny caprices, an elf of dauntless mischief; but she was more than these. the divine fire of genius had touched her, and cigarette would have perished for her country not less surely than jeanne d'arc. the holiness of an impersonal love, the glow of an imperishable patriotism, the melancholy of a passionate pity for the concrete and unnumbered sufferings of the people were in her, instinctive and inborn, as fragrance in the heart of flowers. and all these together moved her now, and made her young face beautiful as she looked down upon the crowded soldiery. "it was nothing," she answered them; "it was nothing. it was for france." for france! they shouted back the beloved word with tenfold joy; and the great sea of life beneath her tossed to and fro in stormy triumph, in frantic paradise of victory, ringing her name with that of france upon the air, in thunder-shouts like spears of steel smiting on shields of bronze. but she stretched her hand out, and swept it backward to the desert-border of the south with a gesture that had awe for them. "hush!" she said softly, with an accent in her voice that hushed the riot of their rejoicing homage till it lulled like the lull in a storm. "give me no honour while _they_ sleep yonder. with the dead lies the glory!" * * * thoughts are very good grain, but if they are not whirled round, round, round, and winnowed and ground in the millstones of talk, they remain little, hard, useless kernels, that not a soul can digest. * * * love was all very well, so cigarette's philosophy had always reckoned; a chocolate bonbon, a firework, a bagatelle, a draught of champagne, to flavour an idle moment. "_vin et vénus_" she had always been accustomed to see worshipped together, as became their alliterative; it was a bit of fun--that was all. a passion that had pain in it had never touched the little one; she had disdained it with lightest, airiest contumely. "if your sweetmeat has a bitter almond in it, eat the sugar, and throw the almond away, you goose! that is simple enough, isn't it? bah! i don't pity the people who eat the bitter almond; not i--_ce sont bien bêtes, ces gens!_" she had said once, when arguing with an officer on the absurdity of a melancholy love which possessed him, and whose sadness she rallied most unmercifully. now, for once in her young life, the child of france found that it was remotely possible to meet with almonds so bitter that the taste will remain and taint all things, do what philosophy may to throw its acridity aside. * * * there were before them death, deprivation, long days of famine, long days of drought and thirst; parching sun-baked roads; bitter chilly nights; fiery furnace-blasts of sirocco; killing, pitiless, northern winds; hunger, only sharpened by a snatch of raw meat or a handful of maize; and the probabilities, ten to one, of being thrust under the sand to rot, or left to have their skeletons picked clean by the vultures. but what of that? there were also the wild delight of combat, the freedom of lawless warfare, the joy of deep strokes thrust home, the chance of plunder, of wine-skins, of cattle, of women; above all, that lust for slaughter which burns so deep down in the hidden souls of men, and gives them such brotherhood with wolf and vulture, and tiger, when once its flames burst forth. * * * the levelled carbines covered him; he stood erect with his face full toward the sun; ere they could fire, a shrill cry pierced the air-- "wait! in the name of france." dismounted, breathless, staggering, with her arms flung upward, and her face bloodless with fear, cigarette appeared upon the ridge of rising ground. the cry of command pealed out upon the silence in the voice that the army of africa loved as the voice of their little one. and the cry came too late; the volley was fired, the crash of sound thrilled across the words that bade them pause, the heavy smoke rolled out upon the air, the death that was doomed was dealt. but beyond the smoke-cloud he staggered slightly, and then stood erect still, almost unharmed, grazed only by some few of the balls. the flash of fire was not so fleet as the swiftness of her love; and on his breast she threw herself, and flung her arms about him, and turned her head backward with her old dauntless sunlit smile as the balls pierced her bosom, and broke her limbs, and were turned away by that shield of warm young life from him. her arms were gliding from about his neck, and her shot limbs were sinking to the earth as he caught her up where she dropped to his feet. "o god! my child! they have killed you!" he suffered more, as the cry broke from him, than if the bullets had brought him that death which he saw at one glance had stricken down for ever all the glory of her childhood, all the gladness of her youth. she laughed--all the clear, imperious, arch laughter of her sunniest hours unchanged. "chut! it is the powder and ball of france! _that_ does not hurt. if it were an arbico's bullet now! but wait! here is the marshal's order. he suspends your sentence; i have told him all. you are safe!--do you hear?--you are safe! how he looks! is he grieved to live? _mes français!_ tell him clearer than i can tell--here is the order. the general must have it. no--not out of my hand till the general sees it. fetch him, some of you--fetch him to me." "great heaven! you have given your life for mine!" the words broke from him in an agony as he held her upward against his heart, himself so blind, so stunned, with the sudden recall from death to life, and with the sacrifice whereby life was thus brought to him, that he could scarce see her face, scarce hear her voice, but only dimly, incredulously, terribly knew, in some vague sense, that she was dying, and dying thus for him. she smiled up in his eyes, while even in that moment, when her life was broken down like a wounded bird's, and the shots had pierced through from her shoulder to her bosom, a hot scarlet flush came over her cheeks as she felt his touch and rested on his heart. "a life! _tiens!_ what is it to give? we hold it in our hands every hour, we soldiers, and toss it in change for a draught of wine. lay me down on the ground--at your feet--so! i shall live longest that way, and i have much to tell. how they crowd around me! _mes soldats_, do not make that grief and that rage over me. they are sorry they fired; that is foolish. they were only doing their duty, and they could not hear me in time." but the brave words could not console those who had killed the child of the tricolour; they flung their carbines away, they beat their breasts, they cursed themselves and the mother who had borne them; the silent, rigid, motionless phalanx that had stood there in the dawn to see death dealt in the inexorable penalty of the law was broken up into a tumultuous, breathless, heart-stricken, infuriated throng, maddened with remorse, convulsed with sorrow, turning wild eyes of hate on him as on the cause through which their darling had been stricken. he, laying her down with unspeakable gentleness as she had bidden him, hung over her, leaning her head against his arm, and watching in paralysed horror the helplessness of the quivering limbs, the slow flowing of the blood beneath the cross that shone where that young heroic heart so soon would beat no more. "oh, my child, my child!" he moaned, as the full might and meaning of this devotion which had saved him at such cost rushed on him. "what am i worth that you should perish for me? better a thousand times have left me to my fate! such nobility, such sacrifice, such love!" the hot colour flushed her face once more; she was strong to the last to conceal that passion for which she was still content to perish in her youth. "chut! we are comrades, and you are a brave man. i would do the same for any of my spahis. look you, i never heard of your arrest till i heard too of your sentence"---- she paused a moment, and her features grew white, and quivered with pain and with the oppression that seemed to lie like lead upon her chest. but she forced herself to be stronger than the anguish which assailed her strength; and she motioned them all to be silent as she spoke on while her voice still should serve her. "they will tell you how i did it--i have not time. the marshal gave his word you shall be saved; there is no fear. that is your friend who bends over me here?--is it not? a fair face, a brave face! you will go back to your land--you will live among your own people--and _she_, she will love you now--now she knows you are of her order!" something of the old thrill of jealous dread and hate quivered through the words, but the purer, nobler nature vanquished it; she smiled up in his eyes, heedless of the tumult round them. "you will be happy. that is well. look you--it is nothing that i did. i would have done it for any one of my soldiers. and for this"--she touched the blood flowing from her side with the old, bright, brave smile--"it was an accident; they must not grieve for it. my men are good to me; they will feel such regret and remorse; but do not let them. i am glad to die." the words were unwavering and heroic, but for one moment a convulsion went over her face; the young life was so strong in her, the young spirit was so joyous in her, existence was so new, so fresh, so bright, so dauntless a thing to cigarette. she loved life: the darkness, the loneliness, the annihilation of death were horrible to her as the blackness and the solitude of night to a young child. death, like night, can be welcome only to the weary, and she was weary of nothing on the earth that bore her buoyant steps; the suns, the winds, the delights of the sights, the joys of the senses, the music of her own laughter, the mere pleasure of the air upon her cheeks, or of the blue sky above her head, were all so sweet to her. her welcome of her death-shot was the only untruth that had ever soiled her fearless lips. death was terrible; yet she was content--content to have come to it for his sake. there was a ghastly stricken silence round her. the order she had brought had just been glanced at, but no other thought was with the most callous there than the heroism of her act, than the martyrdom of her death. the colour was fast passing from her lips, and a mortal pallor settling there in the stead of that rich bright hue, once warm as the scarlet heart of the pomegranate. her head leant back on cecil's breast, and she felt the great burning tears fall one by one upon her brow as he hung speechless over her; she put her hand upward and touched his eyes softly. "chut! what is it to die--just to die? you have _lived_ your martyrdom; i could not have done that. listen, just one moment. you will be rich. take care of the old man--he will not trouble long--and of vole-qui-veut and etoile, and boule blanche, and the rat, and all the dogs, will you? they will show you the château de cigarette in algiers. i should not like to think that they would starve." she felt his lips move with the promise he could not find voice to utter; and she thanked him with that old child-like smile that had lost nothing of its light. "that is good; they will be happy with you. and see here;--that arab must have back his white horse: he alone saved you. have heed that they spare him. and make my grave somewhere where my army passes; where i can hear the trumpets, and the arms, and the passage of the troops--o god! i forgot! i shall not wake when the bugles sound. it will all _end_ now, will it not? that is horrible, horrible!" a shudder shook her as, for the moment, the full sense that all her glowing, redundant, sunlit, passionate life was crushed out for ever from its place upon the earth forced itself on and overwhelmed her. but she was of too brave a mould to suffer any foe--even the foe that conquers kings--to have power to appal her. she raised herself, and looked at the soldiery around her, among them the men whose carbines had killed her, whose anguish was like the heartrending anguish of women. "mes français! that was a foolish word of mine. how many of my bravest have fallen in death; and shall i be afraid of what they welcomed? do not grieve like that. you could not help it; you were doing your duty. if the shots had not come to me, they would have gone to him; and he has been unhappy so long, and borne wrong so patiently, he has earned the right to live and enjoy. now i--i have been happy all my days, like a bird, like a kitten, like a foal, just from being young and taking no thought. i should have had to suffer if i had lived; it is much best as it is"---- her voice failed her when she had spoken the heroic words; loss of blood was fast draining all strength from her, and she quivered in a torture she could not wholly conceal; he for whom she perished hung over her in an agony greater far than hers; it seemed a hideous dream to him that this child lay dying in his stead. "can nothing save her?" he cried aloud. "o god! that you had fired one moment sooner!" she heard; and looked up at him with a look in which all the passionate, hopeless, imperishable love she had resisted and concealed so long spoke with an intensity she never dreamed. "she is content," she whispered softly. "you did not understand her rightly; that was all." "_all!_ o god! how i have wronged you!" the full strength, and nobility, and devotion of this passion he had disbelieved in and neglected rushed on him as he met her eyes; for the first time he saw her as she was, for the first time he saw all of which the splendid heroism of this untrained nature would have been capable under a different fate. and it struck him suddenly, heavily, as with a blow; it filled him with a passion of remorse. "my darling!--my darling! what have i done to be worthy of such love?" he murmured, while the tears fell from his blinded eyes, and his head drooped until his lips met hers. at the first utterance of that word between them, at the unconscious tenderness of his kisses that had the anguish of a farewell in them, the colour suddenly flushed all over her blanched face; she trembled in his arms; and a great shivering sigh ran through her. it came too late, this warmth of love. she learned what its sweetness might have been only when her lips grew numb, and her eyes sightless, and her heart without pulse, and her senses without consciousness. "hush!" she answered, with a look that pierced his soul. "keep those kisses for miladi. she will have the right to love you; she is of your '_aristocrates_,' she is not 'unsexed.' as for me,--i am only a little trooper who has saved my comrade! my soldiers, come round me one instant; i shall not long find words." her eyes closed as she spoke; a deadly faintness and coldness passed over her; and she gasped for breath. a moment, and the resolute courage in her conquered: her eyes opened and rested on the war-worn faces of her "children"--rested in a long-lost look of unspeakable wistfulness and tenderness. "i cannot speak as i would," she said at length, while her voice grew very faint. "but i have loved you. all is said!" all was uttered in those four brief words. "she had loved them." the whole story of her young life was told in the single phrase. and the gaunt, battle-scarred, murderous, ruthless veterans of africa who heard her could have turned their weapons against their own breasts, and sheathed them there, rather than have looked on to see their darling die. "i have been too quick in anger sometimes--forgive it," she said gently. "and do not fight and curse among yourselves; it is bad amid brethren. bury my cross with me, if they will let you; and let the colours be over my grave, if you can. think of me when you go into battle; and tell them in france"---- for the first time her own eyes filled with great tears as the name of her beloved land paused upon her lips; she stretched her arms out with a gesture of infinite longing, like a lost child that vainly seeks its mother. "if i could only see france once more! france"---- it was the last word upon her utterance; her eyes met cecil's in one fleeting upward glance of unutterable tenderness; then with her hands still stretched out westward to where her country was, and with the dauntless heroism of her smile upon her face like light, she gave a tired sigh as of a child that sinks to sleep, and in the midst of her army of africa the little one lay dead. _strathmore._ the sun was setting, sinking downward beyond purple bars of cloud, and leaving a long golden trail behind it in its track--sinking slowly and solemnly towards the west as the day declined, without rest, yet without haste, as though to give to all the sons of earth warning and time to leave no evil rooted, no bitterness unhealed, no feud to ripen, and no crime to bring forth seed, when the day should have passed away to be numbered with hours irrevocable, and the night should cast its pall over the dark deeds done, and seal their graves never to be unclosed. the sun was setting, and shedding its rich and yellow light over the green earth, on the winding waters, and the blue hills afar off, and down the thousand leafy aisles close by; but to one place that warm radiance wandered not, in one spot the rays did not play, the glory did not enter. that place was the deer-pond of the old bois, where the dark plants brooding on the fetid waters, which only stirred with noisome things, had washed against the floating hair of lifeless women, and the sombre branches of the crowding trees had been dragged earthward by the lifeless weight of the self-slain, till the air seemed to be poisonous with death, and the grasses, as they moved, to whisper to the winds dread secrets of the past. and here the light of the summer evening did not come, but only through the leafless boughs of one seared tree, which broke and parted the dark barrier of forest growth, they saw the west, and the sun declining slowly in its haze of golden air, sinking downward past the bars of cloud. all was quiet, save the dull sounds of the parting waters, when some loathsome reptiles stirred among its brakes, or the hot breeze moved its pestilential plants; and in the silence they stood fronting each other; in this silence they had met, in it they would part. and there, on their right hand, through the break in the dank wall of leaves, shone the sun, looking earthward, luminous, and blinding human sight like the gaze of god. the light from the west fell upon erroll, touching the fair locks of his silken hair, and shining in his azure eyes as they looked up at the sunny skies, where a bird was soaring and circling in space, happy through its mere sense and joy of life; and on strathmore's face the deep shadows slanted, leaving it as though cast in bronze, chill and tranquil as that of an eastern kabyl, each feature set into the merciless repose of one immovable purpose. their faces were strangely contrasted, for the serenity of the one was that of a man who fearlessly awaits an inevitable doom, the serenity of the other that of a man who mercilessly deals out an implacable fate; and while in the one those present saw but the calmness of courage and of custom, in the other they vaguely shrank from a new and an awful meaning. for beneath the suave smile of the duellist they read the intent of the murderer. the night was nigh at hand, and soon the day had to be gathered to the past, such harvest garnered with it as men's hands had sown throughout its brief twelve hours, which are so short in span, yet are so long in sin. "let not the sun go down upon your wrath." there, across the west, in letters of flame, the warning of the hebrew scroll was written on the purple skies; but he who should have read them stood immutable yet insatiate, with the gleam of a tiger's lust burning in his eyes--the lust when it scents blood; the lust that only slakes its thirst in life. they fronted one another, those who had lived as brothers; while at their feet babbled the poisonous waters, and on their right hand shone the evening splendour of the sun. "one!" the word fell down upon the silence, and the hiss of a shrill cicada echoed to it like a devil's laugh. their eyes met, and in the gaze of the one was a compassionate pardon, but in the gaze of the other a relentless lust. and the sun sank slowly downward beyond the barrier of purple cloud, passing away from earth. "two!" again the single word dropped out upon the stillness, marking the flight of the seconds; again the hoot of the cicada echoed it, laughing hideously from its noisome marsh. and the sun sank slowly, still slowly, nearer and nearer to its shroud of mist, bearing with it all that lingered of the day. "three!" the white death-signal flickered in the breeze, and the last golden rays of the sun were still above the edge of the storm-cloud. there was yet time. but the warning was not read: there was the assassin's devilish greed within strathmore's soul, the assassin's devilish smile upon his lips; the calmness of his face never changed, the tranquil pulse of his wrist never quickened, the remorseless gleam of his eyes never softened. it was for him to fire first, and the doom written in his look never relaxed. he turned--in seeming carelessness, as you may turn to aim at carrion bird--but his shot sped home. one moment erroll stood erect, his fair hair blowing in the wind, his eyes full open to the light; then--he reeled slightly backward, raised his right arm, and fired in the air! the bullet flew far and harmless amidst the forest foliage, his arm dropped, and without sign or sound he fell down upon the sodden turf, his head striking against the earth with a dull echo, his hands drawing up the rank herbage by the roots, as they closed convulsively in one brief spasm. he was shot through the heart. and the sun sank out of sight, leaving a dusky, sultry gloom to brood over the noxious brakes and sullen stagnant waters, leaving the world to night, as fitting watch and shroud of crime; and those who stood there were stricken with a ghastly horror, were paralysed by a vague and sudden awe, for they knew that they were in the presence of death, and that the hand which had dealt it was the hand of his chosen friend. but he, who had slain him, more coldly, more pitilessly than the merciful amongst us would slay a dog, stood unmoved in the shadow, with his ruthless calm, his deadly serenity, which had no remorse as it had had no mercy, while about his lips there was a cold and evil smile, and in his eyes gleamed the lurid flame of a tiger's triumph--the triumph when it has tasted blood, and slaked its thirst in life. _"voyez!--il est mort!"_ the words, uttered in his ear by valdor, were hoarse and almost tremulous; but he heard and assented to them unmoved. an exultant light shone and glittered in his eyes; he had avenged himself and her! life was the sole price that his revenge had set; his purpose had been as iron, and his soul was as bronze. he went nearer, leisurely, and stooped and looked at the work of his hand. in the gloom the dark-red blood could yet be clearly seen, slowly welling out and staining the clotted herbage as it flowed, while one stray gleam of light still stole across, as if in love and pity, and played about the long fair hair which trailed amidst the grass. life still lingered, faintly, flickeringly, as though both to leave for ever that which one brief moment before had been instinct with all its richest glory; the eyes opened wide once more, and looked up to the evening skies with a wild, delirious, appealing pain, and the lips which were growing white and drawn moved in a gasping prayer: "oh, god! i forgive--i forgive. he did not know"---- then his head fell back, and his eyes gazed upward without sight or sense, and murmuring low a woman's name, "lucille! lucille!" while one last breath shivered like a deep-drawn sigh through all his frame--he died. and his murderer stood by to see the shudder convulse the rigid limbs, and count each lingering pang--calm, pitiless, unmoved, his face so serene in its chill indifference, its brutal and unnatural tranquillity, whilst beneath the drooped lids his eyes watched with the dark glitter of a triumphant vengeance the last agony of the man whom he had loved, that the two who were with him in this ghastly hour shrank involuntarily from his side, awed more by the living than the dead. almost unconsciously they watched him, fascinated basilisk-wise, as he stooped and severed a long flake of hair that was soiled by the dank earth and wet with the dew: unarrested they let him turn away with the golden lock in his hand and the fatal calm on his face, and move to the spot where his horse was waiting. the beat of the hoofs rang muffled on the turf, growing fainter and fainter as the gallop receded. strathmore rode to her whose bidding had steeled his arm, and whose soft embrace would be his reward; rode swift and hard, with his hand closing fast on the promised pledge of his vengeance; while behind him, in the shadows of the falling night, lay a man whom he had once loved, whom he had now slain, with the light of early stars breaking pale and cold, to shine upon the oozing blood as it trailed slowly in its death-stream through the grasses, staining red the arid turf. and the sun had gone down upon his wrath. * * * mes frères! it is well for us that we are no seers! were we cursed with prevision, could we know how, when the idle trifle of the present hour shall have been forged into a link of the past, it will stretch out and bind captive the whole future in its bonds, we should be paralysed, hopeless, powerless, old ere we were young! it is well for us that we are no seers. were we cursed with second sight, we should see the white shroud breast-high above the living man, the phosphor light of death gleaming on the youthful radiant face, the feathery seed, lightly sown, bearing in it the germ of the upas-tree; the idle careless word, daily uttered, carrying in its womb the future bane of a lifetime; we should see these things till we sickened, and reeled, and grew blind with pain before the ghastly face of the future, as men in ancient days before the loathsome visage of the medusa! * * * contretemps generally have some saving crumbs of consolation for those who laugh at fate, and look good-humouredly for them; life's only evil to him who wears it awkwardly, and philosophic resignation works as many miracles as harlequin; grumble, and you go to the dogs in a wretched style; make _mots_ on your own misery, and you've no idea how pleasant a _trajet_ even drifting "to the bad" may become. * * * the statue that strathmore at once moulded and marred was his life: the statue which we all, as we sketch it, endow with the strength of the milo, the glory of the belvedere, the winged brilliance of the perseus! which ever lies at its best; when the chisel has dropped from our hands, as they grow powerless and paralysed with death; like the mutilated torso; a fragment unfinished and broken, food for the ants and worms, buried in the sands that will quickly suck it down from sight or memory, with but touches of glory and of value left here and there, only faintly serving to show what _might have been_, had we had time, had we had wisdom! * * * with which satirical reflection on his times and his order drifting through his mind, strathmore's thoughts floated onward to a piece of statecraft then numbered among the delicate diplomacies and intricate embroglie of europe, whose moves absorbed him as the finesses of a problem absorb a skilful chess-player, and from thence stretched onwards to his future, in which he lived, like all men of dominant ambition, far more than he lived in his present. it was a future brilliant, secure, brightening in its lustre, and strengthening in its power, with each successive year; a future which was not to him as to most wrapped in a chiaroscuro, with but points of luminance gleaming through the mist, but in whose cold glimmering light he seemed to see clear and distinct, as we see each object of the far-off landscape stand out in the air of a winter's noon, every thread that he should gather up, every distant point to which he should pass onward; a future singular and characteristic, in which state-power was the single ambition marked out, from which the love of women was banished, in which pleasure and wealth were as little regarded as in lacedæmon, in which age would be courted, not dreaded, since with it alone would come added dominion over the minds of men, and in which, as it stretched out before him, failure and alteration were alike impossible. what, if he lived, could destroy a future that would be solely dependent on, solely ruled by, himself? by his own hand alone would his future be fashioned; would he hew out any shape save the idol that pleased him? when we hold the chisel ourselves, are we not secure to have no error in the work? is it likely that our hand will slip, that the marble we select will be dark-veined, and brittle, and impure, that the blows of the mallet will shiver our handiwork, and that when we plan a milo--god of strength--we shall but mould and sculpture out a laocoön of torture? scarcely; and strathmore held the chisel, and, certain of his own skill, was as sure of what he should make of life as benvenuto, when he bade the molten metal pour into the shape that he, master-craftsman, had fashioned, and gave to the sight of the world the winged perseus. but strathmore did not remember what cellini did--that one flaw might mar the whole! * * * in the little _millefleurs_-scented billet lay, unknown to its writer as to him, the turning-point of his life! god help us! what avail are experience, prescience, prudence, wisdom, in this world, when at every chance step the silliest trifle, the most commonplace meeting, an invitation to dinner, a turn down the wrong street, the dropping of a glove, the delay of a train, the introduction to an unnoticed stranger, will fling down every precaution, and build a fate for us of which we never dream? of what avail for us to erect our sand-castle when every chance blast of air may blow it into nothing, and drift another into form that we have no power to move? life hinges upon hazard, and at every turn wisdom is mocked by it, and energy swept aside by it, as the battled dykes are worn away, and the granite walls beaten down by the fickle ocean waves, which, never two hours together alike, never two instants without restless motion, are yet as changeless as they are capricious, as omnipotent as they are fickle, as cruel as they are countless! men and mariners may build their bulwarks, but hazard and the sea will overthrow and wear away both alike at their will--their wild and unreined will, which no foresight can foresee, no strength can bridle. was it not the mere choice between the saddle and the barouche that day when ferdinand d'orléans flung down on second thoughts his riding-whip upon the console at the tuileries, and ordered his carriage instead of his horse, that cost himself his life, his son a throne, the bourbon blood their royalty, and france for long years her progress and her peace? had he taken up his whip instead of laying it aside, he might be living to-day with the sceptre in his hand, and the bee, crushed beneath his foot, powerless to sting to the core of the lily! of all strange things in human life, there is none stranger than the dominance of chance. * * * he landed and went into silver-rest in the morning light. far as the eye could reach stretched the deep still waters of the bay; the white sails of his yacht and of the few fishing skiffs in the offing stood out distinct and glancing in the sun; over the bluffs and in all the clefts of rock the growing grass blew and flickered in the breeze; and as he crossed the sands the air was fragrant with the scent of the wild flowers that grew down to the water's edge. but to note these things a man must be in unison with the world; and to love them he must be in unison with himself. strathmore scarce saw them as he went onward. * * * if a military man's friend dies who had the step above him, his first thought is "promotion! deucedly lucky for me!" his next, "poor fellow, what a pity!" always comes two seconds after. i understand voltaire. if your companion's existence at table makes you have a dish dressed as you don't like it, you are naturally relieved if an apoplectic fit empties his chair, and sets you free to say, "_point de sauce blanche!_" all men are egotists, they only persuade themselves they are not selfish by swearing so often, that at last they believe what they say. no motive under the sun will stand the microscope; human nature, like a faded beauty, must only have a _demi-lumièr_; draw the blinds up, and the blotches come out, the wrinkles show, and the paint peels off. the beauty scolds the servants--men hiss the satirists--who dare to let in daylight! * * * the frenchwoman prides herself on being thought unfaithful to her husband; the englishwoman on being thought faithful to him; but though their theories are different, their practice comes to much the same thing. _friendship._ when zeus, half in sport and half in cruelty, made man, young hermês, who, as all olympus knew, was for ever at some piece of mischief, insisted on meddling with his father's work, and got leave to fashion the human ear out of a shell that he chanced to have by him, across which he stretched a fine cobweb that he stole from arachne. but he hollowed and twisted the shell in such a fashion that it would turn back all sounds except very loud blasts that falsehood should blow on a brazen horn, whilst the impenetrable web would keep out all such whispers as truth could send up from the depths of her well. hermês chuckled as he rounded the curves of his ear, and fastened it on to the newly-made human creature. "so shall these mortals always hear and believe the thing that is not," he said to himself in glee--knowing that the box he would give to pandora would not bear more confused and complex woes to the hapless earth than this gift of an ear to man. but he forgot himself so far that, though two ears were wanted, he only made one. apollo, passing that way, marked the blunder, and resolved to avenge the theft of his milk-white herds which had led him such a weary chase through tempe. apollo took a pearl of the sea and hollowed it, and strung across it a silver string from his own lyre, and with it gave to man one ear by which the voice of truth should reach the brain. "you have spoilt all my sport," said the boy hermes, angry and weeping. "nay," said the elder brother with a smile. "be comforted. the brazen trumpets will be sure to drown the whisper from the well, and ten thousand mortals to one, be sure, will always turn by choice your ear instead of mine." * * * women never like one another, except now and then an old woman and a young woman like you and me. they are good to one another amongst the poor, you say! oh, that i don't know anything about. they may be. barbarians always retain the savage virtues. in society women hate one another--all the more because in society they have to smile in each other's faces every night of their lives. only think what that is, my dear!--to grudge each other's conquests, to grudge each other's diamonds, to study each other's dress, to watch each other's wrinkles, to outshine each other always on every possible occasion, big or little, and yet always to be obliged to give pet names to each other, and visit each other with elaborate ceremonial--why, women _must_ hate each other! society makes them. your poor folks, i daresay, in the midst of their toiling and moiling, and scrubbing and scraping, and starving and begging, do do each other kindly turns, and put bread in each other's mouths now and then, because they can scratch each other's eyes out, and call each other hussies in the streets, any minute they like, in the most open manner. but in society women's entire life is a struggle for precedence, precedence in everything--beauty, money, rank, success, dress, everything. we have to smother hate under smiles, and envy under compliment, and while we are dying to say "you hussy," like the women in the streets, we are obliged, instead of boxing her ears, to kiss her on both cheeks, and cry, "oh, my dearest--how charming of you--so kind!" only think what all that repression means. you laugh? oh, you very clever people always do laugh at these things. but you must study society, or suffer from it, sooner or later. if you don't always strive to go out before everybody, life will end in everybody going out before you, everybody--down to the shoeblack! * * * "read!" echoed the old wise man with scorn. "o child, what use is that? read!--the inland dweller reads of the sea, and thinks he knows it, and believes it to be as a magnified duck-pond, and no more. can he tell anything of the light and the shade; of the wave and the foam; of the green that is near, of the blue that is far; of the opaline changes, now pure as a dove's throat, now warm as a flame; of the great purple depths and the fierce blinding storm; and the delight and the fear, and the hurricane rising like a horse snorting for war, and all that is known to man who goes down to the great deep in ships? passion and the sea are like one another. words shall not tell them, nor colour portray them. the kiss that burns, and the salt spray that stings--let the poet excel and the painter endeavour, yet the best they can do shall say nothing to the woman without a lover; and the landsman who knows not the sea. if you would live--love. you will live in an hour a lifetime; and you will wonder how you bore your life before. but as an artist all will be over with you--that i think." * * * what is the use of railing against society? society, after all, is only humanity _en masse_, and the opinion of it must be the opinion of the bulk of human minds. complaints against society are like the lions' against the man's picture. no doubt the lions would have painted the combat as going just the other way, but then, so long as it is the man who has the knife or the gun, and the palette and the pencil, where is the use of the lions howling about injustice? society has the knife and the pencil; that's the long and the short of it; and if people don't behave themselves they feel 'em both, and have to knock under. they're knifed first, and then caricatured--as the lions were. * * * "excelling!--it is rather a dead sea apple, i fear. the effort is happiness, but the fruit always seems poor." lady cardiff could not patiently hear such nonsense. "there you are again, my dear feminine alceste," she said irritably, "looking at things from your solitary standpoint on that rock of yours in the middle of the sea. _you_ are thinking of the excelling of genius, of the possessor of an ideal fame, of the 'huntress mightier than the moon' and _i_ am thinking of the woman who excels in society--who has the biggest diamonds, the best _chef_, the most lovers, the most _chic_ and _chien_, who leads the fashion, and condescends when she takes tea with an empress. but even from your point of view on your rock, i can't quite believe it. accomplished ambition must be agreeable. to look back and say, 'i have achieved!'--what leagues of sunlight sever that proud boast from the weary sigh, 'i have failed!' fame must console." "perhaps; but the world, at least, does its best that it should not. its glory discs are of thorns." "you mean that superiority has its attendant shadow, which is calumny? always has had, since apelles painted. what does it matter if everybody looks after you when you pass down a street, what they say when you pass?" "a malefactor may obtain that sort of flattery. i do not see the charm of it." "you are very perverse. of course i talk of an unsullied fame, not of an infamous notoriety." "fame nowadays is little else but notoriety," said etoile with a certain scorn, "and it is dearly bought, perhaps too dearly, by the sacrifice of the serenity of obscurity, the loss of the peace of private life. art is great and precious, but the pursuit of it is sadly embittered when we have become so the plaything of the public, through it, that the simplest actions of our lives are chronicled and misconstrued. you do not believe it, perhaps, but i often envy the women sitting at their cottage doors, with their little children on their knees; no one talks of _them_!" "j'ai tant de gloire, ô roi, que j'aspire au fumier!" said lady cardiff. "you are very thankless to fate, my dear, but i suppose it is always so." and lady cardiff took refuge in her cigar case, being a woman of too much experience not to know that it is quite useless to try and make converts to your opinions; and especially impossible to convince people dissatisfied with their good fortune that they ought to be charmed with it. "it is very curious," she thought when she got into her own carriage, "really it makes one believe in that odd doctrine of, what is it, compensations; but, certainly, people of great talent always are a little mad. if they're not flightily mad with eccentricity and brandy, they are morbidly mad with solitude and sentiment. now she is a great creature, really a great creature; might have the world at her feet if she liked; and all she cares for is a big dog, a bunch of roses, and some artist or poet dead and gone three hundred or three thousand years! it is very queer. it is just like that extraordinary possession of victor hugo's; with powers that might have sufficed to make ten men brilliant and comfortable, he must vex and worry about politics that didn't concern him in the least, and go and live under a skylight in the middle of the sea. it is very odd. they are never happy; but when they are unhappy, and if you tell them that addison could be a great writer, and yet live comfortably and enjoy the things of this world, they only tell you contemptuously that addison had no genius, he had only a style. i suppose he hadn't. i think if i were one of them and had to choose, i would rather have only a style too." * * * when passion and habit long lie in company it is only slowly and with incredulity that habit awakens to find its companion fled, itself alone. * * * a new acquaintance is like a new novel; you open it with expectation, but what you find there seldom makes you care to take it off the shelf another time. * * * the pity which is not born from experience is always cold. it cannot help being so. it does not understand. * * * the house she lived in was very old, and had those charming conceits, those rich shadows and depth of shade, that play of light, that variety, and that character which seem given to a dwelling-place in ages when men asked nothing better of their god than to live where their fathers had lived, and leave the old roof-tree to their children's children. the thing built yesterday, is a caravanserai: i lodge in it to-day, and you to-morrow; in an old house only can be made a home, where the blessings of the dead have rested and the memories of perfect faiths and lofty passions still abide. * * * there is so much mystery in this world, only people who lead humdrum lives will not believe it. it is a great misfortune to be born to a romantic history. the humdrum always think that you are lying. in real truth romance is common in life, commoner, perhaps, than the commonplace. but the commonplace always looks more natural. in nature there are millions of gorgeous hues to a scarcity of neutral tints; yet the pictures that are painted in sombre semi-tones and have no one positive colour in them are always pronounced the nearest to nature. when a painter sets his palette, he dares not approach the gold of the sunset and dawn, or the flame of the pomegranate and poppy. * * * this age of money, of concessions, of capitalists, and of limited liabilities, has largely produced the female financier, who thinks with m. de camors, that "_l'humanité est composée des actionnaires_." other centuries have had their especial type of womanhood; the learned and graceful _hetaira_, the saintly and ascetic recluse, the warrior of oriflamme or red rose, the _dame de beauté_, all loveliness and light, like a dewdrop, the philosophic _précieuse_, with sesquipedalian phrase, the revolutionist, half nude of body and wholly nude of mind, each in their turn have given their sign and seal to their especial century, for better or for worse. the nineteenth century has some touch of all, but its own novelty of production is the female speculator. the woman who, breathless, watches _la hausse_ and _la baisse_; whose favour can only be won by some hint in advance of the newspapers; whose heart is locked to all save golden keys; who starts banks, who concocts companies, who keeps a broker, as in the eighteenth century a woman kept a monkey, and in the twelfth a knight; whose especial art is to buy in at the right moments, and to sell out in the nick of time; who is great in railways and canals, and new bathing-places, and shares in fashionable streets; who chooses her lovers, thinking of concessions, and kisses her friends for sake of the secrets they may betray from their husbands--what other centuries may say of her who can tell? the hôtel rambouillet thought itself higher than heaven, and the generation of catherine of sienna believed her deal planks the sole highway to the throne of god. * * * proud women, and sensitive women, take hints and resent rebuffs, and so exile themselves from the world prematurely and haughtily. they abdicate the moment they see that any desire their discrowning. abdication is grand, no doubt. but possession is more profitable. "a well-bred dog does not wait to be kicked out," says the old see-saw. but the well-bred dog thereby turns himself into the cold, and leaves the crumbs from under the table to some other dog with less good-breeding and more worldly wisdom. the sensible thing to do is to stay where you like best to be; stay there with tooth and claw ready and a stout hide on which cudgels break. people, after all, soon get tired of kicking a dog that never will go. high-breeding was admirable in days when the world itself was high-bred. but those days are over. the world takes high-breeding now as only a form of insolence. * * * "to your poetic temper life is a vast romance, beautiful and terrible, like a tragedy of Æschylus. you stand amidst it entranced, like a child by the beauty and awe of a tempest. and all the while the worldly-wise, to whom the tempest is only a matter of the machineries of a theatre--of painted clouds, electric lights, and sheets of copper--the world-wise govern the storm as they choose and leave you in it defenceless and lonely as old lear. to put your heart into life is the most fatal of errors; it is to give a hostage to your enemies whom you can only ransom at the price of your ruin. but what is the use of talking? to you, life will be always alastor and epipsychidion, and to us, it will always be a treatise on whist. that's all!" "a treatise on whist! no! it is something much worse. it is a book of the bastile, with all entered as criminal in it, who cannot be bought off by bribe or intrigue, by a rogue's stratagem or a courtesan's vice!" "the world is only a big harpagon, and you and such as you are maître jacques. '_puisque vous l'avez voulu!_' you say,--and call him frankly to his face, '_avare, ladre, vilain, fessemathieu!_' and harpagon answers you with a big stick and cries, '_apprenez à parler!_' poor maître jacques! i never read of him without thinking what a type he is of genius. no offence to you, my dear. he'd the wit to see he would never be pardoned for telling the truth, and yet he told it! the perfect type of genius." * * * the untruthfulness of women communicates itself to the man whose chief society they form, and the perpetual necessities of intrigue end in corrupting the temper whose chief pursuit is passion. women who environ a man's fidelity by ceaseless suspicion and exaction, create the evil that they dread. * * * society, after all, asks very little. society only asks you to wash the outside of your cup and platter: inside you may keep any kind of nastiness that you like: only wash the outside. do wash the outside, says society; and it would be a churl or an ass indeed who would refuse so small a request. * * * a woman who is ice to his fire, is less pain to a man than the woman who is fire to his ice. there is hope for him in the one, but only a dreary despair in the other. the ardours that intoxicate him in the first summer of his passion serve but to dull and chill him in the later time. * * * a frog that dwelt in a ditch spat at a worm that bore a lamp. "why do you do that?" said the glow-worm. "why do you shine?" said the frog. * * * when a name is in the public mouth the public nostril likes to smell a foulness in it. it likes to think that byron committed incest; that milton was a brute; that raffaelle's vices killed him; that pascal was mad; that lamartine lived and died a pauper; that scipio took the treasury moneys; that thucydides and phidias stole; that heloise and hypatia were but loose women after all--so the gamut runs over twice a thousand years; and rousseau is at heart the favourite of the world because he was such a beast, with all his talent. when the world is driven to tears and prayers by schiller, it hugs itself to remember that he could not write a line without the smell of rotten apples near, and that when he died there was not enough money in his desk to pay his burial. they make him smaller, closer, less divine--the apples and the pauper's coffin. * * * "get a great cook; give three big balls a winter, and drive english horses; you need never consider society then, it will never find fault with you, _ma très-chère_." she did not quite understand, but she obeyed; and society never did. society says to the members of it as the spanish monk to the tree that he pruned, and that cried out under his hook: "it is not beauty that is wanted of you, nor shade, but olives." moral loveliness or mental depth, charm of feeling or nobleness of instinct, beauty, or shade, it does not ask for, but it does ask for olives--olives that shall round off its dessert, and flavour its dishes, and tickle its sated palate; olives that it shall pick up without trouble, and never be asked to pay for; these are what it likes. now it is precisely in olives that the woman who has one foot in society and one foot out of it will be profuse. she must please, or perish. she must content, or how will she be countenanced? the very perilousness of her position renders her solicitous to attract and to appease. society follows a natural selfishness in its condonation of her; she is afraid of it, therefore she must bend all her efforts to be agreeable to it! it can reject her at any given moment, so that her court of it must be continual and expansive. no woman will take so much pains, give so much entertainment, be so willing to conciliate, be so lavish in hospitality, be so elastic in willingness, as the woman who adores society, and knows that any black saturday it may turn her out with a bundle of rods, and a peremptory dismissal. between her and society there is a tacit bond. "amuse me, and i will receive you." "receive me, and i will amuse you." * * * of all lay figures there is none on earth so useful as a wooden husband. you should get a wooden husband, my dear, if you want to be left in peace. it is like a comfortable slipper or your dressing-gown after a ball. it is like springs to your carriage. it is like a clever maid who never makes mistakes with your notes or comes without coughing discreetly through your dressing-room. it is like tea, cigarettes, postage-stamps, foot-warmers, eiderdown counterpanes--anything that smooths life, in fact. young women do not think enough of this. an easy-going husband is the one indispensable comfort of life. he is like a set of sables to you. you may never want to put them on; still, if the north wind do blow--and one can never tell--how handy they are! you pop into them in a second, and no cold wind can find you out, my dear. couldn't find you out, if your shift were in rags underneath! without your husband's countenance, you have scenes. with scenes, you have scandal. with scandal, you come to a suit. with a suit, you most likely lose your settlements. and without your settlements, where are you in society? with a husband you are safe. you need never think about him in any way. his mere existence suffices. he will always be at the bottom of your table, and the head of your visiting-cards. that is enough. he will represent respectability for you, without your being at the trouble to represent respectability for yourself. respectability is a thing of which the shadow is more agreeable than the substance. happily for us, society only requires the shadow. * * * very well; if you dislike dancing, don't dance; though if a woman don't, you know, they always think she has got a short leg, or a cork leg, or something or other that's dreadful. but why not show yourself at them? at least show yourself. one goes to balls as one goes to church. it's a social muster. * * * the art of pleasing is more based on the art of seeming pleased than people think of, and she disarmed the prejudices of her enemies by the unaffected delight she appeared to take in themselves. you may think very ill of a woman, but after all you cannot speak very ill of her if she has assured you a hundred times that you are amongst her dearest friends. * * * society always had its fixed demands. it used to exact birth. it used to exact manners. in a remote and golden age there is a tradition that it was once contented with mind. nowadays it exacts money, or rather amusement, because if you don't let other folks have the benefit of your money, society will take no account of it. but have money and spend it well (that is, let society live on it, gorge with it, walk ankle-deep in it), and you may be anything and do anything; you may have been an omnibus conductor in the strand, and you may marry a duke's daughter; you may have been an oyster-girl in new york, and you may entertain royalties. it is impossible to exaggerate an age of anomaly and hyperbole. there never was an age when people were so voracious of amusement, and so tired of it, both in one. it is a perpetual carnival and a permanent yawn. if you can do anything to amuse us you are safe--till we get used to you--and then you amuse no longer, and must go to the wall. every age has its price: what walpole said of men must be true of mankind. anybody can buy the present age that will bid very high and pay with tact as well as bullion. there is nothing it will not pardon if it see its way to getting a new sensation out of its leniency. perhaps no one ought to complain. a society with an india-rubber conscience, no memory, and an absolute indifference to eating its own words and making itself ridiculous, is, after all, a convenient one to live in--if you can pay for its suffrages. * * * if you are only well beforehand with your falsehood all will go upon velvet; nobody ever listens to a rectification. "is it possible?" everybody cries with eager zest; but when they have only to say "oh, wasn't it so?" nobody feels any particular interest. it is the first statement that has the swing and the success; as for explanation or retractation--pooh! who cares to be bored? * * * those people with fine brains and with generous souls will never learn that life is after all only a game--a game which will go to the shrewdest player and the coolest. they never see this; not they; they are caught on the edge of great passions, and swept away by them. they cling to their affections like commanders to sinking ships, and go down with them. they put their whole heart into the hands of others, who only laugh and wring out their lifeblood. they take all things too vitally in earnest. life is to them a wonderful, passionate, pathetic, terrible thing that the gods of love and of death shape for them. they do not see that coolness and craft, and the tact to seize accident, and the wariness to obtain advantage, do in reality far more in hewing out a successful future than all the gods of greek or gentile. they are very unwise. it is of no use to break their hearts for the world; they will not change it. _la culte de l'humanité_ is the one of all others which will leave despair as its harvest. laugh like rabelais, smile like montaigne; that is the way to take the world. it only puts to death its sebastians, and makes its shelleys not sorrowful to see the boat is filling. * * * society always adheres to its principles; just as a moslem subscribes none the less to the koran because he may just have been blowing the froth off his bumper of mumm's before he goes to his mosque. * * * pleasantness is the soft note of this generation, just as scientific assassination is the harsh note of it. the age is compounded of the two. half of it is chloroform; the other half is dynamite. * * * you make us think, and society dislikes thinking. you call things by their right names, and society hates that, though queen bess didn't mind it. you trumpet our own littleness in our ear, and we know it so well that we do not care to hear much about it. you shudder at sin, and we have all agreed that there is no such thing as sin, only mere differences of opinion, which, provided they don't offend us, we have no business with: adultery is a _liaison_, lying is gossip, debt is a momentary embarrassment, immorality is a little slip, and so forth: and when we have arranged this pretty little dictionary of convenient pseudonyms, it is not agreeable to have it sent flying by fierce, dreadful, old words, that are only fit for some book that nobody ever reads, like milton or the family bible. we do not want to think. we do not want to hear. we do not care about anything. only give us a good dinner and plenty of money, and let us outshine our neighbours. there is the nineteenth century gospel. my dear, if ecclesiasticus himself came he would preach in vain. you cannot convince people that don't want to be convinced. we call ourselves christians--heaven save the mark!--but we are only the very lowest kind of pagans. we do not believe in anything--except that nothing matters. well, perhaps nothing does matter. only one wonders why ever so many of us were all created, only just to find _that_ out. * * * love to the looker-on may be blind, unwise, unworthily bestowed, a waste, a sacrifice, a crime; yet none the less is love, alone, the one thing that, come weal or woe, is worth the loss of every other thing; the one supreme and perfect gift of earth, in which all common things of daily life become transfigured and divine. and perhaps of all the many woes that priesthoods have wrought upon humanity, none have been greater than this false teaching, that love can ever be a sin. to the sorrow and the harm of the world, the world's religions have all striven to make men and women shun and deny their one angel as a peril or a shame; but religions cannot strive against nature, and when the lovers see each other's heaven in each other's eyes, they know the supreme truth that one short day together is worth a lifetime's glory. * * * genius is like the nautilus, all sufficient for itself in its pretty shell, quite at home in the big ocean, with no fear from any storm. but if a wanton stone from a boat passing by break the shell, where is the nautilus then? drowned; just like any common creature! * * * there are times when, even on the bravest temper, the ironical mockery, the cruel despotism of trifling circumstances, that have made themselves the masters of our lives, the hewers of our fate, must weigh with a sense of involuntary bondage, against which to strive is useless. the weird sisters were forms of awe and magnitude proportionate to the woes they dealt out, to the destiny they wove. but the very littleness of the daily chances that actually shape fate is, in its discordance and its mockery, more truly terrible and most hideously solemn--it is the little child's laugh at a frisking kitten which brings down the avalanche, and lays waste the mountain side, or it is the cackle of the startled geese that saves the capitol. to be the prey of atropos was something at the least; and the grim _deus vult perdere_, uttered in the delirium of pain, at the least made the maddened soul feel of some slender account in the sight of the gods and in the will of heaven. but we, who are the children of mere accident and the sport of idlest opportunity, have no such consolation. * * * of course they will stone you, as village bumpkins run out and stone an odd stray bird that they have never seen before; and the more beautiful the plumage looks, the harder rain the stones. if the bird were a sparrow the bumpkins would let it be. * * * love that remembers aught save the one beloved may be affection, but it is not love. * * * ariel could not combat a leopardess; ithuriel's spear glances pointless from a rhinoceros' hide. to match what is low and beat it, you must stoop, and soil your hands to cut a cudgel rough and ready. she did not see this; and seeing it, would not have lowered herself to do it. * * * which is the truth, which is the madness?--when the artist, in the sunlit ice of a cold dreamland, scorns love and adores but one art; or when the artist, amidst the bruised roses of a garden of passion, finds all heaven in one human heart? * * * there is a story in an old poet's forgotten writings of a woman who was queen when the world was young, and reigned over many lands, and loved a captive, and set him free, and thinking to hurt him less by seeming lowly, came down from her throne and laid her sceptre in the dust, and passed amongst the common maidens that drew water at the well, or begged at the city gate, and seemed as one of them, giving him all and keeping nought herself: "so will he love me more," she thought; but he, crowned king, thought only of the sceptre and the throne, and having those, looked not amongst the women at the gate, and knew her not, because what he had loved had been a queen. thus she, self-discrowned, lost both her lover and her kingdom. a wise man amongst the throng said to her, "nay, you should have kept aloof upon your golden seat and made him feel your power to deal life or death, and fretted him long, and long kept him in durance and in doubt, you, meanwhile, far above. for men are light creatures as the moths are." * * * they had lived in london and paris all their lives, and had, before this, heard patriotism used as a reason for a variety of things, from a minister's keeping in office against the will of the country, to a newspaper's writing a country into bloodshed and bankruptcy; they were quite aware of the word's elasticity. * * * it was the true and perfect springtide of the year, when love walks amongst the flowers, and comes a step nearer what it seeks with every dawn. without love, spring is of all seasons cruel; more cruel than all frost and frown of winter. * * * in the early days of an illicit passion concealment is charming; every secret stairway of intrigue has a sweet surprise at its close; to be in conspiracy with one alone against all the rest of humanity is the most seductive of seductions. love lives best in this soft twilight, where it only hears its own heart and one other's beat in the solitude. but when the reverse of the medal is turned; when every step on the stairs has been traversed and tired of, when, instead of the heart's beat, there is but an upbraiding voice, when it is no longer _with_ one but _from_ one that concealment is needed, then the illicit passion is its own nemesis, then nothing were ever drearier, wearier, more anxious, or more fatiguing than its devious paths become, and they seem to hold the sated wanderer in a labyrinth of which he knows, and knowing hates, every wind, and curve, and coil, yet out of which it seems to him he will never make his way back again into the light of wholesome day. * * * my dear, the days of fontenoy are gone out; everybody nowadays only tries to get the first fire, by hook or by crook. ours is an age of cowardice and cuirassed cannon; chivalry is out of place in it. * * * with a woman, the vulgarity that lies in public adulation is apt to nauseate; at least if she be so little of a woman that she is not vain, and so much of one that she cares for privacy. for the fame of our age is not glory but notoriety; and notoriety is to a woman like the bull to pasiphae--whilst it caresses it crushes. * * * had she your talent the world would have heard of her. as it is, she only enjoys herself. perhaps the better part. fame is a cone of smoke. enjoyment is a loaf of sugar. * * * there is no such coward as the woman who toadies society because she has outraged society. the bully is never brave. "oignez vilain il vous poindra: poignez vilain il vous oindra," is as true of the braggart's soul still, as it used to be in the old days of froissart, when the proverb was coined. * * * she was of opinion with sganarelle, that "cinq ou six coups de bâton entre gens qui s'aiment ne font que ragaillarder l'affection." but, like sganarelle also, she always premised that the right to give the blows should be hers. * * * she was only like any other well-dressed woman after all, and humanity considers that when genius comes forth in the flesh the touch of the coal from the altar should have left some visible stigmata on the lips it has burned, as, of course anybody knows, it invariably leaves some smirch upon the character. humanity feels that genius ought to wear a livery, as jews and loose women wore yellow in the old golden days of distinction. "they don't even paint!" said one lady, and felt herself aggrieved. * * * calumny is the homage of our contemporaries, as some south sea islanders spit on those they honour. * * * popularity has been defined as the privilege of being cheered by the kind of people you would never allow to bow to you. fame may be said to be the privilege of being slandered at once by the people who do bow to you, as well as by the people who do not. * * * nobody there knew at all. so everybody averred they knew for certain. nobody's story agreed with anybody else's, but that did not matter at all. the world, like joseph's father, gives the favourite coat of many colours which the brethren rend. * * * "be honey, and the flies will eat you," says the old saw, but, like most other proverbs, it will not admit of universal application. there is a way of being honey that is thoroughly successful and extremely popular, and constitutes a kind of armour that is bomb-proof. * * * the longest absence is less perilous to love than the terrible trials of incessant proximity. * * * she forgot that love likes to preserve its illusions, and that it will bear better all the sharpest deprivations in the world than it will the cruel tests of an unlovely and unveiled intercourse. she had committed the greatest error of all: she had let him be disenchanted by familiarity. passion will pardon rage, will survive absence, will forgive infidelity, will even thrive on outrage, and will often condone a crime; but when it dies of familiarity it is dead for ever and aye. * * * society will believe anything rather than ever believe that itself can be duped. if you have only assurance enough to rely implicitly on this, there is hardly anything you cannot induce it to accept. * * * here was the secret of her success. to her nothing was little. this temper is always popular with society. to enjoy yourself in the world, is, to the world, the prettiest of indirect compliments. the chief offence of the poet, as of the philosopher, is that the world as it is fails to satisfy them. society, which is after all only a conglomerate of hosts, has the host's weakness--all its guests must smile. the poet sighs, the philosopher yawns. society feels that they depreciate it. society feels more at ease without them. to find every one acceptable to you is to make yourself acceptable to every one. hived bees get sugar because they will give back honey. all existence is a series of equivalents. * * * even the discreetest friends will, like the closest-packed hold of a ship, leak occasionally. salt water and secrets are alike apt to ooze. * * * the simplicity of the artist is always the stumbling-block of the artist with the world. * * * a woman need never dread the fiercest quarrel with her lover; the tempest may bring sweeter weather than any it broke up, and after the thunder the singing of birds will sound lovelier than before. anger will not extinguish love, nor will scorn trample it dead; jealousy will fan its fires, and offences against it may but fasten closer the fetters that it adores beyond all liberty. but when love dies of a worn-out familiarity it perishes for ever and aye. jaded, disenchanted, wearied, indifferent, the tired passion expires of sheer listlessness and contemptuous disillusion. the death is slow and unperceived, but it is sure; and it is a death that has no resurrection. * * * there is nothing that you may not get people to believe in if you will only tell it them loud enough and often enough, till the welkin rings with it. * * * what raffaelle has left us must be to the glories he imagined as the weaver's dye to the sunset's fire. * * * a woman's violence is a mighty power; before it reason recoils unnerved, justice quails appalled, and peace perishes like a burnt-up scroll; it is a sand-storm, before which courage can do but little: the bravest man can but fall on his face and let it rage on above him. * * * a very trustful woman believes in her lover's fidelity with her heart; a very vain woman believes in it with her head. * * * from the moment that another life has any empire on ours, peace is gone. art spreads around us a profound and noble repose, but passion enters it, and then art grows restless and troubled as the deep sea at the call of the whirlwind. _wanda._ a man cast forth from his home is like a ship cut loose from its anchor and rudderless. whatever may have been his weakness, his offences, they cannot absolve you from your duty to watch over your husband's soul, to be his first and most faithful friend, to stand between him and his temptations and perils. that is the nobler side of marriage. when the light of love is faded, and its joys are over, its duties and its mercies remain. because one of the twain has failed in these the other is not acquitted of obligation. * * * "choose some career; make yourself some aim in life; do not fold your talents in a napkin; in a napkin that lies on the supper-table at bignon's. that idle, aimless life is very attractive, i daresay, in its way, but it must grow wearisome and unsatisfactory as years roll on. the men of my house have never been content with it; they have always been soldiers, statesmen, something or other beside mere nobles." "but they have had a great position." "men make their own position; they cannot make a name (at least, not to my thinking). you have that good fortune; you have a great name; you only need, pardon me, to make your manner of life worthy of it." "cannot make a name? surely in these days the beggar rides on horseback in all the ministries and half the nobilities;" "you mean that hans, pierre, or richard becomes a count, an excellency, or an earl? what does that change? it alters the handle; it does not alter the saucepan. no one can be ennobled. blood is blood; nobility can only be inherited; it cannot be conferred by all the heralds in the world. the very meaning and essence of nobility are descent, inherited traditions, instincts, habits, and memories--all that is meant by _noblesse oblige_." * * * "men are always like horace," said the princess. "they admire rural life, but they remain for all that with augustus." * * * i read the other day of some actresses dining off a truffled pheasant and a sack of bonbons. that is the sort of dinner we make all the year round, morally--metaphorically--how do you say it? it makes us thirsty, and perhaps--i am not sure--perhaps it leaves us half starved, though we nibble the sweetmeats, and don't know it. "your dinner must lack two things--bread and water." "yes; we never see either. it is all truffles and caramels and _vins frappés_." "there is your bread." she glanced at the little children, two pretty, graceful little maids of six and seven years old. "_ouf!_" said the countess branka. "they are only little bits of puff paste, a couple of _petits fours_ baked on the boulevards. if they be _chic_, and marry well, i for one shall ask no more of them. if ever you have children, i suppose you will rear them on science and the antonines?" "perhaps on the open air and homer." * * * cannot you make them understand that we are not public artists to need _réclames_, nor yet sovereigns to be compelled to submit to the microscope? is this the meaning of civilisation--to make privacy impossible, to oblige every one to live under a lens? * * * the world was much happier when distinctions and divisions were impassable. there are no sumptuary laws now. what is the consequence? that your _bourgeoise_ ruins her husband in wearing gowns fit only for a duchess, and your prince imagines it makes him popular to look precisely like a cabman or a bailiff. * * * a great love must be as exhaustless as the ocean in its mercy, and as profound in its comprehension. * * * what was love if not one long forgiveness? what raised it higher than the senses if not its infinite patience and endurance of all wrong? what was its hope of eternal life if it had not gathered strength in it enough to rise above human arrogance and human vengeance? * * * there is an infinite sense of peace in those cool, vast, unworn mountain solitudes, with the rain-mists sweeping like spectral armies over the level lands below, and the sun-rays slanting heavenward, like the spears of an angelic host. there is such abundance of rushing water, of deep grass, of endless shade, of forest trees, of heather and pine, of torrent and tarn; and beyond these are the great peaks that loom through breaking clouds, and the clear cold air, in which the vulture wheels and the heron sails; and the shadows are so deep, and the stillness is so sweet, and the earth seems so green, and fresh, and silent, and strong. nowhere else can one rest so well; nowhere else is there so fit a refuge for all the faiths and fancies that can find a home no longer in the harsh and hurrying world; there is room for them all in the austrian forests, from the erl-king to ariel and oberon. * * * "you think any sin may be forgiven?" he said irrelevantly, with his face averted. "that is a very wide question. i do not think st. augustine himself could answer it in a word or in a moment. forgiveness, i think, would surely depend on repentance." "repentance in secret--would that avail?" "scarcely--would it?--if it did not attain some sacrifice. it would have to prove its sincerity to be accepted." "you believe in public penance?" said sabran, with some impatience and contempt. "not necessarily public," she said, with a sense of perplexity at the turn his words had taken. "but of what use is it for one to say he repents unless in some measure he makes atonement?" "but where atonement is impossible?" "that could never be." "yes. there are crimes whose consequences can never be undone. what then? is he who did them shut out from all hope?" "i am no casuist," she said, vaguely troubled. "but if no atonement were possible i still think--nay, i am sure--a sincere and intense regret which is, after all, what we mean by repentance, must be accepted, must be enough." "enough to efface it in the eyes of one who had never sinned?" "where is there such a one? i thought you spoke of heaven." "i spoke of earth. it is all we can be sure to have to do with; it is our one poor heritage." "i hope it is but an antechamber which we pass through, and fill with beautiful things, or befoul with dust and blood, at our own will." "hardly at our own will. in your antechamber a capricious tyrant waits us all at birth. some come in chained; some free." * * * "do not compare the retreat of the soldier tired of his wounds, of the gambler wearied by his losses, with the poet or the saint who is at peace with himself and sees all his life long what he at least believes to be the smile of god. loyola and francis d'assisi are not the same thing, are not on the same plane." "what matter what brought them," she said softly, "if they reach the same goal?" * * * "you bade me do good at romaris. candidly, i see no way to do it except in saving a crew off a wreck, which is not an occasion that presents itself every week. i cannot benefit these people materially, since i am poor; i cannot benefit them morally, because i have not their faith in the things unseen, and i have not their morality in the things tangible. they are god-fearing, infinitely patient, faithful in their daily lives, and they reproach no one for their hard lot, cast on an iron shore and forced to win their scanty bread at the risk of their lives. they do not murmur either at duty or mankind. what should i say to them? i, whose whole life is one restless impatience, one petulant mutiny against circumstance? if i talk with them i only take them what the world always takes into solitude--discontent. it would be a cruel gift, yet my hand is incapable of holding out any other. it is a homely saying that no blood comes out of a stone; so, out of a life saturated with the ironies, the contempt, the disbelief, the frivolous philosophies, the hopeless negations of what we call society, there can be drawn no water of hope and charity, for the well-head--belief--is dried up at its source. some pretend, indeed, to find in humanity what they deny to exist as deity, but i should be incapable of the illogical exchange. it is to deny that the seed sprang from a root; it is to replace a grand and illimitable theism by a finite and vainglorious bathos. of all the creeds that have debased mankind, the new creed that would centre itself in man seems to me the poorest and the most baseless of all. if humanity be but a _vibrion_, a conglomeration of gases, a mere mould holding chemicals, a mere bundle of phosphorus and carbon, how can it contain the elements of worship? what matter when or how each bubble of it bursts? this is the weakness of all materialism when it attempts to ally itself with duty. it becomes ridiculous. the _carpi diem_ of the classic sensualists, the morality of the 'satyricon' or the 'decamerone,' are its only natural concomitants and outcome; but as yet it is not honest enough to say this. it affects the soothsayer's long robe, the sacerdotal frown, and is a hypocrite." in answer she wrote back to him: "i do not urge you to have my faith: what is the use? goethe was right. it is a question between a man and his own heart. no one should venture to intrude there. but taking life even as you do, it is surely a casket of mysteries. may we not trust that at the bottom of it, as at the bottom of pandora's, there may be hope? i wish again to think with goethe that immortality is not an inheritance, but a greatness to be achieved like any other greatness, by courage, self-denial, and purity of purpose--a reward allotted to the just. this is fanciful, may be, but it is not illogical. and without being either a christian or a materialist, without beholding either majesty or divinity in humanity, surely the best emotion that our natures know--pity--must be large enough to draw us to console where we can, and sustain where we can, in view of the endless suffering, the continual injustice, the appalling contrasts, with which the world is full. whether man be the _vibrion_ or the heir to immortality, the bundle of carbon or the care of angels, one fact is indisputable: he suffers agonies, mental and physical, that are wholly out of proportion to the brevity of his life, while he is too often weighted from infancy with hereditary maladies, both of body and of character. this is reason enough, i think, for us all to help each other, even though we feel, as you feel, that we are as lost children, wandering in a great darkness, with no thread or clue to guide us to the end." * * * "we do not cultivate music one-half enough among the peasantry. it lightens labour; it purifies and strengthens the home life; it sweetens black bread. do you remember that happy picture of jordaens' 'where the old sing, the young chirp,' where the old grandfather and grandmother, and the baby in its mother's arms, and the hale five-year-old boy, and the rough servant, are all joining in the same melody, while the goat crops the vine-leaves off the table? i should like to see every cottage interior like that when the work was done. i would hang up an etching from jordaens where you would hang up, perhaps, the programme of proudhon." then she walked back with him through the green sun-gleaming woods. "i hope that i teach them content," she continued. "it is the lesson most neglected in our day. '_niemand will ein schuster sein; jedermann ein dichter._' it is true we are very happy in our surroundings. a mountaineer's is such a beautiful life, so simple, healthful, hardy, and fine; always face to face with nature. i try to teach them what an inestimable joy that alone is. i do not altogether believe in the prosaic views of rural life. it is true that the peasant digging his trench sees the clod, not the sky; but then when he does lift his head the sky is there, not the roof, not the ceiling. that is so much in itself. and here the sky is an everlasting grandeur; clouds and domes of snow are blent together. when the stars are out above the glaciers how serene the night is, how majestic! even the humblest creature feels lifted up into that eternal greatness. then you think of the home-life in the long winters as dreary; but it is not so. over away there, at lahn, and other places on the hallstadtersee, they do not see the sun for five months; the wall of rock behind them shuts them from all light of day; but they live together, they dance, they work. the young men recite poems, and the old men tell tales of the mountains and the french war, and they sing the homely songs of the _schnader-hüpfeln_. then when winter passes, when the sun comes up again over the wall of rocks, when they go out into the light once more, what happiness it is! one old man said to me, 'it is like being born again!' and another said, 'where it is always warm and light i doubt they forget to thank god for the sunshine;' and quite a young child said, all of his own accord, 'the primroses live in the dusk all the winter, like us, and then when the sun comes up we and they run out together, and the mother of christ has set the water and the little birds laughing.' i would rather have the winter of lahn than the winter of belleville." * * * if the venus de medici could be animated into life women would only remark that her waist was large. * * * tedium is the most terrible and the most powerful foe love ever encounters. * * * "life is after all like baccarat or billiards," he said to himself. "it is no use winning unless there be a _galerie_ to look on and applaud." * * * time hung on his hands like a wearisome wallet of stones. when all the habits of life are suddenly rent asunder, they are like a rope cut in two. they may be knotted together clumsily, or they may be thrown altogether aside and a new strand woven, but they will never be the same thing again. * * * the greatness of a great race is a thing far higher than mere pride. its instincts are noble and supreme, its obligations are no less than its privileges; it is a great light which streams backward through the darkness of the ages, and if by that light you guide not your footsteps, then are you thrice accursed, holding as you do that lamp of honour in your hands. * * * even to those who care nothing for society, and dislike the stir and noise of the world about them, there is still always a vague sense of depression in the dispersion of a great party; the house seems so strangely silent, the rooms seem so strangely empty, servants flitting noiselessly here and there, a dropped flower, a fallen jewel, an oppressive scent from multitudes of fading blossoms, a broken vase perhaps, or perhaps a snapped fan--these are all that are left of the teeming life crowded here one little moment ago. though one may be glad they are gone, yet there is a certain sadness in it. "_le lendemain de la fête_" keeps its pathos, even though the _fête_ itself has possessed no poetry and no power to amuse. * * * in every one of her villages she had her schools on this principle, and they throve, and the children with them. many of these could not read a printed page, but all of them could read the shepherd's weather-glass in sky and flower; all of them knew the worm that was harmful to the crops, the beetle that was harmless in the grass; all knew a tree by a leaf, a bird by a feather, an insect by a grub. modern teaching makes a multitude of gabblers. she did not think it necessary for the little goat-herds, and dairymaids, and foresters, and charcoal-burners, and sennerins, and carpenters, and cobblers, to study the exact sciences or draw casts from the antique. she was of opinion, with pope, that "a little learning is a dangerous thing," and that a smattering of it will easily make a man morose and discontented, whilst it takes a very deep and lifelong devotion to it to teach a man content with his lot. genius, she thought, is too rare a thing to make it necessary to construct village schools for it, and whenever or wherever it comes upon earth, it will surely be its own master. she did not believe in culture for little peasants who have to work for their daily bread at the plough-tail or with the reaping-hook. she knew that a mere glimpse of a canaan of art and learning is cruelty to those who never can enter into and never even can have leisure to merely gaze on it. she thought that a vast amount of useful knowledge is consigned to oblivion whilst children are taught to waste their time in picking up the crumbs of a great indigestible loaf of artificial learning. she had her scholars taught their "abc," and that was all. those who wished to write were taught, but writing was not enforced. what they were made to learn was the name and use of every plant in their own country; the habits and ways of all animals; how to cook plain food well, and make good bread; how to brew simples from the herbs of their fields and woods, and how to discern the coming weather from the aspect of the skies, the shutting-up of certain blossoms, and the time of day from those "poor men's watches," the opening flowers. in all countries there is a great deal of useful household and out-of-door lore that is fast being choked out of existence under books and globes, and which, unless it passes by word of mouth from generation to generation, is quickly and irrevocably lost. all this lore she had cherished by her school-children. her boys were taught in addition any useful trade they liked--boot-making, crampon-making, horse-shoeing, wheel-making, or carpentry. this trade was made a pastime to each. the little maidens learned to sew, to cook, to spin, to card, to keep fowls and sheep and cattle in good health, and to know all poisonous plants and berries by sight. "i think it is what is wanted," she said. "a little peasant child does not need to be able to talk of the corolla and the spathe, but he does want to recognise at a glance the flower that will give him healing and the berries that will give him death. his sister does not in the least require to know why a kettle boils, but she does need to know when a warm bath will be good for a sick baby or when hurtful. we want a new generation to be helpful, to have eyes, and to know the beauty of silence. i do not mind much whether my children reap or not. the labourer that reads turns socialist, because his brain cannot digest the hard mass of wonderful facts he encounters. but i believe every one of my little peasants, being wrecked like crusoe, would prove as handy as he." * * * "can you inform me how it is that women possess tenacity of will in precise proportion to the frivolity of their lives? all these butterflies have a volition of iron." "it is egotism. intensely selfish people are always very decided as to what they wish. that is in itself a great force; they do not waste their energies in considering the good of others." * * * "i am not like you, my dear olga," she wrote to her relative the countess brancka. "i am not easily amused. that _course effrénée_ of the great world carries you honestly away with it; all those incessant balls, those endless visits, those interminable conferences on your toilettes, that continual circling of human butterflies round you, those perpetual courtships of half a score of young men; it all diverts you. you are never tired of it; you cannot understand any life outside its pale. all your days, whether they pass in paris or petersburgh, at trouville, at biarritz, or at vienna or scheveningen, are modelled on the same lines; you must have excitement as you have your cup of chocolate when you wake. what i envy you is that the excitement excites you. when i was amidst it i was not excited; i was seldom ever diverted. see the misfortune that it is to be born with a grave nature! i am as serious as marcus antoninus. you will say that it comes of having learned latin and greek. i do not think so; i fear i was born unamusable. i only truly care about horses and trees, and they are both grave things, though a horse can be playful enough sometimes when he is allowed to forget his servitude. your friends, the famous tailors, send me admirably-chosen costumes which please that sense in me which titians and vandycks do (i do not mean to be profane); but i only put them on as the monks do their frocks. perhaps i am very unworthy of them; at least, i cannot talk toilette as you can with ardour a whole morning and every whole morning of your life. you will think i am laughing at you; indeed i am not. i envy your faculty of sitting, as i am sure you are sitting now, in a straw chair on the shore, with a group of _boulevardiers_ around you, and a crowd making a double hedge to look at you when it is your pleasure to pace the planks. my language is involved. i do not envy you the faculty of doing it, of course; i could do it myself to-morrow. i envy you the faculty of finding amusement in doing it, and finding flattery in the double hedge." * * * "no doubt a love of nature is a triple armour against self-love. how can i say how right i think your system with these children? you seem not to believe me. there is only one thing in which i differ with you; you think the 'eyes that see' bring content. surely not! surely not!" "it depends on what they see. when they are wide open in the woods and fields, when they have been taught to see how the tree-bee forms her cell and the mole her fortress, how the warbler builds his nest for his love and the water-spider makes his little raft, how the leaf comes forth from the hard stem and the fungi from the rank mould, then i think that sight is content--content in the simple life of the woodland place, and in such delighted wonder that the heart of its own accord goes up in peace and praise to the creator. the printed page may teach envy, desire, coveteousness, hatred, but the book of nature teaches resignation, hope, willingness to labour and live, submission to die. the world has gone farther and farther from peace since larger and larger have grown its cities, and its shepherd kings are no more." * * * she remained still, her hands folded on her knees, her face set as though it were cast in bronze. the great bedchamber, with its hangings of pale blue plush and its silver-mounted furniture, was dim and shadowy in the greyness of a midwinter afternoon. doors opened, here to the bath and dressing chambers, there to the oratory, yonder to the apartments of sabran. she looked across to the last, and a shudder passed over her; a sense of sickness and revulsion came on her. she sat still and waited; she was too weak to go farther than this room. she was wrapped in a long loose gown of white satin, lined and trimmed with sable. there were black bearskins beneath her feet; the atmosphere was warmed by hot air, and fragrant with some bowls full of forced roses, which her women had placed there at noon. the grey light of the fading afternoon touched the silver scrollwork of the bed, and the silver frame of one large mirror, and fell on her folded hands and on the glister of their rings. her head leaned backward against the high carved ebony of her chair. her face was stern and bitterly cold, as that of maria theresa when she signed the loss of silesia. he approached from his own apartments, and came timidly and with a slow step forward. he did not dare to salute her, or go near to her; he stood like a banished man, disgraced, a few yards from her seat. two months had gone by since he had seen her. when he entered he read on her features that he must leave all hope behind. her whole frame shrank within her as she saw him there, but she gave no sign of what she felt. without looking at him she spoke, in a voice quite firm, though it was faint from feebleness. "i have but little to say to you, but that little is best said, not written." he did not reply; his eyes were watching her with a terrible appeal, a very agony of longing. they had not rested on her for two months. she had been near the gates of the grave, within the shadow of death. he would have given his life for a word of pity, a touch, a regard--and he dared not approach her! she dared not look at him. after that first glance, in which there had been so much of horror, of revulsion, she did not once look towards him. her face had the immutability of a mask of stone; so many wretched days and haunted nights had she spent nerving herself for this inevitable moment that no emotion was visible in her; into her agony she had poured her pride, and it sustained her, as the plaster poured into the dry bones at pompeii makes the skeleton stand erect, the ashes speak. "after that which you have told me," she said, after a moment's silence in which he fancied she must hear the throbbing of his heart, "you must know that my life cannot be lived out beside yours. the law gives you many rights, no doubt, but i believe you will not be so base as to enforce them." "i have no rights!" he muttered. "i am a criminal before the law. the law will free you from me, if you choose." "i do not choose," she said coldly; "you understand me ill. i do not carry my wrongs or my woes to others. what you have told me is known only to prince vásárhely and to the countess brancka. he will be silent; he has the power to make her so. the world need know nothing. can you think that i shall be its informant?" "if you divorce me"---- he murmured. a quiver of bitter anger passed over her features, but she retained her self-control. "divorce? what could divorce do for me? could it destroy the past? neither church or law can undo what you have done. divorce would make me feel that in the past i had been your mistress, not your wife, that is all." she breathed heavily, and again pressed her hand on her breast. "divorce!" she repeated. "neither priest nor judge can efface a past as you clean a slate with a sponge! no power, human or divine, can free _me_, purify _me_, wash your dishonoured blood from your children's veins." she almost lost her self-control; her lips trembled, her eyes were full of flame, her brow was black with passion. with a violent effort she restrained herself; invective or reproach seemed to her low and coarse and vile. he was silent; his greatest fear, the torture of which had harassed him sleeping and waking ever since he had placed his secret in her hands, was banished at her words. she would seek no divorce--the children would not be disgraced--the world of men would not learn his shame; and yet as he heard a deeper despair than any he had ever known came over him. she was but as those sovereigns of old who scorned the poor tribunals of man's justice because they held in their own might the power of so much heavier chastisement. "i shall not seek for a legal separation," she resumed; "that is to say, i shall not, unless you force me to do so to protect myself from you. if you fail to abide by the conditions i shall prescribe, then you will compel me to resort to any means that may shelter me from your demands. but i do not think you will endeavour to force on me conjugal rights which you obtained over me by a fraud." all that she desired was to end quickly the torture of this interview, from which her courage had not permitted her to shrink. she had to defend herself because she would not be defended by others, and she only sought to strike swiftly and unerringly so as to spare herself and him all needless or lingering throes. her speech was brief, for it seemed to her that no human language held expression deep and vast enough to measure the wrong done to her, could she seek to give it utterance. she would not have made a sound had any murderer stabbed her body; she would not now show the death-wound of her soul and honour to this man who had stabbed both to the quick. other women would have made their moan aloud, and cursed him. the daughter of the szalras choked down her heart in silence, and spoke as a judge speaks to one condemned by man and god. "i wish no words between us," she said, with renewed calmness. "you know your sin; all your life has been a lie. i will keep me and mine back from vengeance; but do not mistake--god may pardon you, i never! what i desired to say to you is that henceforth you shall wholly abandon the name you stole; you shall assign the land of romaris to the people; you shall be known only as you have been known here of late, as the count von idrac. the title was mine to give, i gave it you; no wrong is done save to my fathers, who were brave men." he remained silent; all excuse he might have offered seemed as if from him to her it would be but added outrage. he was her betrayer, and she had the power to avenge betrayal; naught that she could say or do could seem unjust or undeserved beside the enormity of her irreparable wrongs. "the children?" he muttered faintly, in an unuttered supplication. "they are mine," she said, always with the same unchanging calm that was cold as the frozen earth without. "you will not, i believe, seek to enforce your title to dispute them with me?" he gave a gesture of denial. he, the wrong-doer, could not realise the gulf which his betrayal had opened betwixt himself and her. on him all the ties of their past passion were sweet, precious, unchanged in their dominion. he could not realise that to her all these memories were abhorred, poisoned, stamped with ineffable shame; he could not believe that she, who had loved the dust that his feet had brushed, could now regard him as one leprous and accursed. he was slow to understand that his sin had driven him out of her life for evermore. commonly it is the woman on whom the remembrance of love has an enthralling power when love itself is traitor; commonly it is the man on whom the past has little influence, and to whom its appeal is vainly made; but here the position was reversed. he would have pleaded by it; she refused to acknowledge it, and remained as adamant before it. his nerve was too broken, his conscience was too heavily weighted, for him to attempt to rebel against her decisions or sway her judgment. if she had bidden him go out and slay himself he would gladly have obeyed. "once you said," he murmured timidly, "that repentance washes out all crimes. will you count my remorse as nothing?" "you would have known no remorse had your secret never been discovered!" he shrank as from a blow. "that is not true," he said wearily. "but how can i hope you will believe me?" she answered nothing. "once you told me that there was no sin you would not pardon me!" he muttered. she replied: "we pardon sin; we do not pardon baseness." she paused and put her hand to her heart; then she spoke again in that cold, forced, measured voice, which seemed on his ear as hard and pitiless as the strokes of an iron hammer, beating life out beneath it. "you will leave hohenszalras; you will go where you will; you have the revenues of idrac. any other financial arrangements that you may wish to make i will direct my lawyers to carry out. if the revenues of idrac be insufficient to maintain you"---- "do not insult me--so," he murmured, with a suffocated sound in his voice, as though some hand were clutching at his throat. "insult _you_!" she echoed with a terrible scorn. she resumed with the same inflexible calmness, "you must live as becomes the rank due to my husband. the world need suspect nothing. there is no obligation to make it your confidante. if any one were wronged by the usurpation of the name you took it would be otherwise, but as it is you will lose nothing in the eyes of men; society will not flatter you the less. the world will only believe that we are tired of one another, like so many. the blame will be placed on me. you are a brilliant comedian, and can please and humour it. i am known to be a cold, grave, eccentric woman, a recluse, of whom it will deem it natural that you are weary. since you allow that i have the right to separate from you--to deal with you as with a criminal--you will not seek to recall your existence to me. you will meet my abstinence by the only amends you can make to me. let me forget--as far as i am able--let me forget that ever you have lived!" he staggered slightly, as if under some sword-stroke from an unseen hand. a great faintness came upon him. he had been prepared for rage, for reproach, for bitter tears, for passionate vengeance; but this chill, passionless, disdainful severance from him for all eternity he had never dreamed of; it crept like the cold of frost into his very marrow; he was speechless and mute with shame. if she had dragged him through all the tribunals of the world she would have hurt him and humiliated him far less. better all the hooting gibes of the whole earth than this one voice, so cold, so inflexible, so full of utter scorn! despite her bodily weakness she rose to her full height, and for the first time looked at him. "you have heard me," she said; "now go!" but instead, blindly, not knowing what he did, he fell at her feet. "but you loved me," he cried, "you loved me so well!" the tears were coursing down his cheeks. she drew the sables of her robe from his touch. "do not recall _that_," she said, with a bitter smile. "women of my race have killed men before now for less outrage than yours has been to me." "kill me!" he cried to her. "i will kiss your hand." she was mute. he clung to her gown with an almost convulsive supplication. "believe, at least, that _i_ loved _you_!" he cried, beside himself in his misery and impotence. "believe that, at the least!" she turned from him. "sir, i have been your dupe for ten long years; i can be so no more!" under that intolerable insult he rose slowly, and his eyes grew blind, and his limbs trembled, but he walked from her, and sought not again either her pity or her pardon. on the threshold he looked back once. she stood erect, one hand resting upon the carved work of her high oak chair; cold, stately, motionless, the furred velvets falling to her feet like a queen's robes. he looked, then passed the threshold and closed the door behind him. the end. copyright (c) by lidija rangelovska. please see the corresponding rtf file for this ebook. rtf is rich text format, and is readable in nearly any modern word processing program. [illustration: the first monday.] [illustration: the first fashion plate.] [illustration: the first lesson.] [illustration] the complete cynic being bunches of wisdom culled from the calendars of oliver herford ethel watts mumford addison mizner [illustration] paul elder & company publishers · · san francisco [illustration: copy-right] copyright, , by elder and shepard copyright, , by paul elder and company copyright, , by paul elder and company copyright, , by paul elder and company copyright, , by paul elder and company copyright, , by paul elder and company copyright, , by paul elder and company copyright, , by paul elder and company [illustration: verbum sap] [illustration: fur give and fur get.] dedication, to the merry "wisdom may not be confined 'twixt covers of the dictionary, neither will it be defined; learning, you may quickly bury; wisdom--soul and life combined combined-- lingers ever with the merry." [illustration] dedication, to the world at large this little book of wisdom great it pleases us to dedicate to that rampageous reprobate-- the world at large. yet as we mark his stony phiz and see him whoop and whirl and whiz, we can but cry--o lord, why _is_ the world at large! oliver herford. [illustration] dedication, to foolish-wise and wisely-gay of whate'er country they may be, we dedicate this little gem by ollie, addison and me, in hopes they'll buy in massive lots and help us boil our little pots. (t) [illustration: dedication] dedication, reader--would you a cynic be? vindictive--vitriolic? then be one in your infancy-- your nurse will think it's colic. like measles take it while you're young, 'twill drive your parents frantic, but you'll grow up, (if still unhung) an optimist romantic. (h) [illustration] [illustration] dedication, then here's to those who love the stars and diligently tea them, and here's to all ambitious souls who strongly strive to be them; but most to those discerning ones who know stars when they see them. [illustration] "now the well of truth 'tis an ink well." sayings of towanda. [illustration: the root of all evil ($)] book one god gives us our relatives--thank god we can choose our friends. (m) when papa comes in at the door the lover flies out at the window. (t) look before you sleep. (m) it's a strong stomach that has no turning. (t) those that came to cough remain to spray. (h) [illustration] naught is lost save honor. (h) god sends the tempest to the shorn lambs. (t) silence gives contempt. (m) people who love in glass houses should pull down the blinds. (t & m) god help those who do not help themselves. (t & m) a church fair exchange is robbery. (t) fools rush in and win, where angels fear to tread. (m) a rich man can get the eye of the beadle. (m) the boulevards are the roads to destruction. (m) economy is the thief of time. (t) a bird on a bonnet is worth ten on a plate. (t) as you sew so must you rip. (t) [illustration: the quill is as mighty off the wing. (m)] [illustration] let him now speak or hereafter hold his piece of information for a good price. (m) a lie in time saves nine. (t) a thing of duty is an-noy forever. (h) better all a loafer than a half-bred. (t & m) matri-mony is the root of all evil. (t) necessity is the mother of contention. (t) a word to the wise is resented. (m) where there is a will there's a lawsuit. (t) hell is paved with big pretensions. (t) "mercy and truth are met together, righteousness and peace have kissed each other." look out!!!! (m) pride will have a fall bonnet. (m) he laughs best, who's laugh lasts. (t) [illustration] he that is surety for a stranger shall be wiser the next time. (m) pride goeth before and the bill cometh after. (m) single blessedness and married cussedness. (t) young widows in ash cloth and sashes. (m) blood is bluer than water. (t) none but the brave desert the fair. (t) a little widow is a dangerous thing. (m) money shall cover a multitude of sins. (t) "who so findeth a (rich) wife findeth a good thing." (m) prov. xviii, . whose service is perfect freedom??? (m) as thou hast made thy bed, why lie about it? (m) [illustration: some are born widows, some achieve widowhood, whilst others have widows thrust upon them. (t)] [illustration] absinthe makes the heart grow fonder. (t) misery loves company, but company does not reciprocate. (t) if the wolf be at the door, open it and eat him. (m) many are called but few get up. (h) saint heart ne'er won fair lady. (m) honor is without profit--in most countries. (t & m) consistency, thou art a mule! (m) the poor ye have with ye always--but they are not invited. (t) eat your steak or you'll have stew. (m) stays make waist. (m) one touch of nature makes the whole world blush. (t & m) think of your ancestors and your posterity and you will never marry. (m) [illustration] sweet are the uses of diversity. (m) tamper not with fledged fools. (t) tomorrow would be sweet if we could kill yesterday. (m) a lie for a lie and a truth for a truth. (m) fain would i write yet fear to pall. (t) in one's old coterie may one sport the old pantry and vestry? (h) it is better to make friends fast than to make fast friends. (m) there's many a sip 'twixt the cup and the lip. (m) a friend in deeds is a friend indeed. (m) all that a man knoweth will he tell to his wife. (m & t) one husband does not make a home. (t) what is home without another? (h) [illustration: when folly is bliss 'tis ignorance to be otherwise. (m)] a fool and his honey are soon mated. (t & m) there is no soak without some fire water. (m) tell the truth and shame the--family. (t) there's none so blind as those who won't fee. (h) knowledge is power--if you know it about the right person. (m) [illustration] [illustration: next!] book two a little spark may smirk unseen. (t) the wages of gin is debt. (t) "the grinders may cease"--but the grind goes on forever. (m) actresses will happen in the best regulated families. (h) too many hooks spoil the cloth. (t) [illustration: dead men tell no tales--?--?--! (t)] one good turn deserves applause. (t) opposition is the surest persuasion. (m) he who owes nothing fears nothing. (t) you will never miss water while the champagne runs dry. (t) money makes the mayor go. (h) there's a pen for the wise, but alas! no pound for the foolish. (m) imagination makes cowards of us all. (t) wild oats make a bad autumn crop. (t) the number of a man's widows will be in proportion to the size of his estate. (m) he that is down need not fear plucking. (m) nothing succeeds like--failure. (h) let him that standeth pat take heed lest they call. (t) don't take the will for the deed--get the deed. (m) the doors of opportunity are marked "push" and "pull." (t) charity is the sterilized milk of human kindness. (h) the greatest possession is self-possession. (t) pleasant company always accepted. (t) the gossip is not always of the swift, nor the tattle of the wrong. (t) advice to parents--"cast not your girls before swains." (t) only the young die good. (t) [illustration: the wisest reflections are but vanity. (t)] the doctor's motto--a fee in the hand is worth two on the book. (t) give an inch and take an ell. (t) what can't be cured must be insured. (h) the more taste the less creed. (t) there is no time like the pleasant. (h) the danger lies not in the big ears of little pitchers, but in the large mouths. (t) he jests at scores who never played at bridge. (t) women change their minds a dozen times a day--that's why they are so clean-minded. (h) a gentle lie turneth away inquiry. (h) never too old to yearn. (t) kind hearts are more than coronets--few girls can afford to have either. (t) he who fights and runs away will live to write about the fray. (h) the pension is mightier than the sword. (t) a fool's paradise is nevertheless a paradise. (t) let well enough alone--there's brandy and soda. (m) a fellow failing makes us wondrous unkind. (h) society covers a multitude of sins. (t) all is not bold that titters. (t) the ways of the transgressor are smooth. (h) the steamer's motto--you can't eat your cake and have it, too. (h) [illustration: you may lead an ass to knowledge--but you cannot make him think. (t)] the more waist the less speed. (m) the self-made man is often proud of a poor job. (t) [illustration: shut your mouth and open your eyes-- and you'll need nothing to make you wise. (t)] [illustration] [illustration: the first jealousy.] book three many a man's house is his bastille. (t) costly thy garments as thy tailor will stand for. (m) to have and to scold. (m) busy people are never busybodies. (t) to make the winter pass quickly--sign a note in the fall. (h) the grafter's motto--work ill done must be twice paid for. (t) [illustration: too many looks spoil the cloth. (t)] never give up from the ship. (m) look out for your friends--the neighbors will look in for themselves. (t) come in (and see if you can stay in) without knocking. (m) better a live doggerel than a dead sonnet. (t) a cat may look at a king--but it takes four aces to see four of 'em. (t & m) chicago motto--i smell a vat. (m) diplomacy: lying in state. (h) millionaire: a large body entirely surrounded by water-ed stock. (t & m) contentment is the smother of invention. (t) "the law is open"--to question. (t) life insurance motto--robbing the widows early and orphan. (t) an ounce of convention is worth a pound of explanation. (t) opportunity knows no law. (t) avoid the plate in sincere prayer. (m) a kiss in time saves brine. (h) the doctor's motto--better a dead patient than a live appendix. (t) whom the gallery gods love dye young. (h) the locksmith is the only tradesman love can afford to laugh at. (t) where the fire burns hottest there is no smoke. (m) nobody's business is everybody's curiosity. (t) rice makes might. (h) general oyama. sow your wild oats in a peach orchard. (m) first waters run steep. (h) a hair in the head is worth two in the brush. (h) [illustration: a lion among ladies is a terrible thing. shakespeare. (t)] o woman, in thine hours of ease, uncertain, coy, and hard to please, when pains of anguish wring the brow, you send us to the hospital now! (t) take what comes your way--but select the way. (t) he that seweth the wind will bust his singer. (t) jealousy is confession of weakness. (t) chauffeur--and much further. (h) motophor. put not your trust in investigation. (t) all's well that ends swell. (t) meet out justice as she should be met. (m) the woman who forgives and doesn't forget is trying to preempt heaven and raise hell. (t) fed men tell no tales. (m) a "wise" son maketh a mad father. (m) "time" was made for knaves. (t) one man's canned meat is another man's poison. (h) the packer's proverb. once a good fellow always a good thing. (m) pluck not the date of the itching palm. (t) there's always room at the top--after the investigation. (h) on with the dance, let joy be unrefined. (m) not lost, but gone to law. (m) let your x-rays so shine that they may see your bad works. (t) the mug that goes often with the swells will some day be broke. (h) a woman on time is one in nine. (t) there are enough serious things in life without considering yourself one of them. (m) [illustration: the first cynic. (h)] [illustration: the first quarrel. (h)] first catch your reputation and then see if you can keep up with it. (t) there are more fish taken out of a stream than ever were in it. (h) the angler's motto. many a smile maketh a flirt. (m) i was glad when they said unto me, let us go into the house of a lord. (h) snob's text. architecture! oh, the crimes that have been committed in thy name! (m) obesity is the mother of abstinence. (h) blessed is the peacemaker; for he shall need the kingdom of heaven as a refuge. (m) he jests at scares who never dodged a car. (t) a switch in time saves a fine. (h) motophor. of the six senses: the mightiest of these is humor. (m) it's the man behind the chauffeur who gets the jerk. (t & m). necessity knows any mother-in-law. (h) the world is divided into two groups: those trying to get thin and those trying to get fat. (m) what's in a name--without seventy-five per cent. advertising. (m) the worst thing about cynicism is its truth. (t) tell your secrets and become a slave. (m) hunger is the best sauce--and the worst boss. (m) to go wool gathering. (t) wall street's motto. you may drink hearty but not healthy. (t) he who will have a finger in every pie will some day find it mince. (t) don't kill sheep too near home. (m) [illustration: nothing is stronger than custom-s. (t)] he's a friend to none who's a friend to oil. (t) the standard motto. i would fain not die a dry death. (m) with apologies to "the tempest." a penny yearned is a penny shaved. (t) the sage's motto. o wad some power the giftie gie us to see some people before they see us! (m) discretion is the better part of indiscretion. (t) love is blind--that explains many things. (m) a cad--the other man. a cat--the other woman. (h) in the midst of life we are in debt. (m) a man of courage never needs weapons--but he may need bail. (m) a flea in the ear is worse than two on the dog. (t) he that liveth well hath (l)earned enough. (m) born with a silver spoon in the mouth--and somebody hopes you choke. (t) people who have never been tempted are just as good as cold-storage eggs. (h) united we stand it, divided we re-marry. (t) the original scotch high bawl--bagpipes. (h) old wine and women should not be stirred. (m) a piller for society--a fashionable doctor. (h) when thieves fall out--then honest men may steal. (t) every jock has his pull. (t) in unions is discord. (t) "laissez faire." (h) corset-maker's motto. indiscretion is the better part of pallor. (h) [illustration: to this complexion do we come at last. hamlet. (t)] "troubles never come singly." why marry? (t) some people's genius lies in giving infinite pains. (t) a soft drink turneth away company. (h) they also swear who only stand and wait. (t) he who runs may face a recount. (m) better fifty minutes motoring than a cycle to cathay. (h) [illustration: finish] [illustration: the eternal deception--find the devil?] book four announce of prevention--"no admittance." (h) all the world shoves a shover. (t) give a jury enough dope and it will hang itself. (h) if the shoe fits--put it on to somebody else. (t) it's the darkest before pawn. (m) a policy shop--the embassy. (t) he payeth best who loveth best. (t) if at first you don't succeed, buy, buy again. (h) from "maxims of a johnny." you may have many strings to your beau, but "it doesn't always follow." (h) two is company, three is investigation. (t) "peace that passeth all understanding"--the hague conference. (h) those who "cursed the day they were born" must have been infant prodigies. (t) they say the artist never repeats himself--many artists are too busy repeating other people. (h) beware games of chance--the game doesn't take chances. (t) the original bone of contention--adam's rib. (h) the golden mean--nouveau riche. (h) why do those today whom you can work tomorrow? (m) blow it--while you're young! (h) [illustration: wade--and found wanting. (h)] how far that little scandal throws its beams! so shines a bad deed in the daily press. (t) receipts of the mighty--dividends. (h) ohm! sweet ohm! (h) electrician's motto. wife is uncertain. (t) perhaps it was because nero played the fiddle, they burned rome. (h) a counter irritant--the saleslady. (t) a cat has nine lives, but the scandal she starts has ninety. (t) a saturday night egg is an egg that has "tried all week to be good." (h) don't kill the goose that lays the golden egg--pluck it. (t) first be sure it's light, then go to bed. (m) i only regret that i have but one wife to leave in my country. (t) last words of the absconder. consistency is the only jewel that tempts no woman. (h) it's a wise saw that cuts two ways. (t) best fed, soonest landed. (t) truth is stronger than diction. (h) everybody hates an early riser. (h) cut your friends according to your check-book. (t) the parvenue's motto. one may do favors for many but accept them from few. (m) when the author's away--we write the play. (h) actor's motto. buy, baby, buy!!! (h) chorus girls' college yell. work, for the light is coming! (t) the burglar's motto. leave no "turn" unstoned. (h) dramatic critic's motto. the burning question--will we get the insurance? (t) publicity is the bent pin in the seats of the mighty. (h) if thou hast a white elephant, be comforted--somewhere there is a zoo. (t) [illustration: a straw shows which way the gin flows. (h)] to be a cynic, get a pair of cross-eyed goggles blue, and you will see folks everywhere as other folks see you. (h) no one knows the worth of woman's love till he sues for alienation. (h) who whirls an auto reaps an autopsy. (h) to the food inspector all things are pure. (m) a pool--and your money is soon parted. (h) ignorance of the law excuses no man--from practising it. (t) stock exchange is all robbery. (h) if some people got their rights they would complain of being deprived of their wrongs. (h) too many "cooks" spoil the tour. (m) an ounce of detention is worth a pound of too sure. (t) a medium: one who puts a spook in your wheels. (h) pay the piper--but jew down his bill. (t) exclusiveness is nature's quarantine for snobs. the polecat is the most exclusive of animals--the garlic of vegetables. (h) when art is long the artist is short. (h) men may come and men may go, but women prink forever. (h) a man is known by the silence he keeps. (h) [illustration: finis] [illustration: the fat is on the friar.] book five be hailed truthful that your lies may count. (m) never drink from your finger-bowl--it contains only water. (t) have patients. (t) the doctor's motto. don't talk about yourself--it will be done when you leave. (t) "honest as the day is long"--don't strike for shorter hours. (m) don't leave your spoon in your cup--work it up your sleeve. (m) don't borrow trouble--it is cheerfully given. (t) never strike a woman--tell her she can't reason. (t) poets are born, not paid. (t) nothing too small for personal attention--remember the flea. (t) even the tallest family tree has its roots in the soil. (h) pro-moter--one who wants to sell you his. (t) it's a long love that has no turning. (m) out of sight--in for absent treatment. (m) never call a man a fool--borrow from him. (t) the pen is fightier than the sword. (h) [illustration: beauty and the brut. (t)] let your light so shine before men that they may dodge your motor car. (t) weighed and found banting. (h) where is the dough of yesteryear? (m) general cry. close to nature--the bathing-suit. (t) don't make sweeping assertions--_do_ the housework. (t) lots of people have matrimonial troubles and don't know it. (h) a penitentiary for your faults. (m) i hold it truth with them that sing with one long carp in cynic tones, that men will rise on stepping-stones of their best selves for anything. (t) cultivate a pleasing address. some people judge by location. (t) does a virtue cease to be a virtue when embraced by a woman? (h) welcome the coming; bleed the parting guest. (m) the landlord's motto. "ladies first"--or you may get backbitten. (t) some people will only thaw out at the social register. (t) never speak sharply--give your poison-candied opinion. (t) never put your feet on the table--some people eat pigs' feet. (t) not one-half knows how his better half lives. (t) too good to be new. (h) much silver goeth by the till the cash-register knoweth not of. (m) too many crooks spoil the legislature. (t) the rift in the loot--the reform committee. (t) [illustration: what are the wild waves saying, sister?] "salt horse" is soon curried. (h) "give no quarter" and the dollars will take care of themselves. (t) if a penny is wise, who says a pound is foolish? (m) the field of literature is sown with laurel and wild oats. (h) the family "grace"--thank god they couldn't come! (h) [illustration: end.] the delights of wisdom pertaining to conjugial love _to which is added_ the pleasures of insanity pertaining to scortatory love by emanuel swedenborg _a swede_ _being a translation of his work_ "delitiæ sapientiæ de amore conjugiali; post quas sequuntur voluptates insaniæ de amore scortatorio" (amstelodami ) _published_ a.d. preliminary relations respecting the joys of heaven and nuptials there. . "i am aware that many who read the following pages and the memorable relations annexed to the chapters, will believe that they are fictions of the imagination; but i solemnly declare they are not fictions, but were truly done and seen; and that i saw them, not in any state of the mind asleep, but in a state of perfect wakefulness: for it has pleased the lord to manifest himself to me, and to send me to teach the things relating to the new church, which is meant by the new jerusalem in the revelation: for which purpose he has opened the interiors of my mind and spirit; by virtue of which privilege it has been granted me to be in the spiritual world with angels, and at the same time in the natural world with men, and this now ( ) for twenty-five years." . on a certain time there appeared to me an angel flying beneath the eastern heaven, with a trumpet in his hand, which he held to his mouth, and sounded towards the north, the west, and the south. he was clothed in a robe, which waved behind him as he flew along, and was girt about the waist with a band that shone like fire and glittered with carbuncles, and sapphires: he flew with his face downwards, and alighted gently on the ground, near where i was standing. as soon as he touched the ground with his feet, he stood erect, and walked to and fro: and on seeing me he directed his steps towards me. i was in the spirit, and was standing in that state on a little eminence in the southern quarter of the spiritual world. when he came near, i addressed him and asked him his errand, telling him that i had heard the sound of his trumpet, and had observed his descent through the air. he replied, "my commission is to call together such of the inhabitants of this part of the spiritual world, as have come hither from the various kingdoms of christendom, and have been most distinguished for their learning, their ingenuity, and their wisdom, to assemble on this little eminence where you are now standing, and to declare their real sentiments, as to what they had thought, understood, and inwardly perceived, while in the natural world, respecting heavenly joy and eternal happiness. the occasion of my commission is this: several who have lately come from the natural world, and have been admitted into our heavenly society, which is in the east, have informed us, that there is not a single person throughout the whole christian world that is acquainted with the true nature of heavenly joy and eternal happiness; consequently that not a single person is acquainted with the nature of heaven. this information greatly surprised my brethren and companions; and they said to me, 'go down, call together and assemble those who are most eminent for wisdom in the world of spirits, (where all men are first collected after their departure out of the natural world,) so that we may know of a certainty, from the testimony of many, whether it be true that such thick darkness, or dense ignorance, respecting a future life, prevails among christians.'" the angel then said to me, "wait awhile, and you will see several companies of the wise ones flocking together to this place, and the lord will prepare them a house of assembly." i waited, and lo! in the space of half an hour, i saw two companies from the north, two from the west, and two from the south; and as they came near, they were introduced by the angel that blew the trumpet into the house of assembly prepared for them, where they took their places in the order of the quarters from which they came. there were six groups or companies, and a seventh from the east, which, from its superior light, was not visible to the rest. when they were all assembled, the angel explained to them the reason of their meeting, and desired that each company in order would declare their sentiments respecting heavenly joy and eternal happiness. then each company formed themselves into a ring, with their faces turned one towards another, that they might recall the ideas they had entertained upon the subject in the natural world, and after examination and deliberation might declare their sentiments. . after some deliberation, the first company, which was from the north, declared their opinion, that heavenly joy and eternal happiness constitute the very life of heaven; so much so that whoever enters heaven, enters, in regard to his life, into its festivities, just as a person admitted to a marriage enters into all the festivities of a marriage. "is not heaven," they argued, "before our eyes in a particular place above us? and is there not there and nowhere else a constant succession of satisfactions and pleasures? when a man therefore is admitted into heaven, he is also admitted into the full enjoyment of all these satisfactions and pleasures, both as to mental perception and bodily sensation. of course heavenly happiness, which is also eternal happiness, consists solely in admission into heaven, and that depends purely on the divine mercy and favor." they having concluded, the second company from the north, according to the measure of the wisdom with which they were endowed, next declared their sentiments as follows: "heavenly joy and eternal happiness consist solely in the enjoyment of the company of angels, and in holding sweet communications with them, so that the countenance is kept continually expanded with joy; while the smiles of mirth and pleasure, arising from cheerful and entertaining conversation, continually enliven the faces of the company. what else can constitute heavenly joys, but the variations of such pleasures to eternity?" the third company, which was the first of the wise ones from the western quarter, next declared their sentiments according to the ideas which flowed from their affections: "in what else," said they, "do heavenly joy and eternal happiness consist but in feasting with abraham, isaac, and jacob; at whose tables there will be an abundance of rich and delicate food, with the finest and most generous wines, which will be succeeded by sports and dances of virgins and young men, to the tunes of various musical instruments, enlivened by the most melodious singing of sweet songs; the evening to conclude with dramatic exhibitions, and this again to be followed by feasting, and so on to eternity?" when they had ended, the fourth company, which was the second from the western quarter, declared their sentiments to the following purpose: "we have entertained," said they, "many ideas respecting heavenly joy and eternal happiness; and we have examined a variety of joys, and compared them one with another, and have at length come to the conclusion, that heavenly joys are paradisiacal joys: for what is heaven but a paradise extended from the east to the west, and from the south to the north, wherein are trees laden with fruit, and all kinds of beautiful flowers, and in the midst the magnificent tree of life, around which the blessed will take their seats, and feed on fruits most delicious to the taste, being adorned with garlands of the sweetest smelling flowers? in this paradise there will be a perpetual spring; so that the fruits and flowers will be renewed every day with an infinite variety, and by their continual growth and freshness, added to the vernal temperature of the atmosphere, the souls of the blessed will be daily fitted to receive and taste new joys, till they shall be restored to the flower of their age, and finally to their primitive state, in which adam and his wife were created, and thus recover their paradise, which has been transplanted from earth to heaven." the fifth company, which was the first of the ingenious spirits from the southern quarter, next delivered their opinion: "heavenly joys and eternal happiness," said they, "consist solely in exalted power and dignity, and in abundance of wealth, joined with more than princely magnificence and splendor. that the joys of heaven, and their continual fruition, which is eternal happiness, consist in these things, is plain to us from the examples of such persons as enjoyed them in the former world; and also from this circumstance, that the blessed in heaven are to reign with the lord, and to become kings and princes; for they are the sons of him who is king of kings and lord of lords, and they are to sit on thrones and be ministered to by angels. moreover, the magnificence of heaven is plainly made known to us by the description given of the new jerusalem, wherein is represented the glory of heaven; that it is to have gates, each of which shall consist of a single pearl, and streets of pure gold, and a wall with foundations of precious stones; consequently, every one that is received into heaven will have a palace of his own, glittering with gold and other costly materials, and will enjoy dignity and dominion, each according to his quality and station: and since we find by experience, that the joys and happiness arising from such things are natural, and as it were, innate in us, and since the promises of god cannot fail, we therefore conclude that the most happy state of heavenly life can be derived from no other source than this." after this, the sixth company, which was the second from the southern quarter, with a loud voice spoke as follows: "the joy of heaven and its eternal happiness consist solely in the perpetual glorification of god, in a never-ceasing festival of praise and thanksgiving, and in the blessedness of divine worship, heightened with singing and melody, whereby the heart is kept in a constant state of elevation towards god, under a full persuasion that he accepts such prayers and praises, on account of the divine bounty in imparting blessedness." some of the company added further, that this glorification would be attended with magnificent illuminations, with most fragrant incense, and with stately processions, preceded by the chief priest with a grand trumpet, who would be followed by primates and officers of various orders, by men carrying palms, and by women with golden images in their hand. . the seventh company, which, from its superior light, was invisible to the rest, came from the east of heaven, and consisted of angels of the same society as the angel that had sounded the trumpet. when these heard in their heaven, that not a single person throughout the christian world was acquainted with the true nature of heavenly joy and eternal happiness, they said one to another, "surely this cannot be true; it is impossible that such thick darkness and stupidity should prevail amongst christians: let us even go down and hear whether it be true; for if it be so, it is indeed wonderful." then those angels said to the one that had the trumpet, "you know that every one that has desired heaven, and has formed any definite conception in his mind respecting its joys, is introduced after death into those particular joys which he had imagined; and after he experiences that such joys are only the offspring of the vain delusions of his own fancy, he is led out of his error, and instructed in the truth. this is the case with most of those in the world of spirits, who in their former life have thought about heaven, and from their notions of its joys have desired to possess them." on hearing this, the angel that had the trumpet said to the six companies of the assembled wise ones, "follow me; and i will introduce you into your respective joys, and thereby into heaven." . when the angel had thus spoken, he went before them; and he was first attended by the company who were of opinion that the joys of heaven consisted solely in pleasant associations and entertaining conversation. these the angel introduced to an assembly of spirits in the northern quarter, who, during their abode in the former world, had entertained the same ideas of the joys of heaven. there was in the place a large and spacious house, wherein all these spirits were assembled. in the house there were more than fifty different apartments, allotted to different kinds and subjects of conversation: in some of these apartments they conversed about such matters as they had seen or heard in the public places of resort and the streets of the city; in others the conversation turned upon the various charms of the fair sex, with a mixture of wit and humor, producing cheerful smiles on the countenances of all present; in others they talked about the news relating to courts, to public ministers, and state policy, and to various matters which had transpired from privy councils, interspersing many conjectures and reasonings of their own respecting the issues of such councils; in others again they conversed about trade and merchandise; in others upon subjects of literature; in others upon points of civil prudence and morals; and in others about affairs relating to the church, its sects, &c. permission was granted me to enter and look about the house; and i saw people running from one apartment to another, seeking such company as was most suited to their own tempers and inclinations; and in the different parties i could distinguish three kinds of persons; some as it were panting to converse, some eager to ask questions, and others greedily devouring what was said. the house had four doors, one towards each quarter; and i observed several leaving their respective companies with a great desire to get out of the house. i followed some of them to the east door, where i saw several sitting with great marks of dejection on their faces; and on my inquiring into the cause of their trouble, they replied, "the doors of this house are kept shut against all persons who wish to go out; and this is the third day since we entered, to be entertained according to our desire with company and conversation; and now we are grown so weary with continual discoursing, that we can scarcely bear to hear the sound of a human voice; wherefore, from mere irksomeness, we have betaken ourselves to this door; but on our knocking to have it opened, we were told, that the doors of this house are never opened to let any persons out, but only to let them in, and that we must stay here and enjoy the delights of heaven; from which information we conclude, that we are to remain here to eternity; and this is the cause of our sorrow and lowness of spirits; now too we begin to feel an oppression in the breast, and to be overwhelmed with anxiety." the angel then addressing them said: "these things in which you imagined the true joys of heaven to consist, prove, you find, the destruction of all happiness; since they do not of themselves constitute true heavenly joys, but only contribute thereto." "in what then," said they to the angel, "does heavenly joy consist?" the angel replied briefly, "in the delight of doing something that is useful to ourselves and others; which delight derives its essence from love and its existence from wisdom. the delight of being useful, originating in love, and operating by wisdom, is the very soul and life of all heavenly joys. in the heavens there are frequent occasions of cheerful intercourse and conversation, whereby the minds (_mentes_) of the angels are exhilarated, their minds (_animi_) entertained, their bosoms delighted, and their bodies refreshed; but such occasions do not occur, till they have fulfilled their appointed uses in the discharge of their respective business and duties. it is this fulfilling of uses that gives soul and life to all their delights and entertainments; and if this soul and life be taken away, the contributory joys gradually cease, first exciting indifference, then disgust, and lastly sorrow and anxiety." as the angel ended, the door was thrown open, and those who were sitting near it burst out in haste, and went home to their respective labors and employments, and so found relief and refreshment to their spirits. . after this the angel addressed those who fancied the joys of heaven and eternal happiness consisted of partaking of feasts with abraham, isaac, and jacob, succeeded by sports and public exhibitions, and these by other feasts, and so on to eternity. he said, "follow me; and i will introduce you into the possession of your enjoyments:" and immediately he led them through a grove into a plain floored with planks, on which were set tables, fifteen on one side and fifteen on the other. they then asked, "what is the meaning of so many tables?" and the angel replied, "the first table is for abraham, the second for isaac, the third for jacob, and the rest in order for the twelve apostles: on the other side are the same number of tables for their wives; the first three are for sarah, abraham's wife, for rebecca, the wife of isaac, and for leah and rachel, the wives of jacob; and the other twelve are for the wives of the twelve apostles." they had not waited long before the tables were covered with dishes; between which, at stated distances, were ornaments of small pyramids holding sweetmeats. the guests stood around the tables waiting to see their respective presidents: these soon entered according to their order of precedency, beginning with abraham, and ending with the last of the apostles; and then each president, taking his place at the head of his own table, reclined on a couch, and invited the bystanders to take their places, each on his couch: accordingly the men reclined with the patriarchs and apostles, and the women with their wives: and they ate and drank with much festivity, but with due decorum. when the repast was ended, the patriarchs and apostles retired; and then were introduced various sports and dances of virgins and young men; and these were succeeded by exhibitions. at the conclusion of these entertainments, they were again invited to feasting; but with this particular restriction, that on the first day they should eat with abraham, on the second with isaac, on the third with jacob, on the fourth with peter, on the fifth with james, on the sixth with john, on the seventh with paul, and with the rest in order till the fifteenth day, when their festivity should be renewed again in like order, only changing their seats, and so on to eternity. after this the angel called together the company that had attended him, and said to them, "all those whom you have observed at the several tables, had entertained the same imaginary ideas as yourselves, respecting the joys of heaven and eternal happiness; and it is with the intent that they may see the vanity of such ideas, and be withdrawn from them, that those festive representations were appointed and permitted by the lord. those who with so much dignity presided at the tables, were merely old people and feigned characters, many of them husbandmen and peasants, who, wearing long beards, and from their wealth being exceedingly proud and arrogant, were easily induced to imagine that they were those patriarchs and apostles. but follow me to the ways that lead from this place of festivity." they accordingly followed, and observed groups of fifty or more, here and there, surfeited with the load of meat which lay on their stomachs, and wishing above all things to return to their domestic employments, their professions, trades, and handicraft works; but many of them were detained by the keepers of the grove, who questioned them concerning the days they had feasted, and whether they had as yet taken their turns with peter and paul; representing to them the shame and indecency of departing till they had paid equal respect to the apostles. but the general reply was, "we are surfeited with our entertainment; our food has become insipid to us, we have lost all relish for it, and the very sight of it is loathsome to us; we have spent many days and nights in such repasts of luxury, and can endure it no longer: we therefore earnestly request leave to depart." then the keepers dismissed them, and they made all possible haste to their respective homes. after this the angel called the company that attended him, and as they went along he gave them the following information respecting heaven:--"there are in heaven," says he, "as in the world, both meats and drinks, both feasts and repasts; and at the tables of the great there is a variety of the most exquisite food, and all kinds of rich dainties and delicacies, wherewith their minds are exhilarated and refreshed. there are likewise sports and exhibitions, concerts of music, vocal and instrumental, and all these things in the highest perfection. such things are a source of joy to them, but not of happiness; for happiness ought to be within external joys, and to flow from them. this inward happiness abiding in external joys, is necessary to give them their proper relish, and make them joys; it enriches them, and prevents their becoming loathsome and disgusting; and this happiness is derived to every angel from the use he performs in his duty or employment. there is a certain vein latent in the affection of the will of every angel, which attracts his mind to the execution of some purpose or other, wherein his mind finds itself in tranquillity, and is satisfied. this tranquillity and satisfaction form a state of mind capable of receiving from the lord the love of uses; and from the reception of this love springs heavenly happiness, which is the life of the above-mentioned joys. heavenly food in its essence is nothing but love, wisdom, and use united together; that is, use effected by wisdom and derived from love; wherefore food for the body is given to every one in heaven according to the use which he performs; sumptuous food to those who perform eminent uses; moderate, but of an exquisite relish, to those who perform less eminent uses; and ordinary to such as live in the performance of ordinary uses; but none at all to the slothful." . after this the angel called to him the company of the so-called wise ones, who supposed heavenly joys, and the eternal happiness thence derived, to consist in exalted power and dominion, with the possession of abundant treasures, attended with more than princely splendor and magnificence, and who had been betrayed into this supposition by what is written in the word,--that they should be kings and princes, and should reign for ever with christ, and should be ministered unto by angels; with many other similar expressions. "follow me," said the angel to them, "and i will introduce you to your joys." so he led them into a portico constructed of pillars and pyramids: in the front there was a low porch, through which lay the entrance to the portico; through this porch he introduced them, and lo! there appeared to be about twenty people assembled. after waiting some time, they were accosted by a certain person, having the garb and appearance of an angel, and who said to them, "the way to heaven is through this portico; wait awhile and prepare yourselves; for the elder among you are to be kings, and the younger princes." as he said this, they saw near each pillar a throne, and on each throne a silken robe, and on each robe a sceptre and crown; and near each pyramid a seat raised three feet from the ground, and on each seat a massive gold chain, and the ensigns of an order of knighthood, fastened at each end with diamond clasps. after this they heard a voice, saying, "go now and put on your robes; be seated, and wait awhile:" and instantly the elder ones ran to the thrones, and the younger to the seats; and they put on their robes and seated themselves. when lo! there arose a mist from below, which, communicating its influence to those on the thrones and the seats, caused them instantly to assume airs of authority, and to swell with their new greatness, and to be persuaded in good earnest that they were kings and princes. that mist was an _aura_ of phantasy or imagination with which their minds were possessed. then on a sudden, several young pages presented themselves, as if they came on wings from heaven; and two of them stood in waiting behind every throne, and one behind every seat. afterwards at intervals a herald proclaimed:--"ye kings and princes, wait a little longer; your palaces in heaven are making ready for you; your courtiers and guards will soon attend to introduce you." then they waited and waited in anxious expectation, till their spirits were exhausted, and they grew weary with desire. after about three hours, the heavens above them were seen to open, and the angels looked down in pity upon them, and said, "why sit ye in this state of infatuation, assuming characters which do not belong to you? they have made a mockery of you, and have changed you from men into mere images, because of the imagination which has possessed you, that you should reign with christ as kings and princes, and that angels should minister unto you. have you forgotten the lord's words, that whosoever would be the greatest in the kingdom of heaven must be the least of all, and the servant of all? learn then what is meant by kings and princes, and by reigning with christ; that it is to be wise and perform uses. the kingdom of christ, which is heaven, is a kingdom of uses; for the lord loves every one, and is desirous to do good to every one; and good is the same thing as use: and as the lord promotes good or use by the mediation of angels in heaven, and of men on earth, therefore to such as faithfully perform uses, he communicates the love thereof, and its reward, which is internal blessedness; and this is true eternal happiness. there are in the heavens, as on earth, distinctions of dignity and eminence, with abundance of the richest treasures; for there are governments and forms of government, and consequently a variety of ranks and orders of power and authority. those of the highest rank have courts and palaces to live in, which for splendor and magnificence exceed every thing that the kings and princes of the earth can boast of; and they derive honor and glory from the number and magnificence of their courtiers, ministers, and attendants; but then these persons of high rank are chosen from those whose heartfelt delight consists in promoting the public good, and who are only externally pleased with the distinctions of dignity for the sake of order and obedience; and as the public good requires that every individual, being a member of the common body, should be an instrument of use in the society to which he belongs, which use is from the lord and is effected by angels and men as of themselves, it is plain that this is meant by reigning with the lord." as soon as the angels had concluded, the kings and princes descended from their thrones and seats, and cast away their sceptres, crowns, and robes; and the mist which contained the _aura_ of phantasy was dispersed, and a bright cloud, containing the _aura_ of wisdom encompassed them, and thus they were presently restored to their sober senses. . after this the angel returned to the house of assembly, and called to him those who had conceived the joys of heaven and eternal happiness to consist in paradisiacal delights; to whom he said, "follow me, and i will introduce you into your paradisiacal heaven, that you may enter upon the beatitudes of your eternal happiness." immediately he introduced them through a lofty portal, formed of the boughs and shoots of the finest trees interwoven with each other. after their admission, he led them through a variety of winding paths in different directions. the place was a real paradise, on the confines of heaven, intended for the reception of such as, during their abode on earth, had fancied the whole heaven to be a single paradise, because it is so called, and had been led to conceive that after death there would be a perfect rest from all kinds of labor; which rest would consist in a continual feast of pleasures, such as walking among roses, being exhilarated with the most exquisite wines, and participating in continual mirth and festivity; and that this kind of life could only be enjoyed in a heavenly paradise. as they followed the angel, they saw a great number of old and young, of both sexes, sitting by threes and tens in a company on banks of roses; some of whom were wreathing garlands to adorn the heads of the seniors, the arms of the young, and the bosoms of the children; others were pressing the juice out of grapes, cherries, and mulberries, which they collected in cups, and then drank with much festivity; some were delighting themselves with the fragrant smells that exhaled far and wide from the flowers, fruits, and odoriferous leaves of a variety of plants; others were singing most melodious songs, to the great entertainment of the hearers; some were sitting by the sides of fountains, and directing the bubbling streams into various forms and channels; others were walking, and amusing one another with cheerful and pleasant conversation; others were retiring into shady arbors to repose on couches; besides a variety of other paradisiacal entertainment. after observing these things, the angel led his companions through various winding paths, till he brought them at length to a most beautiful grove of roses, surrounded by olive, orange, and citron trees. here they found many persons sitting in a disconsolate posture, with their heads reclined on their hands, and exhibiting all the signs of sorrow and discontent. the companions of the angel accosted them, and inquired into the cause of their grief. they replied, "this is the seventh day since we came into this paradise: on our first admission we seemed to ourselves to be elevated into heaven, and introduced into a participation of its inmost joys; but after three days our pleasures began to pall on the appetite, and our relish was lost, till at length we became insensible to their taste, and found that they had lost the power of pleasing. our imaginary joys being thus annihilated we were afraid of losing with them all the satisfaction of life, and we began to doubt whether any such thing as eternal happiness exists. we then wandered through a variety of paths and passages, in search of the gate at which we were admitted; but our wandering was in vain: for on inquiring the way of some persons we met, they informed us, that it was impossible to find the gate, as this paradisiacal garden is a spacious labyrinth of such a nature, that whoever wishes to go out, enters further and further into it; 'wherefore,' said they, 'you must of necessity remain here to eternity; you are now in the middle of the garden, where all delights are centred.'" they further said to the angel's companions, "we have now been in this place for a day and a half, and as we despair of ever finding our way out, we have sat down to repose on this bank of roses, where we view around us olive-trees, vines, orange and citron-trees, in great abundance; but the longer we look at them, the more our eyes are wearied with seeing, our noses with smelling, and our palates with tasting: and this is the cause of the sadness, sorrow, and weeping, in which you now behold us." on hearing this relation, the attendant angel said to them, "this paradisiacal labyrinth is truly an entrance into heaven; i know the way that leads out of it; and if you will follow me, i will shew it you." no sooner had he uttered those words than they arose from the ground, and, embracing the angel, attended him with his companions. the angel as they went along, instructed them in the true nature of heavenly joy and eternal happiness thence derived. "they do not," said he, "consist in external paradisiacal delights, unless they are also attended with internal. external paradisiacal delights reach only the senses of the body; but internal paradisiacal delights reach the affections of the soul; and the former without the latter are devoid of all heavenly life, because they are devoid of soul; and every delight without its corresponding soul, continually grows more and more languid and dull, and fatigues the mind more than labor. there are in every part of heaven paradisiacal gardens, in which the angels find much joy; and so far as it is attended with a delight of the soul, the joy is real and true." hereupon they all asked, "what is the delight of the soul, and whence is it derived?" the angel replied, "the delight of the soul is derived from love and wisdom proceeding from the lord; and as love is operative, and that by means of wisdom, therefore they are both fixed together in the effect of such operation; which effect is use. this delight enters into the soul by influx from the lord, and descends through the superior and inferior regions of the mind into all the senses of the body, and in them is full and complete; becoming hereby a true joy, and partaking of an eternal nature from the eternal fountain whence it proceeds. you have just now seen a paradisiacal garden; and i can assure you that there is not a single thing therein, even the smallest leaf, which does not exist from the marriage of love and wisdom in use: wherefore if a man be in this marriage, he is in a celestial paradise, and therefore in heaven." . after this, the conducting angel returned to the house of assembly, and addressed those who had persuaded themselves that heavenly joy and eternal happiness consist in a perpetual glorification of god, and a continued festival of prayer and praise to eternity; in consequence of a belief they had entertained in the world that they should then see god, and because the life of heaven, originating in the worship of god, is called a perpetual sabbath. "follow me," said the angel to them, "and i will introduce you to your joy." so he led them into a little city, in the middle of which was a temple, and where all the houses were said to be consecrated chapels. in that city they observed a great concourse of people flocking together from all parts of the neighboring country; and among them a number of priests, who received and saluted them on their arrival, and led them by the hand to the gates of the temple, and from thence into some of the chapels around it, where they initiated them into the perpetual worship of god; telling them that the city was one of the courts leading to heaven, and that the temple was an entrance to a most spacious and magnificent temple in heaven, where the angels glorify god by prayers and praises to eternity. "it is ordained," said they, "both here and in heaven, that you are first to enter into the temple, and remain there for three days and three nights and after this initiation you are to enter the houses of the city, which are so many chapels consecrated by us to divine worship, and in every house join the congregation in a communion of prayers, praises, and repetitions of holy things; you are to take heed also that nothing but pious, holy, and religious subjects enter into your thoughts, or make a part of your conversation." after this the angel introduced his companions into the temple, which they found filled and crowded with many persons, who on earth had lived in exalted stations, and also with many of an inferior class: guards were stationed at the doors to prevent any one from departing until he had completed his stay of three days. then said the angel, "this is the second day since the present congregation entered the temple: examine them, and you will see their manner of glorifying god." on their examining them, they observed that most of them were fast asleep, and that those who were awake were listless and yawning; many of them, in consequence of the continual elevation of their thoughts to god, without any attention to the inferior concerns of the body, seemed to themselves, and thence also to others, as if their faces were unconnected with their bodies; several again had a wild and raving look with their eyes, because of their long abstraction from visible objects; in short, every one, being quite tired out, seemed to feel an oppression at the chest, and great weariness of spirits, which showed itself in a violent aversion to what they heard from the pulpit, so that they cried out to the preacher to put an end to his discourse, for their ears were stunned, they could not understand a single word he said, and the very sound of his voice was become painful to them. they then all left their seats, and, crowding in a body to the doors, broke them open, and by mere violence made their way through the guards. the priests hereupon followed, and walked close beside them, teaching, praying, sighing, and encouraging them to celebrate the solemn festival, and to glorify god, and sanctify themselves; "and then," said they, "we will initiate you into the eternal glorification of god in that most magnificent and spacious temple which is in heaven, and so will introduce you to the enjoyment of eternal happiness." these words, however, made but little impression upon them, on account of the listlessness of their minds, arising from the long elevation of their thoughts above their ordinary labors and employments. but when they attempted to disengage themselves from them, the priests caught hold of their hands and garments, in order to force them back again into the temple to a repetition of their prayers and praises; but in vain: they insisted on being left to themselves to recruit their spirits; "we shall else die," they said, "through mere faintness and weariness." at that instant, lo! there appeared four men in white garments, with mitres on their heads; one of them while on earth had been an archbishop, and the other three bishops, all of whom had now become angels. as they approached, they addressed themselves to the priests, and said, "we have observed from heaven how you feed these sheep. your instruction tends to their infatuation. do you not know that to glorify god means to bring forth the fruits of love; that is, to discharge all the duties of our callings with faithfulness, sincerity, and diligence? for this is the nature of love towards god and our neighbor; and this is the bond and blessing of society. hereby god is glorified, as well as by acts of worship at stated times after these duties. have you never read these words of the lord, _herein is my father glorified, that ye bring forth much fruit; so shall ye be my disciples_, john xv. . ye priests indeed may glorify god by your attendance on his worship, since this is your office, and from the discharge of it you derive honor, glory, and recompense; but it would be as impossible for you as for others thus to glorify god, unless honor, glory, and recompense were annexed to your office." having said this, the bishops ordered the doorkeepers to give free ingress and egress to all, there being so great a number of people, who, from their ignorance of the state and nature of heaven, can form no other idea of heavenly joy than that it consists in the perpetual worship of god. . after this the angel returned with his companions to the place of assembly, where the several companions of the wise ones were still waiting; and next he addressed those who fancied that heavenly joy and eternal happiness depend only on admittance into heaven, which is obtained merely by divine grace and favor; and that in such case the persons introduced would enter into the enjoyments of heaven, just as those introduced to a court-festival or a marriage, enter into the enjoyment of such scenes. "wait here awhile," said the angel, "until i sound my trumpet, and call together those who have been most distinguished for their wisdom in regard to the spiritual things of the church." after some hours, there appeared nine men, each having a wreath of laurel on his head as a mark of distinction: these the angel introduced into the house of assembly, where all the companies before collected were still waiting; and then in their presence he addressed the nine strangers, and said, "i am informed, that in compliance with your desire, you have been permitted to ascend into heaven, according to your ideas thereof, and that you have returned to this inferior or sub-celestial earth, perfectly well informed as to the nature and state of heaven: tell us therefore what you have seen, and how heaven appeared to you." then they replied in order; and the first thus began: "my idea of heaven from my earliest infancy to the end of my life on earth was, that it was a place abounding with all sorts of blessings, satisfactions, enjoyments, gratifications, and delights; and that if i were introduced there, i should be encompassed as by an atmosphere of such felicities, and should receive it with the highest relish, like a bridegroom at the celebration of his nuptials, and when he enters the chamber with his bride. full of this idea, i ascended into heaven, and passed the first guard and also the second; but when i came to the third, the captain of the guard accosted me and said, 'who are you, friend?' i replied, 'is not this heaven? my longing desire to ascend into heaven has brought me hither; i pray you therefore permit me to enter.' then he permitted me; and i saw angels in white garments, who came about me and examined me, and whispered to each other, 'what new guest is this, who is not clothed in heavenly raiment?' i heard what they said, and thought within myself, this is a similar case to that which the lord describes, of the person who came to the wedding, and had not on a wedding garment: and i said, 'give me such garments;' at which they smiled: and instantly one came from the judgment-hall with this command: 'strip him naked, cast him out, and throw his clothes after him;' and so i was cast out." the second in order then began as follows: "i also supposed that if i were but admitted into heaven, which was over my head, i should there be encompassed with joys, which i should partake of to eternity. i likewise wished to be there, and my wish was granted; but the angels on seeing me fled away, and said one to another, 'what prodigy is this! how came this bird of night here?' on hearing which, i really felt as if i had undergone some change, and was no longer a man: this however was merely imaginary, and arose from my breathing the heavenly atmosphere. presently, however, there came one running from the judgment-hall, with an order that two servants should lead me out, and conduct me back by the way i had ascended, till i had reached my own home; and when i arrived there, i again appeared to others and also to myself as a man." the third said, "i always conceived heaven to be some place of blessedness independent of the state of the affections; wherefore as soon as i came into this world, i felt a most ardent desire to go to heaven. accordingly i followed some whom i saw ascending thither, and was admitted along with them; but i did not proceed far; for when i was desirous to delight my mind (_animus_) according to my idea of heavenly blessedness, a sudden stupor, occasioned by the light of heaven, which is as white as snow, and whose essence is said to be wisdom, seized my mind (_mens_) and darkness my eyes, and i was reduced to a state of insanity: and presently, from the heat of heaven, which corresponds with the brightness of its light, and whose essence is said to be love, there arose in my heart a violent palpitation, a general uneasiness seized my whole frame, and i was inwardly excruciated to such a degree that i threw myself flat on the ground. while i was in this situation, one of the attendants came from the judgment-hall with an order to carry me gently to my own light and heat; and when i came there my spirit and my heart presently returned to me." the fourth said that he also had conceived heaven to be some place of blessedness independent of the state of the affections. "as soon therefore," said he, "as i came into the spiritual world, i inquired of certain wise ones whether i might be permitted to ascend into heaven, and was informed that this liberty was granted to all, but that there was need of caution how they used it, lest they should be cast down again. i made light of this caution, and ascended in full confidence that all were alike qualified for the reception of heavenly bliss in all its fulness: but alas! i was no sooner within the confines of heaven, than my life seemed to be departing from me, and from the violent pains and anguish which seized my head and body, i threw myself prostrate on the ground, where i writhed about like a snake when it is brought near the fire. in this state i crawled to the brink of a precipice, from which i threw myself down, and being taken up by some people who were standing near the place where i fell, by proper care i was soon brought to myself again." the other five then gave a wonderful relation of what befell them in their ascents into heaven, and compared the changes they experienced as to their states of life, with the state of fish when raised out of water into air, and with that of birds when raised out of air into ether; and they declared that, after having suffered so much pain, they had no longer any desire to ascend into heaven, and only wished to live a life agreeable to the state of their own affections, among their like in any place whatever. "we are well informed," they added, "that in the world of spirits, where we now are, all persons undergo a previous preparation, the good for heaven, and the wicked for hell; and that after such preparation they discover ways open for them to societies of their like, with whom they are to live eternally; and that they enter such ways with the utmost delight, because they are suitable to their love." when those of the first assembly had heard these relations, they all likewise acknowledged, that they had never entertained any other notion of heaven than as of a place where they should enter upon the fruition of never-ceasing delights. then the angel who had the trumpet thus addressed them: "you see now that the joys of heaven and eternal happiness arise not from the place, but from the state of the man's life; and a state of heavenly life is derived from love and wisdom; and since it is use which contains love and wisdom, and in which they are fixed and subsist, therefore a state of heavenly life is derived from the conjunction of love and wisdom in use. it amounts to the same if we call them charity, faith, and good works; for charity is love, faith is truth whence wisdom is derived, and good works are uses. moreover in our spiritual world there are places as in the natural world; otherwise there could be no habitations and distinct abodes; nevertheless place with us is not place, but an appearance of place according to the state of love and wisdom, or of charity and faith. every one who becomes an angel, carries his own heaven within himself, because he carries in himself the love of his own heaven; for a man from creation is the smallest effigy, image, and type of the great heaven, and the human form is nothing else; wherefore every one after death comes into that society of heaven of whose general form he is an individual effigy; consequently, when he enters into that society he enters into a form corresponding to his own; thus he passes as it were from himself into that form as into another self, and again from that other self into the same form in himself, and enjoys his own life in that of the society, and that of the society in his own; for every society in heaven may be considered as one common body, and the constituent angels as the similar parts thereof, from which the common body exists. hence it follows, that those who are in evils, and thence in falses, have formed in themselves an effigy of hell, which suffers torment in heaven from the influx and violent activity of one opposite upon another; for infernal love is opposite to heavenly love, and consequently the delights of those two loves are in a state of discord and enmity, and whenever they meet they endeavor to destroy each other." . after this a voice was heard from heaven, saying to the angel that had the trumpet, "select ten out of the whole assembly, and introduce them to us. we have heard from the lord that he will prepare them so as to prevent the heat and light, or the love and wisdom, of our heaven, from doing them any injury during the space of three days." ten were then selected and followed the angel. they ascended by a steep path up a certain hill, and from thence up a mountain, on the summit of which was situated the heaven of those angels, which had before appeared to them at a distance like an expanse in the clouds. the gates were opened for them; and after they had passed the third gate, the introducing angel hastened to the prince of the society, or of that heaven, and announced their arrival. the prince said, "take some of my attendants, and carry them word that their arrival is agreeable to me, and introduce them into my reception-room, and provide for each a separate apartment with a chamber, and appoint some of my attendants and servants to wait upon them and attend to their wishes:" all which was done. on being introduced by the angel, they asked whether they might go and see the prince; and the angel replied, "it is now morning, and it is not allowable before noon; till that time every one is engaged in his particular duty and employment: but you are invited to dinner, and then you will sit at table with our prince; in the meantime i will introduce you into his palace, and show you its splendid and magnificent contents." . when they were come to the palace, they first viewed it from without. it was large and spacious, built of porphyry, with a foundation of jasper; and before the gates were six lofty columns of lapis lazuli; the roof was of plates of gold, the lofty windows, of the most transparent crystal, had frames also of gold. after viewing the outside they were introduced within, and were conducted from one apartment to another; in each of which they saw ornaments of inexpressible elegance and beauty; and beneath the roof were sculptured decorations of inimitable workmanship. near the walls were set silver tables overlaid with gold, on which were placed various implements made of precious stones, and of entire gems in heavenly forms, with several other things, such as no eye had ever seen on earth, and consequently such as could never be supposed to exist in heaven. while they were struck with astonishment at these magnificent sights, the angel said, "be not surprised; the things which you now behold are not the production and workmanship of any angelic hand, but are framed by the builder of the universe, and presented as a gift to our prince; wherefore the architectonic art is here in its essential perfection, and hence are derived all the rules of that art which are known and practised in the world." the angel further said, "you may possibly conceive that such objects charm our eyes, and infatuate us by their grandeur, so that we consider them as constituting the joys of our heaven: this however is not the case; for our affections not being set on such things, they are only contributory to the joys of our hearts; and therefore, so far as we contemplate them as such, and as the workmanship of god, so far we contemplate in them the divine omnipotence and mercy." . after this the angel said to them, "it is not yet noon: come with me into our prince's garden, which is near the palace." so they went with him; and as they were entering, he said, "behold here the most magnificent of all the gardens in our heavenly society!" but they replied, "how! there is no garden here. we see only one tree, and on its branches and at its top as it were golden fruit and silver leaves, with their edges adorned with emeralds, and beneath the tree little children with their nurses." hereupon the angel, with an inspired voice said, "this tree is in the midst of the garden; some of us call it the tree of our heaven, and some, the tree of life. but advance nearer, and your eyes will be opened, and you will see the garden." they did so, and their eyes were opened, and they saw numerous trees bearing an abundance of fine flavored fruit, entwined about with young vines, whose tops with their fruit inclined towards the tree of life in the midst. these trees were planted in a continuous series, which, proceeding from a point, and being continued into endless circles, or gyrations, as of a perpetual spiral, formed a perfect spiral of trees, wherein one species continually succeeded another, according to the worth and excellence of their fruit. the circumgyration began at a considerable distance from the tree in the midst, and the intervening space was radiant with a beam of light, which caused the trees in the circle to shine with a graduated splendor that was continued from the first to the last. the first trees were the most excellent of all, abounding with the choicest fruits, and were called paradisiacal trees, being such as are never seen in any country of the natural world, because none such ever grew or could grow there. these were succeeded by olive-trees, the olives by vines, these by sweet-scented shrubs, and these again by timber trees, whose wood was useful for building. at stated intervals in this spiral or gyre of trees, were interspersed seats, formed of the young shoots of the trees behind, brought forward and entwined in each other, while the fruit of the trees hanging over at the same time enriched and adorned them. at this perpetually winding circle of trees, there were passages which opened into flower-gardens, and from them into shrubberies, laid out into areas and beds. at the sight of all these things the companions of the angels exclaimed, "behold heaven in form! wherever we turn our eyes we feel an influx of somewhat celestially-paradisiacal, which is not to be expressed." at this the angel rejoicing said, "all the gardens of our heaven are representative forms or types of heavenly beatitudes in their origins; and because the influx of these beatitudes elevated your minds, therefore you exclaimed, 'behold heaven in form!' but those who do not receive that influx, regard these paradisiacal gardens only as common woods or forests. all those who are under the influence of the love of use receive the influx; but those who are under the influence of the love of glory not originating in use, do not receive it." afterwards he explained to them what every particular thing in the garden represented and signified. . while they were thus employed, there came a messenger from the prince, with an invitation to them to dine with him; and at the same time two attendants brought garments of fine linen, and said, "put on these; for no one is admitted to the prince's table unless he be clothed in the garments of heaven." so they put them on, and accompanied their angel, and were shewn into a drawing-room belonging to the palace, where they waited for the prince; and there the angel introduced them to the company and conversation of the grandees and nobles, who were also waiting for the prince's appearing. and lo! in about an hour the doors were opened, and through one larger than the rest, on the western side, he was seen to enter in stately procession. his inferior counsellors went before him, after them his privy-counsellors, and next the chief officers belonging to the court; in the middle of these was the prince; after him followed courtiers of various ranks, and lastly the guards; in all they amounted to a hundred and twenty. then the angel, advancing before the ten strangers, who by their dress now appeared like inmates of the place, approached with them towards the prince, and reverently introduced them to his notice; and the prince, without stopping the procession, said to them, "come and dine with me." so they followed him into the dining-hall, where they saw a table magnificently set out, having in the middle a tall golden pyramid with a hundred branches in three rows, each branch having a small dish, or basket, containing a variety of sweetmeats and preserves, with other delicacies made of bread and wine; and through the middle of the pyramid there issued as it were a bubbling fountain of nectareous wine, the stream of which, falling from the summit of the pyramid separated into different channels and filled the cups. at the sides of this pyramid were various heavenly golden forms, on which were dishes and plates covered with all kinds of food. the heavenly forms supporting the dishes and plates were forms of art, derived from wisdom, such as cannot be devised by any human art, or expressed by any human words: the dishes and plates were of silver, on which were engraved forms similar to those that supported them; the cups were transparent gems. such was the splendid furniture of the table. . as regards the dress of the prince and his ministers, the prince wore a long purple robe, set with silver stars wrought in needle-work; under this robe he had a tunic of bright silk of a blue or hyacinthine color; this was open about the breast, where there appeared the forepart of a kind of zone or ribbon, with the ensign of his society; the badge was an eagle sitting on her young at the top of a tree; this was wrought in polished gold set with diamonds. the counsellors were dressed nearly after the same manner, but without the badge; instead of which they wore sapphires curiously cut, hanging from their necks by a golden chain. the courtiers wore brownish cloaks, wrought with flowers encompassing young eagles; their tunics were of an opal-colored silk, so were also their lower garments; thus were they dressed. . the privy-counsellors, with those of inferior order, and the grandees stood around the table, and by command of the prince folded their hands, and at the same time in a low voice said a prayer of thanksgiving to the lord; and after this, at a sign from the prince, they reclined on couches at the table. the prince then said to the ten strangers, "do ye also recline with me; behold, there are your couches:" so they reclined; and the attendants, who were before sent by the prince to wait upon them, stood behind them. then said the prince to them, "take each of you a plate from its supporting form, and afterwards a dish from the pyramid;" and they did so; and lo! instantly new plates and dishes appeared in the place of those that were taken away; and their cups were filled with wine that streamed from the fountain out of the tall pyramid: and they ate and drank. when dinner was about half ended, the prince addressed the ten new guests, and said, "i have been informed that you were convened in the country which is immediately under this heaven, in order to declare your thoughts respecting the joys of heaven and eternal happiness thence derived, and that you professed different opinions each according to his peculiar ideas of delight originating in the bodily senses. but what are the delights of the bodily senses without those of the soul? the former are animated by the latter. the delights of the soul in themselves are imperceptible beatitudes; but, as they descend into the thoughts of the mind, and thence into the sensations of the body, they become more and more perceptible: in the thoughts of the mind they are perceived as satisfactions, in the sensations of the body as delights, and in the body itself as pleasures. eternal happiness is derived from the latter and the former taken together; but from the latter alone there results a happiness not eternal but temporary, which quickly comes to an end and passes away, and in some cases becomes unhappiness. you have now seen that all your joys are also joys of heaven, and that these are far more excellent than you could have conceived; yet such joys do not inwardly affect our minds. there are three things which enter by influx from the lord as a one into our souls; these three as a one, or this trine, are love, wisdom, and use. love and wisdom of themselves exist only ideally, being confined to the affections and thoughts of the mind; but in use they exist really, because they are together in act and bodily employment; and where they exist really, there they also subsist. and as love and wisdom exist and subsist in use, it is by use we are affected; and use consists in a faithful, sincere, and diligent discharge of the duties of our calling. the love of use, and a consequent application to it, preserve the powers of the mind, and prevent their dispersion; so that the mind is guarded against wandering and dissipation, and the imbibing of false lusts, which with their enchanting delusions flow in from the body and the world through the senses, whereby the truths of religion and morality, with all that is good in either, become the sport of every wind; but the application of the mind to use binds and unites those truths, and disposes the mind to become a form receptible of the wisdom thence derived; and in this case it extirpates the idle sports and pastimes of falsity and vanity, banishing them from its centre towards the circumference. but you will hear more on this subject from the wise ones of our society, when i will send to you in the afternoon." so saying, the prince arose, and the new guests along with him, and bidding them farewell, he charged the conducting angel to lead them back to their private apartments, and there to show them every token of civility and respect, and also to invite some courteous and agreeable company to entertain them with conversation respecting the various joys of this society. . the angel executed the prince's charge; and when they were turned to their private apartments, the company, invited from the city to inform them respecting the various joys of the society, arrived, and after the usual compliments entered into conversation with them as they walked along in a strain at once entertaining and elegant. but the conducting angel said, "these ten men were invited into this heaven to see its joys, and to receive thereby a new idea concerning eternal happiness. acquaint us therefore with some of its joys which affect the bodily senses; and afterwards, some wise ones will arrive, who will acquaint us with what renders those joys satisfactory and happy." then the company who were invited from the city related the following particulars:--" . there are here days of festivity appointed by the prince, that the mind, by due relaxation, may recover from the weariness which an emulative desire may occasion in particular cases. on such days we have concerts of music and singing in the public places, and out of the city are exhibited games and shows: in the public places at such times are raised orchestras surrounded with balusters formed of vines wreathed together, from which hang bunches of ripe grapes; within these balusters in three rows, one above another, sit the musicians, with their wind and stringed instruments of various tones, both high and low, loud and soft; and near them are singers of both sexes who entertain the citizens with the sweetest music and singing, both in concert and solo, varied at times as to its particular kind: these concerts continue on those days of festivity from morning till noon, and afterwards till evening. . moreover, every morning from the houses around the public places we hear the sweetest songs of virgins and young girls, which resound though the whole city. it is an affection of spiritual love, which is sung every morning; that is, it is rendered sonorous by modifications of the voice in singing, or by modulations. the affection in the song is perceived as the real affection, flowing into the minds of the hearers, and exciting them to a correspondence with it: such is the nature of heavenly singing. the virgin-singers say, that the sound of their song is as it were self-inspired and self-animated from within, and exalted with delight according to the reception it meets with from the hearers. when this is ended, the windows of the houses around the public places, and likewise of those in the streets, are shut, and so also are the doors; and then the whole city is silent, and no noise heard in any part of it, nor is any person seen loitering in the streets, but all are intent on their work and the duties of their calling. . at noon, however, the doors are opened, and in the afternoon also the windows in some houses, and boys and girls are seen playing in the streets, while their masters and mistresses sit in the porches of their houses, watching over them, and keeping them in order. . at the extreme parts of the city there are various sports of boys and young men, as running, hand-ball, tennis, &c.; there are besides trials of skill among the boys, in order to discover the readiness of their wit in speaking, acting, and perceiving; and such as excel receive some leaves of laurel as a reward; not to mention other things of a like nature, designed to call forth and exercise the latent talents of the young people. . moreover out of the city are exhibited stage-entertainments, in which the actors represent the various graces and virtues of moral life, among whom are inferior characters for the sake of relatives." and one of the ten asked, "how for the sake of relatives?" and they replied, "no virtue with its graces and beauties, can be suitably represented except by means of relatives, in which are comprised and represented all its graces and beauties, from the greatest to the least; and the inferior characters represent the least, even till they become extinct; but it is provided by law, that nothing of the opposite, which is indecorous and dishonorable, should be exhibited, except figuratively, and as it were remotely. the reason of which provision is, because nothing that is honorable and good in any virtue can by successive progressions pass over to what is dishonorable and evil: it only proceeds to its least, when it perishes; and when that is the case, the opposite commences; wherefore heaven, where all things are honorable and good, has nothing in common with hell, where all things are dishonorable and evil." . during this conversation, a servant came in and brought word, that the eight wise ones, invited by the prince's order, were arrived, and wished to be admitted; whereupon the angel went out to receive and introduce them: and presently the wise ones, after the customary ceremonies of introduction, began to converse with them on the beginnings and increments of wisdom, with which they intermixed various remarks respecting its progression, shewing, that with the angels it never ceases or comes to a period, but advances and increases to eternity. hereupon the attendant angel said to them, "our prince at table while talking with these strangers respecting the seat or abode of wisdom, showed that it consists in use: if agreeable to you, be pleased to acquaint them further on the same subject." they therefore said, "man, at his first creation, was endued with wisdom and its love, not for the sake of himself, but that he might communicate it to others from himself. hence it is a maxim inscribed on the wisdom of the wise, that no one is wise for himself alone, or lives for himself, but for others at the same time: this is the origin of society, which otherwise could not exist. to live for others is to perform uses. uses are the bonds of society, which are as many in number as there are good uses; and the number of uses is infinite. there are spiritual uses, such as regard love to god and love towards our neighbour; there are moral and civil uses, such as regard the love of the society and state to which a man belongs, and of his fellow-citizens among whom he lives; there are natural uses, which regard the love of the world and its necessities; and there are corporeal uses, such as regard the love of self-preservation with a view to superior uses. all these uses are inscribed on man, and follow in order one after another; and when they are together, one is in the other. those who are in the first uses, which are spiritual, are in all the succeeding ones, and such persons are wise; but those who are not in the first, and yet are in the second, and thereby in the succeeding ones, are not so highly principled in wisdom, but only appear to be so by virtue of an external morality and civility; those who are neither in the first nor second, but only in the third and fourth, have not the least pretensions to wisdom; for they are satans, loving only the world and themselves for the sake of the world; but those who are only in the fourth, are least wise of all; for they are devils, because they live to themselves alone, and only to others for the sake of themselves. moreover, every love has its particular delight; for it is by delight that love is kept alive; and the delight of the love of uses is a heavenly delight, which enters into succeeding delights in their order, and according to the order of succession, exalts them and makes them eternal." after this they enumerated the heavenly delights proceeding from the love of uses, and said, that they are a thousand times ten thousand; and that all who enter heaven enter into those delights. with further wise conversation on the love of use, they passed the day with them until evening. . towards evening there came a messenger clothed in linen to the ten strangers who attended the angel, and invited them to a marriage-ceremony which was to be celebrated the next day, and the strangers were much rejoiced to think that they were also to be present at a marriage-ceremony in heaven. after this they were conducted to the house of one of the counsellors, and supped with him; and after supper they returned to the palace, and each retired to his own chamber, where they slept till morning. when they awoke, they heard the singing of the virgins and young girls from the houses around the public places of resort, which we mentioned above. they sung that morning the affection of conjugial love; the sweetness of which so affected and moved the hearers, that they perceived sensibly a blessed serenity instilled into their joys, which at the some time exalted and renewed them. at the hour appointed the angel said, "make yourselves ready, and put on the heavenly garments which our prince sent you;" and they did so, and lo! the garments were resplendent as with a flaming light; and on their asking the angel, "whence is this?" he replied, "because you are going to a marriage-ceremony; and when that is the case, our garments always assume a shining appearance, and become marriage garments." . after this the angel conducted them to the house where the nuptials were to be celebrated, and the porter opened the door; and presently being admitted within the house, they were received and welcomed by an angel sent from the bridegroom, and were introduced and shewn to the seats intended for them: and soon after they were invited into an ante-chamber, in the middle of which they saw a table, and on it a magnificent candlestick with seven branches and sconces of gold: against the walls there were hung silver lamps, which being lighted made the atmosphere appear of a golden hue: and they observed on each side of the candlestick two tables, on which were set loaves in three rows; there were tables also at the four corners of the room, on which were placed crystal cups. while they were viewing these things, lo! a door opened from a closet near the marriage-chamber, and six virgins came out, and after them the bridegroom and the bride, holding each other by the hand, and advancing towards a seat placed opposite to the candlestick, on which they seated themselves, the bridegroom on the left hand, and the bride on the right, while the six virgins stood by the seat near the bride. the bridegroom was dressed in a robe of bright purple, and a tunic of fine shining linen, with an ephod, on which was a golden plate set round with diamonds, and on the plate was engraved a young eagle, the marriage-ensign of that heavenly society; on his head he wore a mitre: the bride was dressed in a scarlet mantle, under which was a gown, ornamented with fine needle-work, that reached from her neck to her feet, and beneath her bosom she wore a golden girdle, and on her head a golden crown set with rubies. when they were thus seated, the bridegroom turning himself towards the bride, put a golden ring on her finger; he then took bracelets and a pearl necklace, and clasped the bracelets about her wrists, and the necklace about her neck, and said, "_accept these pledges_;" and as she accepted them he kissed her, and said, "now thou art mine;" and he called her his wife. on this all the company cried out, "may the divine blessing be upon you!" these words were first pronounced by each separately, and afterwards by all together. they were pronounced also in turn by a certain person sent from the prince as his representative; and at that instant the ante-chamber was filled with an aromatic smoke, which was a token of blessing from heaven. then the servants in waiting took loaves from the two tables near the candlestick, and cups, now filled with wine, from the tables at the corners of the room, and gave to each of the guests his own loaf and his own cup, and they ate and drank. after this the husband and his wife arose, and the six virgins attended them with the silver lamps, now lighted, in their hands to the threshold; and the married pair entered their chamber; and the door was shut. . afterwards the conducting angel talked with the guests about his ten companions, acquainting them how he was commissioned to introduce them, and shew them the magnificent things contained in the prince's palace, and other wonderful sights; and how they had dined at table with him, and afterwards had conversed with the wise ones of the society; and he said, "may i be permitted to introduce them also to you, in order that they may enjoy the pleasure of your conversation?" so he introduced them, and they entered into discourse together. then a certain wise personage, one of the marriage-guests, said, "do you understand the meaning of what you have seen?" they replied, "but little;" and then they asked him, "why was the bridegroom, who is now a husband, dressed in that particular manner?" he answered, "because the bridegroom, now a husband, represented the lord, and the bride, who is now a wife, represented the church; for marriages in heaven represent the marriage of the lord with the church. this is the reason why he wore a mitre on his head, and was dressed in a robe, a tunic, and an ephod, like aaron; and why the bride had a crown on her head, and wore a mantle like a queen; but to-morrow they will be dressed differently, because this representation lasts no longer than to-day." they further asked, "since he represented the lord, and she the church, why did she sit at his right hand?" the wise one replied, "because there are two things which constitute the marriage of the lord with the church--love and wisdom; the lord is love, and the church is wisdom; and wisdom is at the right hand of love; for every member of the church is wise as of himself, and in proportion as he is wise he receives love from the lord. the right hand also signifies power; and love has power by means of wisdom; but, as we have just observed, after the marriage-ceremony the representation is changed; for then the husband represents wisdom, and the wife the love of his wisdom. this love however is not primary, but secondary love; being derived from the lord to the wife through the wisdom of the husband: the love of the lord, which is the primary love, is the husband's love of being wise; therefore after marriage, both together, the husband and his wife, represent the church." they asked again, "why did not you men stand by the bridegroom, now the husband, as the six virgins stood by the bride, now the wife?" the wise one answered, "because we to-day are numbered among the virgins; and the number six signifies all and what is complete." but they said, "explain your meaning." he replied, "virgins signify the church; and the church consists of both sexes: therefore also we, with respect to the church, are virgins. that this is the case, is evident from these words in the revelation: '_these are those who were not defiled with women; for they are virgins: and they follow the lamb whithersoever he goeth_,' chap. xiv. . and as virgins signify the church, therefore the lord likened it to ten virgins invited to a marriage, mat. xxv. and as israel, zion, and jerusalem, signify the church, therefore mention is so often made in the word, of the virgin and daughter of israel, of zion, and of jerusalem. the lord also describes his marriage with the church in these words: '_upon thy right hand did stand the queen in gold of ophir: her clothing is of wrought gold: she shall be brought unto the king in raiment of needlework: the virgins her companions that follow her shall enter into the king's palace_.' psalm xlv. - ." lastly they asked, "is it not expedient that a priest be present and minister at the marriage ceremony?" the wise one answered, "this is expedient on the earth, but not in the heavens, by reason of the representation of the lord himself and the church. on the earth they are not aware of this; but even with us a priest ministers in whatever relates to betrothings, or marriage contracts, and hears, receives, confirms, and consecrates the consent of the parties. consent is the essential of marriage; all succeeding ceremonies are its formalities." . after this the conducting angel went to the six virgins, and gave them an account of his companions, and requested that they would vouchsafe to join company with them. accordingly they came; but when they drew near, they suddenly retired, and went into the ladies' apartment to the virgins their companions. on seeing this, the conducting angel followed them, and asked why they retired so suddenly without entering into conversation? they replied. "we cannot approach:" and he said, "why not?" they answered, "we do not know; but we perceived something which repelled us and drove us back again. we hope they will excuse us." the angel then returned to his companions, and told them what the virgins had said, and added, "i conjecture that your love of the sex is not chaste. in heaven we love virgins for their beauty and the elegance of their manners; and we love them intensely, but chastely." hereupon his companions smiled and said, "you conjecture right: who can behold such beauties near and not feel some excitement?" . after much entertaining conversation the marriage-guests departed, and also the ten strangers with their attendant angel; and the evening being far advanced, they retired to rest. in the morning they heard a proclamation, to-day is the sabbath. they then arose and asked the angel what it meant: he replied, "it is for the worship of god, which returns at stated periods, and is proclaimed by the priests. the worship is performed in our temples and lasts about two hours; wherefore if it please you, come along with me, and i will introduce you." so they made themselves ready, and attended the angel, and entered the temple. it was a large building capable of containing about three thousand persons, of a semicircular form, with benches or seats carried round in a continued sweep according to the figure of the temple; the hinder ones being more elevated than those in front. the pulpit in front of the seats was drawn a little from the centre; the door was behind the pulpit on the left hand. the ten strangers entered with their conducting angel, who pointed out to them the places where they were to sit; telling them, "every one that enters the temple knows his own place by a kind of innate perception; nor can he sit in any place but his own: in case he takes another place, he neither hears nor perceives anything, and he also disturbs the order; the consequence of which is, that the priest is not inspired." . when the congregation had assembled, the priest ascended the pulpit, and preached a sermon full of the spirit of wisdom. the discourse was concerning the sanctity of the holy scriptures, and the conjunction of the lord with both worlds, the spiritual and the natural, by means thereof. in the illustration in which he then was, he fully proved, that that holy book was dictated by jehovah the lord, and that consequently he is in it, so as to be the wisdom it contains; but that the wisdom which is himself therein, lies concealed under the sense of the letter, and is opened only to those who are in the truths of doctrine, and at the same time in goodness of life, and thus who are in the lord, and the lord in them. to his discourse he added a votive prayer and descended. as the audience were going out, the angel requested the priest to speak a few words of peace with his ten companions; so he came to them, and they conversed together for about half an hour. he discoursed concerning the divine trinity--that it is in jesus christ, in whom all the fulness of the godhead dwells bodily, according to the declaration of the apostle paul; and afterwards concerning the union of charity and faith; but he said, "the union of charity and truth;" because faith is truth. . after expressing their thanks they returned home; and then the angel said to them, "this is the third day since you came into the society of this heaven, and you were prepared by the lord to stay here three days; it is time therefore that we separate; put off therefore the garments sent you by the prince, and put on your own." when they had done so, they were inspired with a desire to be gone; so they departed and descended, the angel attending them to the place of assembly; and there they gave thanks to the lord for vouchsafing to bless them with knowledge, and thereby with intelligence, concerning heavenly joys and eternal happiness. . "i again solemnly declare, that these things were done and said as they are related; the former in the world of spirits, which is intermediate between heaven and hell, and the latter in the society of heaven to which the angel with the trumpet and the conductor belonged. who in the christian world would have known anything concerning heaven, and the joys and happiness there experienced, the knowledge of which is the knowledge of salvation, unless it had pleased the lord to open to some person the sight of his spirit, in order to shew and teach them? that similar things exist in the spiritual world is very manifest from what were seen and heard by the apostle john, as described in the revelation; as that he saw the son of man in the midst of seven candlesticks; also a tabernacle, temple, ark, and altar in heaven; a book sealed with seven seals; the book opened, and horses going forth thence; four animals around the throne; twelve thousand chosen out of every tribe; locusts ascending out of the bottomless pit; a dragon, and his combat with michael; a woman bringing forth a male child, and flying into a wilderness on account of the dragon; two beasts, one ascending out of the sea, the other out of the earth; a woman sitting upon a scarlet beast; the dragon cast out into a lake of fire and brimstone; a white horse and a great supper; a new heaven and a new earth, and the holy jerusalem descending described as to its gates, wall, and foundation; also a river of the water of life, and trees of life bearing fruits every month; besides several other particulars; all which things were seen by john, while as to his spirit he was in the spiritual world and in heaven: not to mention the things seen by the apostles after the lord's resurrection; and what were afterwards seen and heard by peter, acts xi.; also by paul; moreover by the prophets; as by ezekiel, who saw four animals which were cherubs, chap i. and chap x.; a new temple and a new earth, and an angel measuring them, chap. xl.-xlviii.; and was led away to jerusalem, and saw there abominations: and also into chaldea into captivity, chap. viii. and chap. xi. the case was similar with zechariah, who saw a man riding among myrtles; also four horns, chap. i. , and following verses; and afterwards a man with a measuring-line in his hand, chap. ii. , and following verses; likewise a candlestick and two olive trees, chap. iv. , and following verses; also a flying roll and an ephah, chap. v. , ; also four chariots going forth between two mountains, and horses, chap. vi. , and following verses. so likewise with daniel, who saw four beasts coming up out of the sea, chap. vii. , and following verses; also combats of a ram and he-goat, chap. viii. , and following verses; who also saw the angel gabriel, and had much discourse with him, chap. ix.: the youth of elisha saw chariots and horses of fire round about elisha, and saw them when his eyes were opened, kings vi. , and following verses. from these and several other instances in the word, it is evident, that the things which exist in the spiritual world, appeared to many both before and after the lord's coming: is it any wonder then, that the same things should now also appear when the church is commencing, or when the new jerusalem is coming down from the lord out of heaven?" on marriages in heaven. . that there are marriages in heaven cannot be admitted as an article of faith by those who imagine that a man after death is a soul or spirit, and who conceive of a soul or spirit as of a rarefied ether or vapor; who imagine also, that a man will not live as a man till after the day of the last judgment; and in general who know nothing respecting the spiritual world, in which angels and spirits dwell, consequently in which there are heavens and hells: and as that world has been heretofore unknown, and mankind have been in total ignorance that the angels of heaven are men, in a perfect form, and in like manner infernal spirits, but in an imperfect form, therefore it was impossible for anything to be revealed concerning marriages in that world; for if it had it would have been objected, "how can a soul be joined with a soul, or a vapor with a vapor, as one married partner with another here on earth?" not to mention other similar objections, which, the instant they were made, would take away and dissipate all faith respecting marriages in another life. but now, since several particulars have been revealed concerning that world, and a description has also been given of its nature and quality, in the treatise on heaven and hell, and also in the apocalypse revealed, the assertion, that marriages take place in that world, may be so far confirmed as even to convince the reason by the following propositions: i. _a man (homo) lives a man after death._ ii. _in this case a male is a male, and a female a female._ iii. _every one's peculiar love remains with him after death._ iv. _the love of the sex especially remains; and with those who go to heaven, which is the case with all who become spiritual here on earth, conjugial love remains._ v. _these things fully confirmed by ocular demonstration._ vi. _consequently that there are marriages in the heavens._ vii. _spiritual nuptials are to be understood by the lord's words, where he says, that after the resurrection they are not given in marriage._ we will now give an explanation of these propositions in their order. . i. a man lives a man after death. that a man lives a man after death has been heretofore unknown in the world, for the reasons just now mentioned; and, what is surprising, it has been unknown even in the christian world, where they have the word, and illustration thence concerning eternal life, and where the lord himself teaches, _that all the dead rise again; and that god is not the god of the dead but of the living_, matt. xxii. , . luke xx. , . moreover, a man, as to the affections and thoughts of his mind, is in the midst of angels and spirits, and is so consociated with them that were he to be separated from them he would instantly die. it is still more surprising that this is unknown, when yet every man that has departed this life since the beginning of creation, after his decease has come and does still come to his own, or, as it is said in the word, has been gathered and is gathered to his own: besides every one has a common perception, which is the same thing as the influx of heaven into the interiors of his mind, by virtue of which he inwardly perceives truths, and as it were sees them, and especially this truth, that he lives a man after death; a happy man if he has lived well, and an unhappy one if he has lived ill. for who does not think thus, while he elevates his mind in any degree above the body, and above the thought which is nearest to the senses; as is the case when he is interiorly engaged in divine worship, and when he lies on his death-bed expecting his dissolution; also when he hears of those who are deceased, and their lot? i have related a thousand particulars respecting departed spirits, informing certain persons that are now alive concerning the state of their deceased brethren, their married partners, and their friends. i have written also concerning the state of the english, the dutch, the papists, the jews, the gentiles, and likewise concerning the state of luther, calvin, and melancthon; and hitherto i never heard any one object, "how can such be their lot, when they are not yet risen from their tombs, the last judgement not being yet accomplished? are they not in the meantime mere vaporous and unsubstantial souls residing, in some place of confinement (_in quodam pu seu ubi_)?" such objections i have never yet heard from any quarter; whence i have been led to conclude, that every one perceives in himself that he lives a man after death. who that has loved his married partner and his children when they are dying or are dead, will not say within himself (if his thought be elevated above the sensual principles of the body) that they are in the hand of god, and that he shall see them again after his own death, and again be joined with them in a life of love and joy? . who, that is willing, cannot see from reason, that a man after death is not a mere vapor, of which no idea can be formed but as of a breath of wind, or of air and ether, and that such vapor constitutes or contains in it the human soul, which desires and expects conjunction with its body, in order that it may enjoy the bodily senses and their delights, as previously in the world? we cannot see, that if this were the case with a man after death, his state would be more deplorable than that of fishes, birds, and terrestrial animals, whose souls are not alive, and consequently are not in such anxiety of desire and expectation? supposing a man after death to be such a vapor, and thus a breath of wind, he would either fly about in the universe, or according to certain traditions, would be reserved in a place of confinement, or in the _limbo_ of the ancient fathers, until the last judgement. who cannot hence from reason conclude, that those who have lived since the beginning of creation, which is computed to be about six thousand years ago, must be still in a similar anxious state, and progressively more anxious, because all expectation arising from desire produces anxiety, and being continued from time to time increases it; consequently, that they must still be either floating about in the universe, or be kept shut up in confinement, and thereby in extreme misery; and that must be the case with adam and his wife, with abraham, isaac, and jacob, and with all who have lived since that time? all this being supposed true, it must needs follow, that nothing would be more deplorable than to be born a man. but the reverse of this is provided by the lord, who is jehovah from eternity and the creator of the universe; for the state of the man that conjoins himself with him by a life according to his precepts, becomes more blessed and happy after death than before it in the world; and it is more blessed and happy from this circumstance, that the man then is spiritual, and a spiritual man is sensible of and perceives spiritual delight, which is a thousand times superior to natural delight. . that angels and spirits are men, may plainly appear from those seen by abraham, gideon, daniel, and the prophets, and especially by john when he wrote the revelation, and also by the women in the lord's sepulchre, yea, from the lord himself as seen by the disciples after his resurrection. the reason of their being seen was, because the eyes of the spirits of those who saw them were opened; and when the eyes of the spirit are opened, angels appear in their proper form, which is the human; but when the eyes of the spirit are closed, that is, when they are veiled by the vision of the bodily eyes, which derive all their impressions from the material world, then they do not appear. . it is however to be observed, that a man after death is not a natural, but a spiritual man; nevertheless he still appears in all respects like himself; and so much so, that he knows not but, that he is still in the natural world: for he has a similar body, countenance, speech, and senses; for he has a similar affection and thought, or will and understanding. he is indeed actually not similar, because he is a spiritual, and consequently an interior man; but the difference does not appear to him, because he cannot compare his spiritual state with his former natural state, having put off the latter, and being in the former; therefore i have often heard such persons say, that they know not but that they are in the former world, with this difference, however, that they no longer see those whom they had left in that world; but that they see those who had departed out of it, or were deceased. the reason why they now see the latter and not the former, is, because they are no longer natural men, but spiritual or substantial; and a spiritual or substantial man sees a spiritual or substantial man, as a natural or material man sees a natural or material man, but not _vice versa_, on account of the difference between what is substantial and what is material, which is like the difference between what is prior and what is posterior; and what is prior, being in itself purer, cannot appear to what is posterior, which in itself is grosser; nor can what is posterior, being grosser, appear to what is prior, which in itself is purer; consequently an angel cannot appear to a man of this world, nor a man of this world to an angel. the reason why a man after death is a spiritual or substantial man, is, because this spiritual or substantial man lay inwardly concealed in the natural or material man; which natural or material man was to it as a covering, or as a skin about to be cast off; and when the covering or skin is cast off, the spiritual or substantial man comes forth, a purer, interior, and more perfect man. that the spiritual man is still a perfect man, notwithstanding his being invisible to the natural man, is evident from the lord's being seen by the apostles after his resurrection, when he appeared, and presently he did not appear; and yet he was a man like to himself both when seen and when not seen: it is also said, that when they saw him, their eyes were opened. . ii. in this case a male is a male, and a female a female. since a man (_homo_) lives a man after death, and man is male and female, and there is such a distinction between the male principle and the female principle, that the one cannot be changed into the other, it follows, that after death the male lives a male, and the female a female, each being a spiritual man. it is said that the male principle cannot be changed into the female principle, nor the female into the male, and that therefore after death the male is a male, and the female a female; but as it is not known in what the masculine principle essentially consists, and in what the feminine, it may be expedient briefly to explain it. the essential distinction between the two is this: in the masculine principle, love is inmost, and its covering is wisdom; or, what is the same, the masculine principle is love covered (or veiled) by wisdom; whereas in the feminine principle, the wisdom of the male is inmost, and its covering is love thence derived; but this latter love is feminine, and is given by the lord to the wife through the wisdom of the husband; whereas the former love is masculine, which is the love of growing wise, and is given by the lord to the husband according to the reception of wisdom. it is from this circumstance, that the male is the wisdom of love, and the female is the love of that wisdom; therefore from creation there is implanted in each a love of conjunction so as to become a one; but on this subject more will be said in the following pages. that the female principle is derived from the male, or that the woman was taken out of the man, is evident from these words in genesis: _jehovah god took out one of the man's ribs, and closed up the flesh in the place thereof; and he builded the rib, which he had taken out of the man, into a woman; and he brought her to the man; and the man said, this is bone of my bones, and flesh of my flesh; hence she shall be called eve, because she was taken out of man_, chap. ii. - : the signification of a rib and of flesh will be shewn elsewhere. . from this primitive formation it follows, that by birth the character of the male is intellectual, and that the female character partakes more of the will principle; or, what amounts to the same, that the male is born into the affection of knowing, understanding, and growing wise, and the female into the love of conjoining herself with that affection in the male. and as the interiors form the exteriors to their own likeness, and the masculine form is the form of intellect, and the feminine is the form of the love of that intellect, therefore the male and the female differ as to the features of the face, the tone of the voice, and the form of the body; the male having harder features, a harsher tone of voice, a stronger body, and also a bearded chin, and in general a form less beautiful than that of the female; they differ also in their gestures and manners; in a word, they are not exactly similar in a single respect; but still, in every particular of each, there is a tendency to conjunction; yea, the male principle in the male, is male in every part of his body, even the most minute, and also in every idea of his thought, and every spark of his affection; the same is true of the female principle in the female; and since of consequence the one cannot be changed into the other, it follows, that after death a male is a male, and a female a female. . iii. every one's peculiar love remains with him after death. man knows that there is such a thing as love; but he does not know what love is. he knows that there is such a thing from common discourse; as when it is said, that such a one loves me, that a king loves his subjects, and subjects love their king; that a husband loves his wife, and a mother her children, and _vice versa_; also when it is said, that any one loves his country, his fellow citizens, and his neighbour; in like manner of things abstracted from persons; as when it is said that a man loves this or that. but although the term love is thus universally applied in conversation, still there is scarcely any one that knows what love is: even while meditating on the subject, as he is not then able to form any distinct idea concerning it, and thus not to fix it as present in the light of the understanding, because of its having relation not to light but to heat, he either denies its reality, or he calls it merely an influent effect arising from the sight, the hearing, and the conversation, and thus accounts for the motions to which it gives birth; not being at all aware, that love is his very life, not only the common life of his whole body and of all his thoughts, but also the life of all their particulars. a wise man may perceive this from the consideration, that if the affection of love be removed, he is incapable both of thinking and acting; for in proportion as that affection grows cold, do not thought, speech, and action grow cold also? and in proportion as that affection grows warm, do not they also grow warm in the same degree? love therefore is the heat of the life of man (_hominis_), or his vital heat. the heat of the blood, and also its redness, are from this source alone. the fire of the angelic sun, which is pure love, produces this effect. . that every one has his own peculiar love, or a love distinct from that of another; that is, that no two men have exactly the same love, may appear from the infinite variety of human countenances, the countenance being a type of the love; for it is well known that the countenance is changed and varied according to the affection of love; a man's desires also, which are of love, and likewise his joys and sorrows, are manifested in the countenance. from this consideration it is evident, that every man is his own peculiar love; yea, that he is the form of his love. it is however to be observed, that the interior man, which is the same with his spirit which lives after death, is the form of his love, and not so the exterior man which lives in this world, because the latter has learnt from infancy to conceal the desires of his love; yea, to make a pretence and show of desires which are different from his own. . the reason why every one's peculiar love remains with him after death, is, because, as was said just above, n. , love is a man's (_hominis_) life; and hence it is the man himself. a man also is his own peculiar thought, thus his own peculiar intelligence and wisdom; but these make a one with his love; for a man thinks from this love and according to it; yea, if he be in freedom, he speaks and acts in like manner; from which it may appear, that love is the _esse_ or essence of a man's life, and that thought is the _existere_ or existence of his life thence derived; therefore speech and action, which are said to flow from the thought, do not flow from the thought, but from the love through the thought. from much experience i have learned that a man after death is not his own peculiar thought, but that he is his own peculiar affection and derivative thought; or that he is his own peculiar love and derivative intelligence; also that a man after death puts off everything which does not agree with his love; yea, that he successively puts on the countenance, the tone of voice, the speech, the gestures, and the manners of the love proper to his life: hence it is, that the whole heaven is arranged in order according to all the varieties of the affections of the love of good, and the whole hell according to all the affections of the love of evil. . iv. the love of the sex especially remains; and with those who go to heaven, which is the case with all who become spiritual here on earth, conjugial love remains. the reason why the love of the sex remains with man (_homo_) after death, is, because after death a male is a male and a female a female; and the male principle in the male is male (or masculine) in the whole and in every part thereof; and so is the female principle in the female; and there is a tendency to conjunction in all their parts, even the most singular; and as this conjunctive tendency was implanted from creation, and thence perpetually influences, it follows, that the one desires and seeks conjunction with the other. love, considered itself, is a desire and consequent tendency to conjunction; and conjugial love to conjunction into a one; for the male-man and the female-man were so created, that from two they may become as it were one man, or one flesh; and when they become a one, then, taken together they are a man (_homo_) in his fulness; but without such conjunction, they are two, and each is a divided or half-man. now as the above conjunctive tendency lies concealed in the inmost of every part of the male, and of every part of the female, and the same is true of the faculty and desire to be conjoined together into a one, it follows, that the mutual and reciprocal love of the sex remains with men (_homines_) after death. . we speak distinctively of the love of the sex and of conjugial love, because the one differs from the other. the love of the sex exists with the natural man; conjugial love with the spiritual man. the natural man loves and desires only external conjunctions, and the bodily pleasures thence derived; whereas the spiritual man loves and desires internal conjunctions and the spiritual satisfactions thence derived; and these satisfactions he perceives are granted with one wife, with whom he can perpetually be more and more joined together into a one: and the more he enters into such conjunction the more he perceives his satisfactions ascending in a similar degree, and enduring to eternity; but respecting anything like this the natural man has no idea. this then is the reason why it is said, that after death conjugial love remains with those who go to heaven, which is the case with all those who become spiritual here on earth. . v. these things fully confirmed by ocular demonstration. that a man (_homo_) lives as a man after death, and that in this case a male is a male, and a female a female; and that every one's peculiar love remains with him after death, especially the love of the sex and conjugial love, are positions which i have wished hitherto to confirm by such arguments as respect the understanding, and are called rational; but since man (_homo_) from his infancy, in consequence of what has been taught him by his parents and masters, and afterwards by the learned and the clergy, has been induced to believe, that he shall not live a man after death until the day of the last judgement, which has now been expected for six thousand years; and several have regarded this article of faith as one which ought to be believed, but not intellectually conceived, it was therefore necessary that the above positions should be confirmed also by ocular proofs; otherwise a man who believes only the evidence of his senses, in consequence of the faith previously implanted, would object thus: "if men lived men after death, i should certainly see and hear them: who has ever descended from heaven, or ascended from hell, and given such information?" in reply to such objections it is to be observed, that it never was possible, nor can it ever be, that any angel of heaven should descend, or any spirit of hell ascend, and speak with any man, except with those who have the interiors of the mind or spirit opened by the lord; and this opening of the interiors cannot be fully effected except with those who have been prepared by the lord to receive the things which are of spiritual wisdom: on which accounts it has pleased the lord thus to prepare me, that the state of heaven and hell, and of the life of men after death, might not remain unknown, and be laid asleep in ignorance, and at length buried in denial. nevertheless, ocular proofs on the subjects above mentioned, by reason of their copiousness, cannot here be adduced; but they have been already adduced in the treatise on heaven and hell, and in the continuation respecting the spiritual world, and afterwards in the apocalypse revealed; but especially, in regard to the present subject of marriages, in the memorable relations which are annexed to the several paragraphs or chapters of this work. . vi. consequently there are marriages in heaven. this position having been confirmed by reason, and at the same time by experience, needs no further demonstration. . vii. spiritual nuptials are to be understood by the lord's words, "after the resurrection they are not given in marriage." in the evangelists are these words, _certain of the sadducees, who say that there is no resurrection, asked jesus, saying, master, moses wrote, if a man die, having no children, his brother shall take his wife, and raise up seed unto his brother. now there were with us seven brethren and the first, when he had married a wife, deceased, and having no issue, left his wife unto his brother; likewise the second also, and the third unto the seventh; last of all the woman died also; therefore in the resurrection whose wife shall she be of the seven? but jesus answering, said unto them, the sons of this generation marry, and are given in marriage; but those who shall be accounted worthy to attain to another generation, and the resurrection from the dead, shall neither marry nor be given in marriage, neither can they die any more; for they are like unto the angels, and are the sons of god, being sons of the resurrection. but that the dead rise again, even moses shewed at the bush, when he called the lord the god of abraham, and the god of isaac, and the god of jacob; for he is not the god of the dead, but of the living; for all live unto him_, luke xx. - , matt. xxii. - ; mark xii. - . by these words the lord taught two things; first, that a man (_homo_) rises again after death; and secondly, that in heaven they are not given in marriage. that a man rises again after death, he taught by these words, _god is not the god of the dead, but of the living_, and when he said that abraham, isaac, and jacob, are alive: he taught the same also in the parable concerning the rich man in hell, and lazarus in heaven, luke xvi. - . secondly, that in heaven they are not given in marriage, he taught by these words, "_those who shall be accounted worthy to attain to another generation, neither marry nor are given in marriage_." that none other than spiritual nuptials are here meant, is very evident from the words which immediately follow--"_neither can they die any more; because they are like unto the angels, and are the sons of god, being sons of the resurrection_." spiritual nuptials mean conjunction with the lord, which is effected on earth; and when it is effected on earth, it is also effected in the heavens; therefore in the heavens there is no repetition of nuptials, nor are they again given in marriage: this is also meant by these words, "_the sons of this generation marry and are given in marriage; but those who are accounted worthy to attain to another generation, neither marry nor are given in marriage_". the latter are also called by the lord "_sons of nuptials_" matt, ix. ; mark ii. ; and in this place, _angels, sons of god, and sons of the resurrection_. that to celebrate nuptials, signifies to be joined with the lord, and that to enter into nuptials is to be received into heaven by the lord, is manifest from the following passages: _the kingdom of heaven is like unto a man, a king, who made a marriage (nuptials) his son, and sent out servants and invited to the marriage_. matt. xxii. - . _the kingdom of heaven is like unto ten virgins, who went forth to meet the bridegroom: of whom five being prepared entered into the marriage (nuptials)_, matt. xxv. , and the following verses. that the lord here meant himself, is evident from verse , where it is said, _watch ye; because ye know not the day and hour in which the son of man will come_: also from the revelation, _the time of the marriage of the lamb is come, and his wife hath made herself ready; blessed are those who are called to the marriage supper of the lamb_, xix. , . that there is a spiritual meaning in everything which the lord spake, has been fully shewn in the doctrine of the new jerusalem concerning the sacred scripture, published at amsterdam in the year . * * * * * . to the above i shall add two memorable relations respecting the spiritual world. the first is as follows: one morning i was looking upwards into heaven and saw over me three expanses one above another; i saw that the first expanse, which was nearest, opened, and presently the second which was above it, and lastly the third which was highest; and by virtue of illustration thence, i perceived, that above the first expanse were the angels who compose the first or lowest heaven; above the second expanse were the angels who compose the second or middle heaven; and above the third expanse were the angels who compose the third or highest heaven. i wondered at first what all this meant: and presently i heard from heaven a voice as of a trumpet, saying, "we have perceived, and now see, that you are meditating on conjugial love; and we are aware that no one on earth as yet knows what true conjugial love is in its origin and in its essence; and yet it is of importance that it should be known: therefore it has pleased the lord to open the heavens to you in order that illustrating light and consequent perception may flow into the interiors of your mind. with us in the heavens, especially in the third heaven, our heavenly delights are principally derived from conjugial love; therefore, in consequence of leave granted us, we will send down to you a conjugial pair for your inspection and observation;" and lo! instantly there appeared a chariot descending from the highest or third heaven, in which i saw one angel; but as it approached i saw therein two. the chariot at a distance glittered before my eyes like a diamond, and to it were harnessed young horses white as snow; and those who sat in the chariot held in their hands two turtle-doves, and called to me, saying, "do you wish us to come nearer to you? but in this case take heed, lest the radiance, which is from the heaven whence we have descended, and is of a flaming quality, penetrate too interiorly; by its influence the superior ideas of your understanding, which are in themselves heavenly, may indeed be illustrated; but these ideas are ineffable in the world in which you dwell: therefore what you are about to hear, receive rationally, that you may explain it so that it may be understood." i replied, "i will observe your caution; come nearer:" so they came nearer; and lo! it was a husband and his wife; who said, "we are a conjugial pair: we have lived happy in heaven from the earliest period, which you call the golden age, and have continued during that time in the same bloom of youth in which you now see us." i viewed each of them attentively, because i perceived they represented conjugial love in its life and in its decoration; in its life in their faces, and in its decoration in their raiment; for all the angels are affections of love in a human form. the ruling affection itself shines forth from their faces; and from the affection, and according to it, the kind and quality of their raiment is derived and determined: therefore it is said in heaven, that every one is clothed by his own affection. the husband appeared of a middle age, between manhood and youth: from his eyes darted forth sparkling light derived from the wisdom of love; by virtue of which light his face was radiant from its inmost ground; and in consequence of such radiance the surface of his skin had a kind of refulgence, whereby his whole face was one resplendent comeliness. he was dressed in an upper robe which reached down to his feet and underneath it was a vesture of hyacinthine blue, girded about with a golden band, upon which were three precious stones, two sapphires on the sides, and a carbuncle in the middle; his stockings were of bright shining linen, with threads of silver interwoven, and his shoes were of velvet: such was the representative form of conjugial love with the husband. with the wife it was this; i saw her face, and i did not see it; i saw it as essential beauty, and i did not see it because this beauty was inexpressible; for in her face there was a splendor of flaming light, such as the angels in the third heaven enjoy, and this light made my sight dim; so that i was lost in astonishment: she observing this addressed me, saying, "what do you see?" i replied, "i see nothing but conjugial love and the form thereof; but i see, and i do not see." hereupon she turned herself sideways from her husband; and then i was enabled to view her more attentively. her eyes were bright and sparkling from the light of her own heaven, which light, as was said, is of a flaming quality, which it derives from the love of wisdom; for in that heaven wives love their husbands from their wisdom, and in it, and husbands love their wives from that love of wisdom and in it, as directed towards themselves; and thus they are united. this was the origin of her beauty; which was such that it would be impossible for any painter to imitate and exhibit it in its form, for he has no colors bright and vivid enough to express its lustre; nor is it in the power of his art to depict such beauty: her hair was arranged in becoming order so as to correspond with her beauty; and in it were inserted diadems of flowers; she had a necklace of carbuncles, from which hung a rosary of chrysolites; and she wore pearl bracelets: her upper robe was scarlet, and underneath it she had a purple stomacher, fastened in front with clasps of rubies; but what surprised me was, that the colors varied according to her aspect in regard to her husband, being sometimes more glittering, sometimes less; if she were looking towards him, more, if sideways, less. when i had made these observations, they again talked with me; and when the husband was speaking, he spoke at the same time as from his wife; and when the wife was speaking, she spoke at the same time as from her husband; such was the union of their minds from whence speech flows; and on this occasion i also heard the tone of voice of conjugial love; inwardly it was simultaneous, and it proceeded from the delights of a state of peace and innocence. at length they said, "we are recalled; we must depart;" and instantly they again appeared to be conveyed in a chariot as before. they went by a paved way through flowering shrubberies, from the beds of which arose olive and orange-trees laden with fruit: and when they approached their own heaven, they were met by several virgins, who welcomed and introduced them. . after this i saw an angel from that heaven holding in his hand a roll of parchment, which he unfolded, saying, "i see that you are meditating on conjugial love; in this parchment are contained arcana of wisdom respecting that love, which have never yet been disclosed in the world. they are now to be disclosed, because it is of importance that they should be: those arcana abound more in our heaven than in the rest, because we are in the marriage of love and wisdom; but i prophesy that none will appropriate to themselves that love, but those who are received by the lord into the new church, which is the new jerusalem." having said this, the angel let down the unfolded parchment, which a certain angelic spirit received from him, and laid on a table in a certain closet, which he instantly locked, and holding out the key to me, said, "write." . the second memorable relation. i once saw three spirits recently deceased, who were wandering about in the world of spirits, examining whatever came in their way, and inquiring concerning it. they were all amazement to find that men lived altogether as before, and that the objects they saw were similar to those they had seen before: for they knew that they were departed out of the former or natural world, and that in that world they believed that they should not live as men until after the day of the last judgement, when they should be again clothed with the flesh and bones that had been laid in the tomb; therefore, in order to remove all doubt of their being really and truly men, they by turns viewed and touched themselves and others, and felt the surrounding objects and by a thousand proofs convinced themselves that they now were men as in the former world; besides which they saw each other in a brighter light, and the surrounding objects in superior splendor, and thus their vision was more perfect. at that instant two angelic spirits happening to meet them, accosted them, saying, "whence are you?" they replied, "we have departed out of a world, and again we live in a world; thus we have removed from one world to another; and this surprises us." hereupon the three novitiate spirits questioned the two angelic spirits concerning heaven; and as two of the three novitiates were youths, and there darted from their eyes as it were a sparkling fire of lust for the sex, the angelic spirit said, "possibly you have seen some females;" and they replied in the affirmative; and as they made inquiry respecting heaven, the angelic spirits gave them the following information: "in heaven there is every variety of magnificent and splendid objects, and such things as the eye had never seen; there are also virgins and young men; virgins of such beauty that they may be called personifications of beauty, and young men of such morality that they may be called personifications of morality; moreover the beauty of the virgins and the morality of the young men correspond to each other, as forms mutually suited to each other." hereupon the two novitiates asked, "are there in heaven human forms altogether similar to those in the natural world?" and it was replied, "they are altogether similar; nothing is wanting in the male, and nothing in the female; in a word, the male is a male, and the female a female, in all the perfection of form in which they were created: retire, if you please, and examine if you are deficient in anything, and whether you are not a complete man as before." again, the novitiates said, "we have been told in the world we have left, that in heaven they are not given in marriage, because they are angels:--is there then the love of the sex there?" and the angelic spirits replied, "in heaven _your_ love of the sex does not exist; but we have the angelic love of the sex, which is chaste, and devoid all libidinous allurement." hereupon the novitiates observed, "if there be a love of the sex devoid of all allurement, what in such cases is the love of the sex?" and while they were thinking about this love they sighed, and said, "oh, how dry and insipid is the joy of heaven! what young man, if this be the case, can possibly wish for heaven? is not such love barren and devoid of life?" to this the angelic spirits replied, with a smile, "the angelic love of the sex, such as exists in heaven, is nevertheless full of the inmost delights: it is the most agreeable expansion of all the principles of the mind, and thence of all the parts of the breast, existing inwardly in the breast, and sporting therein as the heart sports with the lungs, giving birth thereby to respiration, tone of voice, and speech; so that the intercourse between the sexes, or between youths and virgins, is an intercourse of essential celestial sweets, which are pure. all novitiates, on ascending into heaven, are examined as to the quality of their chastity, being let into the company of virgins, the beauties of heaven, who from their tone of voice, their speech, their face, their eyes, their gesture, and their exhaling sphere, perceive what is their quality in regard to the love of the sex; and if their love be unchaste, they instantly quit them, and tell their fellow angels that they have seen satyrs or priapuses. the new comers also undergo a change, and in the eyes of the angels appear rough and hairy, and with feet like calves' or leopards', and presently they are cast down again, lest by their lust they should defile the heavenly atmosphere." on receiving this information, the two novitiates again said, "according to this, there is no love of the sex in heaven; for what is a chaste love of the sex, but a love deprived of the essence of its life? and must not all the intercourse of youths and virgins, in such case, consist of dry insipid joys? we are not stocks and stones, but perceptions and affections of life." to this the angelic spirits indignantly replied, "you are altogether ignorant what a chaste love of the sex is; because as yet you are not chaste. this love is the very essential delight of the mind, and thence of the heart; and not at the same time of the flesh beneath the heart. angelic chastity, which is common to each sex, prevents the passage of that love beyond the enclosure of the heart; but within that and above it, the morality of a youth is delighted with the beauty of a virgin in the delights of the chaste love of the sex: which delights are of too interior a nature, and too abundantly pleasant, to admit of any description in words. the angels have this love of the sex, because they have conjugial love only; which love cannot exist together with the unchaste love of the sex. love truly conjugial is chaste, and has nothing in common with unchaste love, being confined to one of the sex, and separate from all others; for it is a love of the spirit and thence of the body, and not a love of the body and thence of the spirit; that is, it is not a love infesting the spirit." on hearing this, the two young novitiates rejoiced, and said, "there still exists in heaven a love of the sex; what else is conjugial love?" but the angelic spirits replied, "think more profoundly, weigh the matter well in your minds, and you will perceive, that your love of the sex is a love extra-conjugial, and quite different from conjugial love; the latter being as distinct from the former, as wheat is from chaff, or rather as the human principle is from the bestial. if you should ask the females in heaven, 'what is love extra-conjugial?' i take upon me to say, their reply will be, 'what do you mean? what do you say? how can you utter a question which so wounds our ears? how can a love that is not created be implanted in any one?' if you should then ask them, 'what is love truly conjugial?' i know they will reply, 'it is not the love of the sex, but the love of one of the sex; and it has no other ground of existence than this, that when a youth sees a virgin provided by the lord, and a virgin sees a youth, they are each made sensible of a conjugial principle kindling in their hearts, and perceive that each is the other's, he hers, and she his; for love meets love and causes them to know each other, and instantly conjoins their souls, and afterwards their minds, and thence enters their bosoms, and after the nuptials penetrates further, and thus becomes love in its fulness, which grows every day into conjunction, till they are no longer two, but as it were one.' i know also that they will be ready to affirm in the most solemn manner, that they are not acquainted with any other love of the sex; for they say, 'how can there be a love of the sex, unless it be tending mutually to meet, and reciprocal, so as to seek an eternal union, which consists in two becoming one flesh?'" to this the angelic spirits added, "in heaven they are in total ignorance what whoredom is; nor do they know that it exists, or that its existence is even possible. the angels feel a chill all over the body at the idea of unchaste or extra-conjugial love; and on the other hand, they feel a genial warmth throughout the body arising from chaste or conjugial love. with the males, all the nerves lose their proper tension at the sight of a harlot, and recover it again at the sight of a wife." the three novitiates, on hearing this, asked, "does a similar love exist between married partners in the heavens as in the earths?" the two angelic spirits replied, that it was altogether similar; and as they perceived in the novitiates an inclination to know, whether in heaven there were similar ultimate delights, they said, that they were exactly similar, but much more blessed, because angelic perception and sensation is much more exquisite than human: "and what," added they, "is the life of that love unless derived from a flow of vigor? when this vigor fails, must not the love itself also fail and grow cold? is not this vigor the very measure, degree, and basis of that love? is it not its beginning, its support, and its fulfilment? it is a universal law, that things primary exist, subsist, and persist from things ultimate: this is true also of that love; therefore unless there were ultimate delights, there would be no delights of conjugial love." the novitiates then asked, whether from the ultimate delights of that love in heaven any offspring were produced; and if not, to what use did those delights serve? the angelic spirit answered, that natural offspring were not produced, but spiritual offspring: and the novitiates said, "what are spiritual offspring?" they replied, "two conjugial partners by ultimate delights are more and more united in the marriage of good and truth, which is the marriage of love and wisdom; and love and wisdom are the offspring produced therefrom: in heaven the husband is wisdom, and the wife is the love thereof, and both are spiritual; therefore, no other than spiritual offspring can be there conceived and born: hence it is that the angels, after such delights, do not experience sadness, as some do on earth, but are cheerful; and this in consequence of a continual influx of fresh powers succeeding the former, which serve for their renovation, and at the same time illustration: for all who come into heaven, return into their vernal youth, and into the vigor of that age, and thus continue to eternity." the three novitiates, on hearing this, said, "is it not written in the word, that in heaven they are not given in marriage, because they are angels?" to which the angelic spirits replied, "look up into heaven and you will receive an answer:" and they asked, "why are we to look up into heaven?" they said, "because thence we receive all interpretations of the word. the word is altogether spiritual and the angels being spiritual, will teach the spiritual understanding of it." they did not wait long before heaven was opened over their heads, and two angels appeared in view, and said, "there are nuptials in the heavens, as on earth; but only with those in the heavens who are in the marriage of good and truth; nor are any other angels: therefore it is spiritual nuptials, which relate to the marriage of good and truth, that are there understood. these (viz. spiritual nuptials) take place on earth, but not after departure thence, thus not in the heavens; as it is said of the live foolish virgins, who were also invited to the nuptials, that they could not enter, because they were not in the marriage of good and truth; for they had no oil, but only lamps. oil signifies good, and lamps truth; and to be given in marriage denotes to enter heaven, where the marriage of good and truth takes place." the three novitiates were made glad by this intelligence; and being filled with a desire of heaven, and with the hope of heavenly nuptials, they said, "we will apply ourselves with all diligence to the practice of morality and a becoming conduct of life, that we may enjoy our wishes." * * * * * on the state of married partners after death. . that there are marriages in the heavens, has been shewn just above; it remains now to be considered, whether the marriage-covenant ratified in the world will remain and be in force after death, or not. as this is a question not of judgement but of experience, and as experience herein has been granted me by consociation with angels and spirits, i will here adduce it; but yet so that reason may assent thereto. to have this question determined, is also an object of the wishes and desires of all married persons; for husbands who have loved their wives, in case they die, are desirous to know whether it be well with them, and whether they shall ever meet again; and the same is true of wives in regard to their husbands. many married pairs also wish to know beforehand whether they are to be separated after death, or to live together: those who have disagreed in their tempers, wish to know whether they are to be separated; and those who have agreed, whether they are to live together. information on this subject then being much wished for, we will now proceed to give it in the following order: i. _the love of the sex remains with every man (homo) after death, according to its interior quality; that is, such as it had been in his interior will and thought in the world._ ii. _the same is true of conjugial love._ iii. _married partners most commonly meet after death, know each other, again associate and for a time live together: this is the case in the first state, thus while they are in externals as in the world._ iv. _but successively, as they put off their externals, and enter into their internals, they perceive what had been the quality of their love and inclination for each other, and consequently whether they can live together or not._ v. _if they can live together, they remain married partners; but if they cannot they separate; sometimes the husband from the wife, sometimes the wife from the husband, and sometimes each from the other._ vi. _in this case there is given to the man a suitable wife, and to the woman a suitable husband._ vii. _married partners enjoy similar communications with each other as in the world, but more delightful and blessed, yet without prolification; in the place of which they experience spiritual prolification, which is that of love and wisdom._ viii. _this is the case with those who go to heaven; but it is otherwise with those who go to hell._ we now proceed to an explanation of these propositions, by which they may be illustrated and confirmed. . i. the love of the sex remains with every man after death, according to its interior quality; that is, such as it had been in his interior will and thereby in the woman. every love follows a man after death, because it is the _esse_ of his life; and the ruling love, which is the head of the rest, remains with him to eternity, and together with it the subordinate loves. the reason why they remain, is, because love properly appertains to the spirit of man, and to the body by derivation from the spirit; and a man after death becomes a spirit and thereby carries his love along with him; as love is the _esse_ of a man's life, it is evident, that such as a man's life has been in the world, such is his lot after death. the love of the sex is the most universal of all loves, being implanted from creation in the very soul of man, from which the essence of the whole man is derived, and this for the sake of the propagation of the human race. the reason why this love chiefly remains is, because after death a male is a male, and a female a female, and because there is nothing in the soul, the mind, and the body, which is not male (or masculine) in the male, and female (or feminine) in the female; and these two (the male and female) are so created, that they have a continual tendency to conjunction, yea, to such a conjunction as to become a one. this tendency is the love of the sex, which precedes conjugial love. now, since a conjunctive inclination is inscribed on every part and principle of the male and of the female, it follows, that this inclination cannot be destroyed and die with the body. . the reason why the love of the sex remains such as it was interiorly in the world, is, because every man has an internal and an external, which are also called the internal and external man; and hence there is an internal and an external will and thought. a man when he dies, quits his external, and retains his internal; for externals properly belong to his body, and internals to his spirit. now since every man is his own love, and love resides in the spirit, it follows, that the love of the sex remains with him after death, such as it was interiorly with him; as for example, if the love interiorly had been conjugial and chaste, it remains such after death; but if it had been interiorly adulterous (anti-conjugial), it remains such also after death. it is however to be observed that the love of the sex is not the same with one person as with another; its differences are infinite: nevertheless, such as it is in any one's spirit, such it remains. . ii. conjugial love in like manner remains such as it had been interiorly; that is, such as it had been in the man's interior will and thought in the world. as the love of the sex is one thing, and conjugial love another, therefore mention is made of each; and it is said, that the latter also remains after death such as it has been internally with a man, during his abode in the world: but as few know the distinction between the love of the sex and conjugial love, therefore, before we proceed further in the subject of this treatise, it may be expedient briefly to point it out. the love of the sex is directed to several, and contracted with several of the sex; but conjugial love is directed to only one, and contracted with one of the sex; moreover, love directed to and contracted with several is a natural love; for it is common to man with beasts and birds, which are natural: but conjugial love is a spiritual love, and peculiar and proper to men; because men were created, and are therefore born to become spiritual; therefore, so far as a man becomes spiritual, so far he puts off the love of the sex, and puts on conjugial love. in the beginning of marriage the love of the sex appears as if conjoined with conjugial love; but in the progress of marriage they are separated; and in this case, with such as are spiritual, the love of the sex is removed, and conjugial love is imparted; but with such as are natural, the contrary happens. from these observations it is evident, that the love of the sex, being directed to and contracted with several and being in itself natural, yea, animal, is impure and unchaste, and being vague and indeterminate in its object, is adulterous; but the case is altogether different with conjugial love. that conjugial love is spiritual, and truly human, will manifestly appear from what follows. [transcriber's note: the out-of-order section numbers which follow are in the original text, as are the asterisks which do not seem to indicate footnotes. there are several cases of this in the text, apparently indicating insertions by the author.] .* iii. married partners most commonly meet after death, know each other, again associate, and for a time live together: this is the case in the first state, thus while they are in externals as in the world. there are two states in which a man (_homo_) enters after death, an external and an internal state. he comes first into his external state, and afterwards into his internal; and during the external state, married partners meet each other, (supposing they are both deceased,) know each other, and if they have lived together in the world, associate again, and for some time live together; and while they are in this state they do not know the inclination of each to the other, this being concealed in the internals of each; but afterwards, when they come into their internal state, the inclination manifests itself; and if it be in mutual agreement and sympathy, they continue to live together a conjugial life; but if it be in disagreement and antipathy, their marriage is dissolved. in case a man had had several wives, he successively joins himself with them, while he is in his external state; but when he enters into his internal state, in which lie perceives the inclinations of his love, and of what quality they are, he then either adopts one or leaves them all; for in the spiritual world, as well as in the natural, it is not allowable for any christian to have more than one wife, as it infests and profanes religion. the case is the same with a woman that had had several husbands: nevertheless the women in this case do not join themselves to their husbands; they only present themselves, and the husbands join them to themselves. it is to be observed that husbands rarely know their wives, but that wives well know their husbands, women having an interior perception of love, and men only an exterior. .* iv. but successively, as they put off their externals and enter into their internals, they perceive what had been the quality of their love and inclination for each other, and consequently whether they can live together or not. there is no occasion to explain this further, as it follows from what is shewn in the previous section; suffice it here to shew how a man (_homo_) after death puts off his externals and puts on his internals. every one after death is first introduced into the world which is called the world of spirits, and which is intermediate between heaven and hell; and in that world he is prepared, for heaven if he is good, and for hell if he is evil. the end or design of this preparation is, that the internal and external may agree together and make a one, and not disagree and make two: in the natural world they frequently make two, and only make a one with those who are sincere in heart. that they make two is evident from the deceitful and the cunning; especially from hypocrites, flatterers, dissemblers, and liars: but in the spiritual world it is not allowable thus to have a divided mind; for whoever has been internally wicked must also be externally wicked; in like manner, whoever has been good, must be good in each principle: for every man after death becomes of such a quality as he had been interiorly, and not such as he had been exteriorly. for this end, after his decease, he is let alternately into his external and his internal; and every one, while he is in his external, is wise, that is, he wishes to appear wise, even though he be wicked; but a wicked person internally is insane. by those changes he is enabled to see his follies, and to repent of them: but if he had not repented in the world, he cannot afterwards; for he loves his follies, and wishes to remain in them: therefore he forces his external also to be equally insane: thus his internal and his external become a one; and when this is effected, he is prepared for hell. but it is otherwise with a good spirit: such a one, as in the world he had looked unto god and had repented, was more wise in his internal than in his external: in his external also, through the allurements and vanities of the world, he was sometimes led astray; therefore his external is likewise reduced to agreement with his internal, which, as was said, is wise; and when this is effected he is prepared for heaven. from these considerations it may plainly appear, how the case is in regard to putting off the external and putting on the internal after death. . v. if they can live together, they remain married partners; but if they cannot, they separate; sometimes the husband from the wife, sometimes the wife from the husband, and sometimes each from the other. the reason why separations take place after death is, because the conjunctions which are made on earth are seldom made from any internal perception of love, but from an external perception, which hides the internal. the external perception of love originates in such things as regard the love of the world and of the body. wealth and large possessions are peculiarly the objects of worldly love, while dignities and honors are those of the love of the body: besides these objects, there are also various enticing allurements, such as beauty and an external polish of manners, and sometimes even an unchasteness of character. moreover, matrimonial engagements are frequently contracted within the particular district, city, or village, in which the parties were born, and where they live; in which case the choice is confined and limited to families that are known, and to such as are in similar circumstances in life: hence matrimonial connections made in the world are for the most part external, and not at the same time internal; when yet it is the internal conjunction, or the conjunction of souls, which constitutes a real marriage; and this conjunction is not perceivable until the man puts off the external and puts on the internal; as is the case after death. this then is the reason why separations take place, and afterwards new conjunctions are formed with such as are of a similar nature and disposition; unless these conjunctions have been provided on earth, as happens with those who from an early age have loved, have desired, and have asked of the lord an honorable and lovely connection with one of the sex, shunning and abominating the impulses of a loose and wandering lust. . vi. in this case there is given to the man a suitable wife, and to the woman a suitable husband. the reason of this is, because no married partners can be received into heaven, so as to remain there, but such as have been interiorly united, or as are capable of being so united; for in heaven two married partners are not called two, but one angel; this is understood by the lord's words "_they are no longer two, but one flesh_." the reason why no other married partners are there received is, because in heaven no others can live together in one house, and in one chamber and bed; for all in the heavens are associated according to the affinities and relationships of love, and have their habitations accordingly. in the spiritual world there are not spaces, but the appearance of spaces; and these appearances are according to the states of life of the inhabitants, which are according to their states of love; therefore in that world no one can dwell but in his own house, which is provided for him and assigned to him according to the quality of his love: if he dwells in any other, he is straitened and pained in his breast and breathing; and it is impossible for two to dwell together in the same house unless they are likenesses; neither can married partners so dwell together, unless they are mutual inclinations; if they are external inclinations, and not at the same time internal, the very house or place itself separates, and rejects and expels them. this is the reason why for those who after preparation are introduced into heaven, there is provided a marriage with a consort whose soul inclines to mutual union with the soul of another, so that they no longer wish to be two lives, but one. this is the reason why after separation there is given to the man a suitable wife and to the woman in like manner a suitable husband. . vii. married pairs enjoy similar communications with each other as in the world, but more delightful and blessed, yet without prolification; in the place of which they experience spiritual prolification, which is that of love and wisdom. the reason why married pairs enjoy similar communications as in the world, is, because after death a male is a male, and a female a female, and there is implanted in each at creation an inclination to conjunction; and this inclination with man is the inclination of his spirit and thence of his body; therefore after death, when a man becomes a spirit, the same mutual inclination remains, and this cannot exist without similar communications; for after death a man is a man as before; neither is there any thing wanting either in the male or in the female: as to form they are like themselves, and also as to affections and thoughts; and what must be the necessary consequence, but that they must enjoy like communications? and as conjugial love is chaste, pure, and holy, therefore their communications are ample and complete; but on this subject see what was said in the memorable relation, n. . the reason why such communications are more delightful and blessed than in the world, is, because conjugial love, as it is the love of the spirit, becomes interior and purer, and thereby more perceivable; and every delight increases according to perception, and to such a degree that its blessedness is discernible in its delight. . the reason why marriages in the heavens are without prolification, and that in place thereof there is experienced spiritual prolification, which is that of love and wisdom, is, because with the inhabitants of the spiritual world, the third principle--the natural, is wanting; and it is this which contains the spiritual principles; and these without that which contains them have no consistence, like the productions of the natural world: moreover spiritual principles, considered in themselves, have relation to love and wisdom; therefore love and wisdom are the births produced from marriages in the heavens. these are called births, because conjugial love perfects an angel, uniting him with his consort, in consequence whereof he becomes more and more a man (_homo_) for, as was said above, two married partners in heaven are not two but one angel; wherefore by conjugial unition they fill themselves with the human principle, which consists in desiring to grow wise, and in loving whatever relates to wisdom. . viii. this is the case with those who go to heaven; but it is otherwise with those who go to hell. that after death a suitable wife is given to a husband, and a suitable husband to a wife, and that they enjoy delightful and blessed communications, but without prolification, except of a spiritual kind, is to be understood of those who are received into heaven and become angels; because such are spiritual, and marriages in themselves are spiritual and thence holy: but with respect to those who go to hell, they are all natural; and marriages merely natural are not marriages, but conjunctions which originate in unchaste lust. the nature and quality of such conjunctions will be shewn in the following pages, when we come to treat of the chaste and the unchaste principles, and further when we come to treat of adulterous love. . to what has been above related concerning the state of married partners after death, it may be expedient to add the following circumstances. i. that all those married partners who are merely natural, are separated after death; because with them the love of marriage grows cold, and the love of adultery grows warm: nevertheless after separation, they sometimes associate as married partners with others; but after a short time they withdraw from each other: and this in many cases is done repeatedly; till at length the man is made over to some harlot, and the woman to some adulterer; which is effected in an infernal prison: concerning which prison, see the apocalypse revealed, n. , § x., where promiscuous whoredom is forbidden each party under certain pains and penalties. ii. married partners, of whom one is spiritual and the other natural, are also separated after death; and to the spiritual is given a suitable married partner: whereas the natural one is sent to the resorts of the lascivious among his like. iii. but those, who in the world have lived a single life, and have altogether alienated their minds from marriage, in case they be spiritual, remain single; but if natural, they become whoremongers. it is otherwise with those, who in their single state have desired marriage, and especially if they have solicited it without success; for such, if they are spiritual, blessed marriages are provided, but not until they come into heaven. iv. those who in the world have been shut up in monasteries, both men and women, at the conclusion of the monastic life, which continues some time after death, are let loose and discharged, and enjoy the free indulgence of their desires, whether they are disposed to live in a married state or not: if they are disposed to live in a married state, this is granted them; but if otherwise, they are conveyed to those who live in celibacy on the side of heaven; such, however, as have indulged the fires of prohibited lust, are cast down. v. the reason why those who live in celibacy are on the side of heaven, is, because the sphere of perpetual celibacy infests the sphere of conjugial love, which is the very essential sphere of heaven; and the reason why the sphere of conjugial love is the very essential sphere of heaven, is, because it descends from the heavenly marriage of the lord and the church. * * * * * . to the above, i shall add two memorable relations: the first is this. on a certain time i heard from heaven the sweetest melody, arising from a song that was sung by wives and virgins in heaven. the sweetness of their singing was like the affection of some kind of love flowing forth harmoniously. heavenly songs are in reality sonorous affections, or affections expressed and modified by sounds; for as the thoughts are expressed by speech, so the affections are expressed by songs; and from the measure and flow of the modulation, the angels perceive the object of the affection. on this occasion there were many spirits about me; and some of them informed me that they heard this delightful melody, and that it was the melody of some lovely affection, the object of which they did not know: they therefore made various conjectures about it, but in vain. some conjectured that the singing expressed the affection of a bridegroom and bride when they sign the marriage-articles; some that it expressed the affection of a bridegroom and a bride at the solemnizing of the nuptials; and some that it expressed the primitive love of a husband and a wife. but at that instant there appeared in the midst of them an angel from heaven, who said, that they were singing the chaste love of the sex. hereupon some of the bystanders asked, "what is the chaste love of the sex?" and the angel answered, "it is the love which a man bears towards a beautiful and elegant virgin or wife, free from every lascivious idea, and the same love experienced by a virgin or a wife towards a man." as he said this, he disappeared. the singing continued; and as the bystanders then knew the subject of the affection which it expressed, they heard it very variously, every one according to the state of his love. those who looked upon women chastely, heard it as a song of symphony and sweetness; those who looked upon them unchastely, heard it as a discordant and mournful song; and those who looked upon them disdainfully, heard it as a song that was harsh and grating. at that instant the place on which they stood was suddenly changed into a theatre, and a voice was heard, saying, "investigate this love:" and immediately spirits from various societies presented themselves, and in the midst of them some angels in white. the latter then said, "we in this spiritual world have inquired into every species of love, not only into the love which a man has for a man, and a woman for a woman; and into the reciprocal love of a husband and a wife; but also into the love which a man has for woman, and which a woman has for men; and we have been permitted to pass through societies and examine them, and we have never yet found the common love of the sex chaste, except with those who from true conjugial love are in continual potency, and these are in the highest heavens. we have also been permitted to perceive the influx of this love into the affections of our hearts, and have been made sensible that it surpasses in sweetness every other love, except the love of two conjugial partners whose hearts are as one: but we have besought you to investigate this love, because it is new and unknown to you; and since it is essential pleasantness, we in heaven call it heavenly sweetness." they then began the investigation; and those spoke first who were unable to think chastely of marriages. they said, "what man when he beholds a beautiful and lovely virgin or wife, can so correct or purify the ideas of his thought from concupiscence, as to love the beauty and yet have no inclination to taste it, if it be allowable? who can convert concupiscence, which is innate in every man, into such chastity, thus into somewhat not itself, and yet love? can the love of the sex, when it enters by the eyes into the thoughts, stop at the face of a woman? does it not descend instantly into the breast, and beyond it? the angels talk idly in saying that this love is chaste, and yet is the sweetest of all loves, and that it can only exist with husbands who are in true conjugial love, and thence in an extreme degree of potency with their wives. do such husbands possess any peculiar power more than other men, when they see a beautiful woman, of keeping the ideas of their thought in a state of elevation, and as it were of suspending them, so that they cannot descend and proceed to what constitutes that love?" the argument was next taken up by those who were in cold and in heat; in cold towards their wives, and in heat towards the sex; and they said, "what is the chaste love of the sex? is it not a contradiction in terms to talk of such a love? if chastity be predicated of the love of the sex, is not this destroying the very thing of which it is predicated? how can the chaste love of the sex be the sweetest of all loves, when chastity deprives it of its sweetness? you all know where the sweetness of that love resides; when therefore the idea connected therewith is banished from the mind, where and whence is the sweetness?" at that instant certain spirits interrupted them, and said, "we have been in company with the most beautiful females and have had no lust; therefore we know what the chaste love of the sex is." but their companions, who were acquainted with their lasciviousness, replied, "you were at those times in a state of loathing towards the sex, arising from impotence; and this is not the chaste love of the sex, but the ultimate of unchaste love." on hearing what had been said, the angels were indignant and requested those who stood on the right, or to the south, to deliver their sentiments. they said, "there is a love of one man to another, and also of one woman to another; and there is a love of a man to a woman, and of a woman to a man; and these three pairs of loves totally differ from each other. the love of one man to another is as the love of understanding and understanding; for the man was created and consequently born to become understanding; the love of one woman to another is as the love of affection and affection of the understanding of men; for the woman was created and born to become a love of the understanding of a man. these loves, viz., of one man to another, and of one woman to another, do not enter deeply into the bosom, but remain without, and only touch each other; thus they do not interiorly conjoin the two parties: wherefore also two men, by their mutual reasonings, sometimes engage in combat together like two wrestlers; and two women, by their mutual concupiscences, are at war with each other like two prize-fighters. but the love of a man and a woman is the love of the understanding and of its affection; and this love enters deeply and effects conjunction, which is that love; but the conjunction of minds, and not at the same time of bodies, or the endeavour towards that conjunction alone, is spiritual love, and consequently chaste love; and this love exists only with those who are in true conjugial love, and thence in an eminent degree of potency; because such, from their chastity, do not admit an influx of love from the body of any other woman than of their own wives; and as they are in an extreme degree of potency, they cannot do otherwise than love the sex, and at the same time hold in aversion whatever is unchaste. hence they are principled in a chaste love of the sex, which, considered in itself, is interior spiritual friendship, deriving its sweetness from an eminent degree of potency, but still being chaste. this eminent degree of potency they possess in consequence of a total renunciation of whoredom; and as each loves his own wife alone, the potency is chaste. now, since this love with such partakes not of the flesh, but only of the spirit, therefore it is chaste; and as the beauty of the woman, from innate inclination, enters at the same time into the mind, therefore the love is sweet." on hearing this, many of the bystanders put their hands to their ears, saying, "what has been said offends our ears; and what you have spoken is of no account with us." these spirits were unchaste. then again was heard the singing from heaven, and sweeter now than before; but to the unchaste it was so grating and discordant that they hurried out of the theatre and fled, leaving behind them only the few who from wisdom loved conjugial chastity. . the second memorable relation. as i was conversing with angels some time ago in the spiritual world, i was inspired with a desire, attended with a pleasing satisfaction, to see the temple of wisdom, which i had seen once before; and accordingly i asked them the way to it. they said, "follow the light and you will find it." i said, "what do you mean by following the light?" they replied, "our light grows brighter and brighter as we approach that temple; wherefore, follow the light according to the increase of its brightness; for our light proceeds from the lord as a sun, and thence considered in itself is wisdom." i immediately directed my course, in company with two angels, according to the increase of the brightness of the light, and ascending by a steep path to the summit of a hill in the southern quarter. there we found a magnificent gate, which the keeper, on seeing the angels with me, opened; and lo! we saw an avenue of palm-trees and laurels, according to which we directed our course. it was a winding avenue, and terminated in a garden, in the middle of which was the temple of wisdom. on arriving there, and looking about me, i saw several small sacred buildings, resembling the temple, inhabited by the wise. we went towards one of them, and coming to the door accosted the person who dwelt there, and told him the occasion and manner of our coming. he said, "you are welcome; enter and be seated, and we will improve our acquaintance by discourses respecting wisdom." i viewed the building within, and observed that it was divided into two, and still was but one; it was divided into two by a transparent wall; but it appeared as one from its translucence, which was like that of the purest crystal. i inquired the reason of this? he said, "i am not alone; my wife is with me, and we are two; yet still we are not two, but one flesh." but i replied, "i know that you are a wise one; and what has a wise one or a wisdom to do with a woman?" hereupon our host, becoming somewhat indignant, changed countenance, and beckoned his hand, and lo! instantly other wise ones presented themselves from the neighboring buildings, to whom he said humorously, "our stranger here asks, 'what has a wise one or a wisdom to do with a woman?'" at this they smiled and said, "what is a wise one or a wisdom without a woman, or without love, a wife being the love of a wise man's wisdom?" our host then said, "let us now endeavor to improve our acquaintance by some discourse respecting wisdom; and let it be concerning causes, and at present concerning the cause of beauty in the female sex." then they spoke in order; and the first assigned as a cause, that women were created by the lord's affections of the wisdom of men, and the affection of wisdom is essential beauty. a second said, that the woman was created by the lord through the wisdom of the man, because from the man; and that hence she is a form of wisdom inspired with love-affection; and since love-affection is essential life, a female is the life of wisdom, whereas a male is wisdom; and the life of wisdom is essential beauty. a third said, that women have a perception of the delights of conjugial love; and as their whole body is an organ of that perception, it must needs be that the habitation of the delights of conjugial love, with its perception, be beauty. a fourth assigned this cause; that the lord took away from the man beauty and elegance of life, and transferred it to the woman; and that hence the man, unless he be re-united with his beauty and elegance in the woman, is stern, austere, joyless, and unlovely; so one man is wise only for himself, and another is foolish; whereas, when a man is united with his beauty and elegance of life in a wife, he becomes engaging, pleasant, active, and lovely, and thereby wise. a fifth said, that women were created beauties, not for the sake of themselves, but for the sake of the men; that men, who of themselves are hard, might be made soft; that their minds, of themselves grave and severe, might become gentle and cheerful; and that their hearts, of themselves cold, might be made warm; which effects take place when they become one flesh with their wives. a sixth assigned as a cause, that the universe was created by the lord a most perfect work; but that nothing was created in it more perfect than a beautiful and elegant woman, in order that man may give thanks to the lord for his bounty herein, and may repay it by the reception of wisdom from him. these and many other similar observations having been made, the wife of our host appeared beyond the crystal wall, and said to her husband, "speak if you please;" and then when he spoke, the life of wisdom from the wife was perceived in his discourse; for in the tone of his speech was her love: thus experience testified to the truth. after this we took a view of the temple of wisdom, and also of the paradisiacal scenes which encompassed it, and being thereby filled with joy, we departed, and passed through the avenue to the gate, and descended by the way we had ascended. * * * * * on love truly conjugial. . there are infinite varieties of conjugial love, it being in no two persons exactly similar. it appears indeed as if it were similar with many; but this appearance arises from corporeal judgement, which, being gross and dull, is little qualified to discern aright respecting it. by corporeal judgement we mean the judgement of the mind from the evidence of the external senses; but to those whose eyes are opened to see from the judgment of the spirit, the differences are manifest; and more distinctly to those who are enabled to elevate the sight arising from such judgement to a higher degree, which is effected by withdrawing it from the senses, and exalting it into a superior light; these can at length confirm themselves in their understanding, and thereby see that conjugial love is never exactly similar in any two persons. nevertheless no one can see the infinite varieties of this love in any light of the understanding however elevated, unless he first know what is the nature and quality of that love in its very essence and integrity, thus what was its nature and quality when, together with life, it was implanted in man from god. unless this its state, which was most perfect, be known, it is in vain to attempt the discovery of its differences by any investigation; for there is no other fixed point, from which as a first principle those differences may be deduced, and to which as the focus of their direction they may be referred, and thus may appear truly and without fallacy. this is the reason why we here undertake to describe that love in its essence; and as it was in this essence when, together with life from god, it was infused into man, we undertake to describe it such as it was in its primeval state; and as in this state it was truly conjugial, therefore we have entitled this section, on love truly conjugial. the description of it shall be given in the following order: i. _there exists a love truly conjugial, which at this day is so rare that it is not known what is its quality, and scarcely that it exists._ ii. _this love originates in the marriage of good and truth._ iii. _there is a correspondence of this love with the marriage of the lord and the church._ iv. _this love from its origin and correspondence, is celestial, spiritual, holy, pure, and clean, above every other love imparted by the lord to the angels of heaven and the men of the church._ v. _it is also the foundation love of all celestial and spiritual loves, and thence of all natural loves._ vi. _into this love are collected all joys and delights from first to last._ vii. _none however come into this love, and can be in it, but those who approach the lord, and love the truths of the church and practise its goods._ viii. _this love was the love of loves with the ancients, who lived in the golden, silver, and copper ages; but afterwards it successively departed._ we now proceed to the explanation of each article. . i. there exists a love truly conjugial, which at this day is so rare that is not known what is its quality, and scarcely that it exists. that there exists such conjugial love as is described in the following pages, may indeed be acknowledged from the first state of that love, when it insinuates itself, and enters into the hearts of a youth and a virgin; thus from its influence on those who begin to love one alone of the sex, and to desire to be joined therewith in marriage; and still more at the time of courtship and the interval which precedes the marriage-ceremony; and lastly during the marriage-ceremony and some days after it. at such times who does not acknowledge and consent to the following positions; that this love is the foundation of all loves, and also that into it are collected all joys and delights from first to last? and who does not know that, after this season of pleasure, the satisfactions thereof successively pass away and depart, till at length they are scarcely sensible? in the latter case, if it be said as before, that this love is the foundation of all loves, and that into it are collected all joys and delights, the positions are neither agreed to nor acknowledged, and possibly it is asserted that they are nonsense or incomprehensible mysteries. from these considerations it is evident, that primitive marriage love bears a resemblance to love truly conjugial, and presents it to view in a certain image. the reason of which is, because then the love of the sex, which is unchaste, is put away, and in its place the love of one of the sex, which is truly conjugial and chaste, remains implanted: in this case, who does not regard other women with indifference, and the one to whom he is united with love and affection? . the reason why love truly conjugial is notwithstanding so rare, that its quality is not known, and scarcely its existence, is, because the state of pleasurable gratifications before and at the time of marriage, is afterwards changed into a state of indifference arising from an insensibility to such gratifications. the causes of this change of state are too numerous to be here adduced; but they shall be adduced in a future part of this work, when we come to explain in their order the causes of coldnesses, separations, and divorces; from which it will be seen, that with the generality at this day this image of conjugial love is so far abolished, and with the image the knowledge thereof, that its quality and even its existence are scarcely known. it is well known, that every man by birth is merely corporeal, and that from corporeal he becomes natural more and more interiorly, and thus rational, and at length spiritual. the reason why this is effected progressively is, because the corporeal principle is like ground, wherein things natural, rational, and spiritual are implanted in their order; thus a man becomes more and more a man. the case is nearly similar when he enters into marriage; on this occasion a man becomes a more complete man, because he is joined with a consort, with whom he acts as one man: but this, in the first state spoken of above, is effected only in a sort of image: in like manner he then commences from what is corporeal, and proceeds to what is natural as to conjugial life, and thereby to a conjunction into a one. those who, in this case, love corporeal natural things, and rational things only as grounded therein, cannot be conjoined to a consort as into a one, except as to those externals: and when those externals fail, cold takes possession of the internals; in consequence whereof the delights of that love are dispersed and driven away, as from the mind so from the body, and afterwards as from the body so from the mind; and this until there is nothing left of the remembrance of the primeval state of their marriage, consequently no knowledge respecting it. now since this is the case with the generality of persons at this day, it is evident that love truly conjugial is not known as to its quality, and scarcely as to its existence. it is otherwise with those who are spiritual. with them the first state is an initiation into lasting satisfactions, which advance in degree, in proportion as the spiritual rational principle of the mind, and thence the natural sensual principle of the body, in each party, conjoin and unite themselves with the same principles in the other party; but such instances are rare. . ii. this love originates in the marriage of good and truth. that all things in the universe have relation to good and truth, is acknowledged by every intelligent man, because it is a universal truth; that likewise in every thing in the universe good is conjoined with truth, and truth with good, cannot but be acknowledged, because this also is a universal truth, which agrees with the former. the reason why all things in the universe have relation to good and truth, and why good is conjoined with truth, and truth with good, is, because each proceeds from the lord, and they proceed from him as a one. the two things which proceed from the lord, are love and wisdom, because these are himself, thus from himself; and all things relating to love are called good, or goods, and all things relating to wisdom are called true, or truths; and as these two proceed from him as the creator, it follows that they are in the things created. this may be illustrated by heat and light which proceed from the sun: from them all things appertaining to the earth are derived, which germinate according to their presence and conjunction; and natural heat corresponds to spiritual heat, which is love, as natural light corresponds to spiritual light, which is wisdom. . that conjugial love proceeds from the marriage of good and truth, will be shewn in the following section or paragraph: it is mentioned here only with a view of shewing that this love is celestial, spiritual, and holy, because it is from a celestial, spiritual, and holy origin. in order to see that the origin of conjugial love is from the marriage of good and truth, it may be expedient in this place briefly to premise somewhat on the subject. it was said just above, that in every created thing there exists a conjunction of good and truth; and there is no conjunction unless it be reciprocal; for conjunction on one part, and not on the other in its turn, is dissolved of itself. now as there is a conjunction of good and truth, and this is reciprocal, it follows that there is a truth of good, or truth grounded in good, and that there is a good of truth, or good grounded in truth; that the truth of good, or truth grounded in good, is in the male, and that it is the very essential male (or masculine) principle, and that the good of truth, or good grounded in truth, is in the female, and that it is the very essential female (or feminine) principle; also that there is a conjugial union between those two, will be seen in the following section: it is here only mentioned in order to give some preliminary idea on the subject. . iii. there is a correspondence of this love with the marriage of the lord and the church; that is, that as the lord loves the church, and is desirous that the church should love him, so a husband and a wife mutually love each other. that there is a correspondence herein, is well known in the christian world: but the nature of that correspondence as yet is not known; therefore we will explain it presently in a particular paragraph. it is here mentioned in order to shew that conjugial love is celestial, spiritual, and holy, because it corresponds to the celestial, spiritual, and holy marriage of the lord and the church. this correspondence also follows as a consequence of conjugial love's originating in the marriage of good and truth, spoken of in the preceding article; because the marriage of good and truth constitutes the church with man: for the marriage of good and truth is the same as the marriage of charity and faith; since good relates to charity, and truth to faith. that this marriage constitutes the church must at once be acknowledged, because it is a universal truth; and every universal truth is acknowledged as soon as it is heard, in consequence of the lord's influx and at the same time of the confirmation of heaven. now since the church is the lord's, because it is from him, and since conjugial love corresponds to the marriage of the lord and the church, it follows that this love is from the lord. . but in what manner the church from the lord is formed with two married partners, and how conjugial love is formed thereby, shall be illustrated in the paragraph spoken of above: we will at present only observe, that the church from the lord is formed in the husband, and through the husband in the wife; and that when it is formed in each, it is a full church; for in this case is effected a full conjunction of good and truth; and the conjunction of good and truth constitutes the church. that the uniting inclination, which is conjugial love, is in a similar degree with the conjunction of good and truth, which is the church, will be proved by convincing arguments in what follows in the series. . iv. this love, from its origin and correspondence, is celestial, spiritual, holy, pure, and clean, above every other love imparted by the lord to the angels of heaven and the men of the church. that such is the nature and quality of conjugial love from its origin, which is the marriage of good and truth, was briefly shewn above; but the subject was then barely touched upon: in like manner that such is the nature and quality of that love, from its correspondence with the marriage of the lord and the church. these two marriages, from which conjugial love, as a slip or shoot, descends, are essentially holy, therefore if it be received from its author, the lord, holiness from him follows of consequence, which continually cleanses and purifies it: in this case, if there be in the man's will a desire and tendency to it, this love becomes daily and continually cleaner and purer. conjugial love is called celestial and spiritual because it is with the angels of heaven; celestial, as with the angels of the highest heaven, these being called celestial angels; and spiritual, as with the angels beneath that heaven, these being called spiritual angels. those angels are so called, because the celestial are loves, and thence wisdoms, and the spiritual are wisdoms and thence loves; similar thereto is their conjugial principle. now as conjugial love is with the angels of both the superior and the inferior heavens, as was also shewn in the first paragraph concerning marriages in heaven, it is manifest that it is holy and pure. the reason why this love in its essence, considered in regard to its origin, is holy and pure above every other love with angels and men, is, because it is as it were the head of the other loves: concerning its excellence something shall be said in the following article. . v. it is also the foundation love of all celestial and spiritual loves, and thence of all natural loves. the reason why conjugial love considered in its essence is the foundation love of all the loves of heaven and the church, is, because it originates in the marriage of good and truth, and from this marriage proceed all the loves which constitute heaven and the church with man: the good of this marriage constitutes love, and its truth constitutes wisdom; and when love draws near to wisdom, or joins itself therewith, then love becomes love; and when wisdom in its turn draws near to love, and joins itself therewith, then wisdom becomes wisdom. love truly conjugial is the conjunction of love and wisdom. two married partners, between or in whom this love subsists, are an image and form of it: all likewise in the heavens, where faces are the genuine types of the affections of every one's love, are likenesses of it; for, as was shewn above, it pervades them in the whole and in every part. now as two married partners are an image and form of this love, it follows that every love which proceeds from the form of essential love itself, is a resemblance thereof; therefore if conjugial love be celestial and spiritual, the loves proceeding from it are also celestial and spiritual. conjugial love therefore is as a parent, and all other loves are as the offspring. hence it is, that from the marriages of the angels in the heavens are produced spiritual offspring, which are those of love and wisdom, or of good and truth; concerning which production, see above, n. , . . the same is evident from man's having been created for this love, and from his formation afterwards by means of it. the male was created to become wisdom grounded in the love of growing wise, and the female was created to become the love of the male grounded in his wisdom, and consequently was formed according thereto; from which consideration it is manifest, that two married partners are the very forms and images of the marriage of love and wisdom, or of good and truth. it is well to be observed, that there is not any good or truth which is not in a substance as in its subject: there are no abstract goods and truths; for, having no abode or habitation, they no where exist, neither can they appear as airy unfixed principles; therefore in such case they are mere entities, concerning which reason seems to itself to think abstractedly; but still it cannot conceive of them except as annexed to subjects: for every human idea, however elevated, is substantial, that is, affixed to substances. it is moreover to be observed, that there is no substance without a form; an unformed substance not being any thing, because nothing can be predicated of it; and a subject without predicates is also an entity which has no existence in reason. these philosophical considerations are adduced in order to shew still more clearly, that two married partners who are principled in love truly conjugial, are actually forms of the marriage of good and truth, or of love and wisdom. . since natural loves flow from spiritual, and spiritual from celestial, therefore it is said that conjugial love is the foundation love of all celestial and spiritual loves, and thence of all natural loves. natural loves relate to the loves of self and of the world; spiritual loves to love towards the neighbour; and celestial loves to love to the lord; and such as are the relations of the loves, it is evident in what order they follow and are present with man. when they are in this order, then the natural loves live from the spiritual, and the spiritual from the celestial, and all in this order from the lord, in whom they originate. . vi. into this love are collected all joys and delights from first to last. all delights whatever, of which a man (_homo_) has any perception, are delights of his love; the love manifesting itself, yea, existing and living thereby. it is well known that the delights are exalted in proportion as the love is exalted, and also in proportion as the incident affections touch the ruling love more nearly. now as conjugial love is the foundation love of all good loves, and as it is inscribed on all the parts and principles of man, even the most particular, as was shewn above, it follows that its delights exceed the delights of all other loves, and also that it gives delight to the other loves, according to its presence and conjunction with them; for it expands the inmost principles of the mind, and at the same time the inmost principles of the body, as the delicious current of its fountain flows through and opens them. the reason why all delights from first to last are collected into this love, is on account of the superior excellence of its use, which is the propagation of the human race, and thence of the angelic heaven; and as this use was the chief end of creation, it follows that all the beatitudes, satisfactions, delights, pleasantnesses, and pleasures, which the lord the creator could possibly confer upon man, are collected into this his love. that delights follow use, and are also communicated to man according to the love thereof, is manifest from the delights of the five senses, seeing, hearing, smelling, taste, and touch: each of these has its delights with variations according to the specific uses of each; what then must be the delight annexed to the sense of conjugial love, the use of which comprehends all other uses? . i am aware that few will acknowledge that all joys and delights from first to last are collected into conjugial love; because love truly conjugial, into which they are collected, is at this day so rare that its quality is not known, and scarcely its existence, agreeably to what was explained and confirmed above, n. , ; for such joys and delights exist only in genuine conjugial love; and as this is so rare on earth, it is impossible to describe its super-eminent felicities any otherwise than from the mouth of angels, because they are principled in it. they have declared, that the inmost delights of this love, which are delights of the soul, into which the conjugial principle of love and wisdom, or of good and truth from the lord, first flows, are imperceptible and thence ineffable, because they are the delights of peace and innocence conjointly; but that in their descent they become more and more perceptible; in the superior principles of the mind as beatitudes, in the inferior as satisfactions, in the breast as delights thence derived; and that from the breast they diffuse themselves into every part of the body, and at length unite themselves in ultimates and become the delight of delights. moreover the angels have related wonderful things respecting these delights; adding further, that their varieties in the souls of conjugial pairs, and from their souls in their minds, and from their minds in their breasts, are infinite and also eternal; that they are exalted according to the prevalence of wisdom with the husband; and this, because they live to eternity in the bloom of their age, and because they know no greater blessedness than to grow wiser and wiser. but a fuller account of these delights, as given by the angels, may be seen in the memorable relations, especially in those added to some of the following chapters. . vii. none however come into this love, and can remain in it, but those who approach the lord, and love the truths of the church and practise its goods. the reason why none come into that love but those who approach the lord, is, because monogamical marriages, which are of one husband with one wife, correspond to the marriage of the lord and the church, and because such marriages originate in the marriage of good and truth; on which subject, see above, n. and . that from this origin and correspondence it follows, that love truly conjugial is from the lord, and exists only with those who come directly to him, cannot be fully confirmed unless these two arcana be specifically treated of, as shall be done in the chapters which immediately follow; one of which will treat on the origin of conjugial love as derived from the marriage of good and truth, and the other on the marriage of the lord and the church, and on its correspondence. that it hence follows, that, conjugial love with man (_homo_) is according to the state of the church with him, will also be seen in those chapters. . the reason why none can be principled in love truly conjugial but those who receive it from the lord, that is, who come directly to him, and by derivation from him live the life of the church, is, because this love, considered in its origin and correspondence, is celestial, spiritual, holy, pure, and clean, above every love implanted in the angels of heaven and the men of the church; as was shewn above, n. ; and these its distinguishing characters and qualities cannot possibly exist, except with those who are conjoined to the lord, and by him are consociated with the angels of heaven; for these shun extra-conjugial loves, which are conjunctions with others than their own conjugial partner, as they would shun the loss of the soul and the lakes of hell; and in proportion as married partners shun such conjunctions, even as to the libidinous desires of the will and the intentions thence derived, so far love truly conjugial is purified with them, and becomes successively spiritual, first during their abode on earth, and afterwards in heaven. it is not however possible that any love should become perfectly pure either with men or with angels; consequently neither can this love: nevertheless, since the intention of the will is what the lord principally regards, therefore so far as any one is in this intention, and perseveres in it, so far he is initiated into its purity and sanctity, and successively advances therein. the reason why none can be principled in spiritual conjugial love, but those who are of the above description by virtue of conjunction with the lord, is, because heaven is in this love; and the natural man, whose conjugial love derives its pleasure only from the flesh, cannot approach to heaven nor to any angel, no, nor to any man principled in this love, it being the foundation of all celestial and spiritual loves; which may be seen above, n. - . that this is the case, has been confirmed to me by experience. i have seen genii in the spiritual world, who were in a state of preparation for hell, approaching to an angel while he was being entertained by his consort; and at a distance, as they approached, they became like furies, and sought out caverns and ditches as asylums, into which they cast themselves. that wicked spirits love what is similar to their affection, however unclean it is, and hold in aversion the spirits of heaven, as what is dissimilar, because it is pure, may be concluded from what was said in the preliminary memorable relation, n. . . the reason why those who love the truths of the church and practise its goods, come into this love and are capable of remaining in it, is, because no others are received by the lord; for these are in conjunction with him, and thereby are capable of being kept in that love by influence from him. the two constituents of the church and heaven in man (_homo_) are the truth of faith and the good of life; the truth of faith constitutes the lord's presence, and the good of life according to the truths of faith constitutes conjunction with him, and thereby the church and heaven. the reason why the truth of faith constitutes the lord's presence, is, because it relates to light, spiritual light being nothing else; and the reason why the good of life constitutes conjunction, is, because it relates to heat; and spiritual heat is nothing but the good of life, for it is love; and the good of life originates in love; and it is well known, that all light, even that of winter, causes presence, and that heat united to light causes conjunction; for gardens and shrubberies appear in all degrees of light, but they do not bear flowers and fruits unless when heat joins itself to light. from these considerations the conclusion is obvious, that those are not gifted by the lord with love truly conjugial, who merely know the truths of the church, but those who know them and practise their good. . viii. this love was the love of loves with the ancients, who lived in the golden, silver, and copper ages. that conjugial love was the love of loves with the most ancient and the ancient people, who lived in the ages thus named, cannot be known from historical records, because their writings are not extant; and there is no account given of them except by writers in succeeding ages, who mention them, and describe the purity and integrity of their lives, and also the successive decrease of such purity and integrity, resembling the debasement of gold to iron: but an account of the last or iron age, which commenced from the time of those writers, may in some measure be gathered from the historical records of the lives of some of their kings, judges, and wise men, who were called _sophi_ in greece and other countries. that this age however should not endure, as iron endures in itself, but that it should be like iron mixed with clay, which do not cohere, is foretold by daniel, chap. ii. . now as the golden, silver, and copper ages passed away before the time when writing came into use, and thus it is impossible on earth to acquire any knowledge concerning their marriages, it has pleased the lord to unfold to me such knowledge by a spiritual way, by conducting me to the heavens inhabited by those most ancient people, that i might learn from their own mouths the nature and quality of their marriages during their abode here on earth in their several ages: for all, who from the beginning of creation have departed by death out of the natural world, are in the spiritual world, and as to their loves resemble what they were when alive in the natural world, and continue such to eternity. as the particulars of this knowledge are worthy to be known and related, and tend to confirm the sanctity of marriages, i am desirous to make them public as they were shown me in the spirit when awake, and were afterwards recalled to my remembrance by an angel, and thus described. and as they are from the spiritual world, like the other accounts annexed to each chapter, i am desirous to arrange them so as to form six memorable relations according to the progressions of the several periods of time. * * * * * . these six memorable relations from the spiritual world, concerning conjugial love, discover the nature and quality of that love in the earliest times and afterwards, and also at the present day; whence it appears that that love has successively fallen away from its sanctity and purity, until it became adulterous; but that nevertheless there is a hope of its being brought back again to its primeval or ancient sanctity. . the first memorable relation. on a time, while i was meditating on conjugial love, my mind was seized with a desire of knowing what had been the nature and quality of that love among those who lived in the golden age, and afterwards among those who lived in the following ages, which have their names from silver, copper, and iron: and as i knew that all who lived well in those ages are in the heavens, i prayed to the lord that i might be allowed to converse with them and be informed: and lo! an angel presented himself and said, "i am sent by the lord to be your guide and companion: i will first lead and attend you to those who lived in the first age or period of time, which is called golden:" and he said, "the way to them is difficult; it lies through a shady forest, which none can pass unless he receive a guide from the lord." i was in the spirit, and prepared myself for the journey; and we turned our faces towards the east; and as we advanced i saw a mountain, whose height extended beyond the region of the clouds. we passed a great wilderness, and came to the forest planted with various kinds of trees and rendered shady by their thickness, of which the angel had advertised me. the forest was divided by several narrow paths; and the angel said, that according to the number of those paths are the windings and intricacies of error: and that unless his eyes were opened by the lord, so as to see olives entwined with vine tendrils, and his steps were directed from olive to olive, the traveller would miss his way, and fall into the abodes of tartarus, which are round about at the sides. this forest is of such a nature, to the end that the passage may be guarded; for none but a primeval nation dwells upon that mountain. after we had entered the forest, our eyes were opened, and we saw here and there olives entwined with vines, from which hung bunches of grapes of a blue or azure color, and the olives were ranged in continual wreaths; we therefore made various circuits as they presented themselves to our view; and at length we saw a grove of tall cedars and some eagles perched on their branches; on seeing which the angel said, "we are now on the mountain not far from its summit:" so we went forward, and lo! behind the grove was a circular plain, where there were feeding he and she-lambs, which were representative forms of the state of innocence and peace of the inhabitants of the mountain. we passed over this plain, and lo! we saw tabernacles, to the number of several thousands in front on each side in every direction as far as the eye could reach. and the angel said, "we are now in the camp, where are the armies of the lord jehovah; for so they call themselves and their habitations. these most ancient people, while they were in the world, dwelt in tabernacles; therefore now also they dwell in the same. but let us bend our way to the south, where the wiser of them live, that we may meet some one to converse with." in going along i saw at a distance three boys and three girls sitting at a door of a certain tent; but as we approached, the boys and girls appeared like men and women of a middle stature. the angel then said, "all the inhabitants of this mountain appear at a distance like infants, because they are in a state of innocence; and infancy is the appearance of innocence." the men on seeing us hastened towards us and said, "whence are you; and how came you here? your faces are not like those of our mountain." but the angel in reply told them how, by permission, we had had access through the forest, and what was the cause of our coming. on hearing this, one of the three men invited and introduced us into his tabernacle. the man was dressed in a blue robe and a tunic of white wool: and his wife had on a purple gown, with a stomacher under it of fine linen wrought in needle-work. and as my thought was influenced by a desire of knowing the state of marriages among the most ancient people, i looked by turns on the husband and the wife, and observed as it were a unity of their souls in their faces; and i said, "you are one:" and the man answered, "we are one; her life is in me, and mine in her; we are two bodies, but one soul: the union between us is like that of the two viscera in the breast, which are called the heart and the lungs; she is my heart and i am her lungs; but as by the heart we here mean love, and by the lungs wisdom, she is the love of my wisdom, and i am the wisdom of her love; therefore her love from without veils my wisdom, and my wisdom from within enters into her love: hence, as you said, there is an appearance of the unity of our souls in our faces." i then asked, "if such a union exists, is it possible for you to look at any other woman than your own?" he replied, "it is possible but as my wife is united to my soul, we both look together, and in this case nothing of lust can enter; for while i behold the wives of others, i behold them by my own wife, whom alone i love: and as my own wife has a perception of all my inclinations, she, as an intermediate, directs my thoughts and removes every thing discordant, and therewith impresses cold and horror at every thing unchaste; therefore it is as impossible for us to look unchastely at the wife of any other of our society, as it is to look from the shades of tartarus to the light of our heaven therefore neither have we any idea of thought, and still less any expression of speech, to denote the allurements of libidinous love." he could not pronounce the word whoredom, because the chastity of their heaven forbade it. hereupon my conducting angel said to me, "you hear now that the speech of the angels of this heaven is the speech of wisdom, because they speak from causes." after this, as i looked around, i saw their tabernacle as it were overlaid with gold; and i asked, "whence is this?" he replied, "it is in consequence of a flaming light, which, like gold, glitters, irradiates, and glances on the curtains of our tabernacle while we are conversing about conjugial love; for the heat from our sun, which in its essence is love, on such occasions bares itself, and tinges the light, which in its essence is wisdom, with its golden color; and this happens because conjugial love in its origin is the sport of wisdom and love; for the man was born to be wisdom, and the woman to be the love of the man's wisdom: hence spring the delights of that sport, in and derived from conjugial love between us and our wives. we have seen clearly for thousands of years in our heaven, that those delights, as to quantity, degree, and intensity, are excellent and eminent according to our worship of the lord jehovah, from whom flows that heavenly union or marriage, which is the union and marriage of love and wisdom." as he said this, i saw a great light upon the hill in the middle of the tabernacles; and i inquired, "whence is that light?" and he said, "it is from the sanctuary of the tabernacle of our worship." i asked whether i might approach it; to which he assented. i approached therefore, and saw the tabernacle without and within, answering exactly to the description of the tabernacle which was built for the sons of israel in the wilderness; the form of which was shewed to moses on mount sinai, exod. xxv. ; chap. xxvi. . i then asked, "what is within in that sanctuary, from which so great a light proceeds?" he replied, "it is a tablet with this inscription, the covenant between jehovah and the heavens:" he said no more. and as by this time we were ready to depart, i asked, "did any of you, during your abode in the natural world, live with more than one wife?" he replied, "i know not one; for we could not think of more. we have been told by those who had thought of more, that instantly the heavenly blessedness of their souls withdrew from their inmost principles to the extreme parts of their bodies, even to the nails, and together therewith the honorable badges of manhood; when this was perceived they were banished the land." on saying this, the man ran to his tabernacle, and returned with a pomegranate, in which there was abundance of seeds of gold: and he gave it me, and i brought it away with me, as a sign that we had been with those who had lived in the golden age. and then, after a salutation of peace, we took our leave, and returned home. . the second memorable relation. the next day the same angel came to me, and said, "do you wish me to lead and attend you to the people who lived in the silver age or period, that we may hear from them concerning the marriages of their time?" and he added, "access to these also can only be obtained by the lord's favor and protection." i was in the spirit as before, and accompanied my conductor. we first came to a hill on the confines between the east and the south; and while we were ascending it, he shewed me a great extent of country: we saw at a distance an eminence like a mountain, between which and the hill on which we stood was a valley, and behind the valley a plain, and from the plain a rising ground of easy ascent. we descended the hill intending to pass through the valley, and we saw here and there on each side pieces of wood and stone, carved into the figures of men, and of various beasts, birds, and fishes; and i asked the angel what they meant, and whether they were idols? he replied, "by no means: they are representative forms of various moral virtues and spiritual truths. the people of that age were acquainted with the science of correspondences; and as every man, beast, bird, and fish, corresponds to some quality, therefore each particular carved figure represents partially some virtue or truth, and several together represent virtue itself, or truth, in a common extended form. these are what in egypt were called hieroglyphics." we proceeded through the valley, and as we entered the plain, lo! we saw horses and chariots; horses variously harnessed and caparisoned, and chariots of different forms; some carved in the shape of eagles, some like whales, and some like stags with horns, and like unicorns; and likewise beyond them some carts, and stables round about at the sides; and as we approached, both horses and chariots disappeared, and instead thereof we saw men (_homines_), in pairs, walking, talking, and reasoning. and the angel said to me, "the different species of horses, chariots, and stables, seen at a distance, are appearances of the rational intelligence of the men of that period; for a horse, by correspondence, signifies the understanding of truth, a chariot, its doctrine, and stables, instructions: you know that in this world all things appear according to correspondences." but we passed by these things, and ascended by a long acclivity, and at length saw a city, which we entered; and in walking through the streets and places of public resort, we viewed the houses: they were so many palaces built of marble, having steps of alabaster in front, and at the sides of the steps pillars of jasper: we saw also temples of precious stone of a sapphire and lazure color. and the angel said to me, "their houses are of stone, because stones signify natural truths, and precious stones spiritual truths; and all those who lived in the silver age had intelligence grounded in spiritual truths, and thence in natural truths: silver also has a similar signification." in taking a view of the city, we saw here and there consorts in pairs: and as they were husbands and wives, we expected that some of them would invite us to their houses; and while we were in this expectation, as we were passing by, we were invited by two into their house, and we ascended the steps and entered; and the angel, taking upon him the part of speaker, explained to them the occasion of our coming to this heaven; informing them that it was for the sake of instruction concerning marriages among the ancients, "of whom," says he, "you in this heaven are a part." they said, "we were from a people in asia; and the chief pursuit of our age was the truths whereby we had intelligence. this was the occupation of our souls and minds; but our bodily senses were engaged in representations of truths in form; and the science of correspondences conjoined the sensual things of our bodies with the perceptions of our minds, and procured us intelligence." on hearing this, the angel asked them to give some account of their marriages: and the husband said, "there is a correspondence between spiritual marriage, which is that of truth with good, and natural marriage, which is that of a man with one wife; and as we have studied correspondences, we have seen that the church, with its truths and goods, cannot at all exist but with those who live in love truly conjugial with one wife: for the marriage of good and truth constitutes the church with man: therefore all we in this heaven say, that the husband is truth, and the wife the good thereof; and that good cannot love any truth but its own, neither can truth in return love any good but its own: if any other were loved, internal marriage, which constitutes the church, would perish, and there would remain only external marriage, to which idolatry, and not the church, corresponds; therefore marriage with one wife we call sacrimony; but if it should have place with more than one among us, we should call it sacrilege." as he said this, we were introduced into an ante-chamber, where there were several devices on the walls, and little images as it were of molten silver; and i inquired, "what are these?" they said, "they are pictures and forms representative of several qualities, characters, and delights, relating to conjugial love. these represent unity of souls, these conjunction of minds, these harmony of bosoms, these the delights thence arising." while we were viewing these things, we saw as it were a rainbow on the wall, consisting of three colors, purple (or red), blue and white; and we observed how the purple passed the blue, and tinged the white with an azure color, and that the latter color flowed back through the blue into the purple, and elevated the purple into a kind of flaming lustre: and the husband said to me, "do you understand all this?" i replied, "instruct me:" and he said, "the purple color, from its correspondence, signifies the conjugial love of the wife, the white the intelligence of the husband, the blue the beginning of conjugial love in the husband's perception from the wife, and the azure, with which the white was tinged, signifies conjugial love in this case in the husband; and this latter color flowing back through the blue into the purple, and elevating the purple into a kind of flaming lustre, signifies the conjugial love of the husband flowing back to the wife. such things are represented on these walls, while from meditating on conjugial love, its mutual, successive, and simultaneous union, we view with eager attention the rainbows which are there painted." hereupon i observed, "these things are more than mystical at this day; for they are appearances representative of the arcana of the conjugial love of one man with one wife." he replied, "they are so; yet to us in our heaven they are not arcana, and consequently neither are they mystical." as he said this, there appeared at a distance a chariot drawn by small white horses; on seeing which the angel said, "that chariot is a sign for us to take our leave;" and then, as we were descending the steps, our host gave us a bunch of white grapes hanging to the vine leaves: and lo! the leaves became silver; and we brought them down with us for a sign that we had conversed with the people of the silver age. . the third memorable relation. the next day, my conducting and attendant angel came to me and said, "make ready, and let us go to the heavenly inhabitants in the west, who are from the men that lived in the third period, or in the copper age. their dwellings are from the south by the west towards the north; but they do not reach into the north." having made myself ready, i attended him, and we entered their heaven on the southern quarter. there was a magnificent grove of palm trees and laurels. we passed through this, and immediately on the confines of the west we saw giants, double the size of ordinary men. they asked us, "who let you in through the grove?" the angel said, "the god of heaven." they replied, "we are guards to the ancient western heaven; but pass on." we passed on, and from a rising ground we saw a mountain rising to the clouds, and between us and the mountain a number of villages, with gardens, groves, and plains intermixed. we passed through the villages and came to the mountain, which we ascended; and lo! its summit was not a point but a plain, on which was a spacious and extensive city. all the houses of the city were built of the wood of the pine-tree, and their roofs consisted of joists or rafters; and i asked, "why are the houses here built of wood?" the angel replied, "because wood signifies natural good; and the men of the third age of the earth were principled in this good; and as copper also signifies natural good, therefore the age in which they lived the ancients named from copper. here are also sacred buildings constructed of the wood of the olive, and in the middle of them is the sanctuary, where is deposited in an ark the word that was given to the inhabitants of asia before the israelitish word; the historical books of which are called the wars of jehovah, and the prophetic books, enunciations; both mentioned by moses, numb. xxi. verses , , and - . this word at this day is lost in the kingdoms of asia, and is only preserved in great tartary." then the angel led me to one of the sacred buildings, which we looked into, and saw in the middle of it the sanctuary, the whole in the brightest light; and the angel said, "this light is from that ancient asiatic word: for all divine truth in the heavens gives forth light." as we were leaving the sacred building, we were informed that it had been reported in the city that two strangers had arrived there; and that they were to be examined as to whence they came, and what was their business; and immediately one of the public officers came running towards us, and took us for examination before the judges: and on being asked whence we came, and what was our business, we replied, "we have passed the grove of palm-trees, and also the abodes of the giants, the guards of your heaven, and afterwards the region of villages; from which circumstances you may conclude, that we have not come here of ourselves, but by direction of the god of heaven. the business on which we are come is, to be instructed concerning your marriages, whether they are monogamical or polygamical." and they said, "what are polygamical marriages? are not they adulterous?" and immediately the bench of judges deputed an intelligent person to instruct us in his own house on this point: and when we were come to his house, he set his wife by his side, and spoke as follows: "we are in possession of precepts concerning marriages, which have been handed down to us from the primeval or most ancient people, who were principled in love truly conjugial, and thereby excelled all others in the virtue and potency of that love while they were in the world, and who are now in a most blessed state in their heaven, which is in the east. we are their posterity, and they, as fathers, have given us, their sons, rules of life, among which is the following concerning marriages: 'sons, if you are desirous to love god and your neighbour, and to become wise and happy to eternity, we counsel you to live married to one wife; if you depart from this precept, all heavenly love will depart from you, and therewith internal wisdom; and you will be banished.' this precept of our fathers we have obeyed as sons, and have perceived its truth, which is, that so far as any one loves his conjugial partner alone, so far he becomes celestial and internal, and that so far as any one does not love his married partner alone, so far he becomes natural and external; and in this case he loves only himself and the images of his own mind, and is doating and foolish. from these considerations, all of us in this heaven live married to one wife; and this being the case, all the borders of our heaven are guarded against polygamists, adulterers, and whoremongers; if polygamists invade us, they are cast out into the darkness of the north; if adulterers, they are cast out into fires of the west; and if whoremongers, they are cast out into the delusive lights of the south." on hearing this, i asked, "what he meant by the darkness of the north, the fires of the west, and the delusive lights of the south?" he answered, "the darkness of the north is dulness of mind and ignorance of truths; the fires of the west are the loves of evil; and the delusive lights of the south are the falsifications of truth, which are spiritual whoredoms." after this, he said, "follow me to our repository of curiosities:" so we followed him, and he shewed us the writings of the most ancient people, which were on the tables of wood and stone, and afterwards on smooth blocks of wood; the writings of the second age were on sheets of parchment; of these he brought me a sheet, on which were copied the rules of the people of the first age from their tables of stone, among which also was the precept concerning marriages. having seen these and other ancient curiosities, the angel said, "it is now time for us to take our leave;" and immediately our host went into the garden, and plucked some twigs off a tree, and bound them into a little bunch, and gave them to us, saying, "these twigs are from a tree, which is native of or peculiar to our heaven, and whose juice has a balsamic fragrance." we brought the bunch down with us, and descended by the eastern way, which was not guarded; and lo! the twigs were changed into shining brass, and the upper ends of them into gold, as a sign that we had been with the people of the third age, which is named from copper or brass. . the fourth memorable relations. after two days the angel again addressed me, saying, "let us complete the period of the ages; the last still remains, which is named from iron. the people of this age dwell in the north on the side of the west, in the inner parts or breadth-ways: they are all from the old inhabitants of asia, who were in possession of the ancient word, and thence derived their worship; consequently they were before the time of our lord's coming into the world. this is evident from the writings of the ancients, in which those times are so named. these same periods are meant by the statue seen by nebuchadnezzar, whose head was of gold, the breast and arms of silver, the belly and thighs of brass, the legs of iron, and the feet of iron and of clay, dan. ii. , ." these particulars the angel related to me in the way, which was contracted and anticipated by changes of state induced in our minds according to the genius or disposition of the inhabitants whom we passed; for spaces and consequent distances in the spiritual world are appearances according to the state of their minds. when we raised our eyes, lo! we were in a forest consisting of beeches, chestnut-trees and oaks: and on looking around us, there appeared bears to the left, and leopards to the right: and when i wondered at this, the angel said, "they are neither bears nor leopards, but men, who guard these inhabitants of the north; by their nostrils they have a scent of the sphere of life of those who pass by, and they rush violently on all who are spiritual, because the inhabitants are natural. those who only read the word, and imbibe thence nothing of doctrine, appear at a distance like bears; and those who confirm false principles thence derived, appear like leopards." on seeing us, they turned away, and we proceeded. beyond the forest there appeared thickets, and afterwards fields of grass divided into areas, bordered with box: this was succeeded by a declivity which led to a valley, wherein were several cities. we passed some of them, and entered into one of a considerable size: its streets were irregular, and so were the houses, which were built of brick, with beams between, and plastered. in the places of public resort were consecrated buildings of hewn lime-stone; the under-structure of which was below the ground, and the super-structure above. we went down into one of them by three steps, and saw on the walls idols of various forms, and a crowd on their knees paying adoration to them: in the middle of the building was a company, above whom might be seen the head of the tutelary god of that city. as we went out, the angel said to me, "those idols, with the ancients who lived in the silver age, as above described, were images representative of spiritual truths and moral virtues; and when the science of correspondence was forgotten and extinct, they first became objects of worship, and afterwards were adored as deities: hence came idolatry." when we were come out of the consecrated building, we made our observations on the men and their dress. their faces were like steel, of a grayish color, and they were dressed like comedians, with napkins about their loins hanging from a tunic buttoned close at the breast; and on their heads they wore curled caps like sailors. but the angel said, "enough of this; let us seek some instruction concerning the marriages of the people of this age." we then entered into the house of one of the grandees, who wore on his head a high cap. he received us kindly, and said, "come in and let us converse together." we entered into the vestibule, and there seated ourselves; and i asked him about the marriages of his city and country. he said, "we do not here live with one wife, but some with two or three, and some with more, because we are delighted with variety, obedience, and honor, as marks of dignity; and these we receive from our wives according to their number. with one wife there would be no delight arising from variety; but disgust from sameness: neither would there be any flattering courteousness arising from obedience, but a troublesome disquietude from equality; neither would there be any satisfaction arising from dominion and the honor thence derived, but vexation from wrangling about superiority. and what is a woman? is she not born subject to man's will; to serve, and not to domineer? wherefore in this place every husband in his own house enjoys as it were royal dignity; and as this is suited to our love, it constitutes also the blessedness of our life." but i asked, "in such case, what becomes of conjugial love, which from two souls makes one, and joins minds together, and renders a man (_homo_) blessed? this love cannot be divided; for if it be it becomes a heat which effervesces and passes away." to this he replied, "i do not understand what you say; what else renders a man (_homo_) blessed, but the emulation of wives contending for the honor of the first place in the husband's favor?" as he said this, a man entered into the women's apartment and opened the two doors; whence there issued a libidinous effluvium, which had a stench like mire; this arose from polygamical love, which is connubial, and at the same time adulterous; so i rose and shut the doors. afterwards i said, "how can you subsist upon this earth, when you are void of any love truly conjugial, and also when you worship idols?" he replied, "as to connubial love, we are so jealous of our wives, that we do not suffer any one to enter further within our houses than the vestibule; and where there is jealousy, there must also be love. in respect to idols, we do not worship them; but we are not able to think of the god of the universe, except by means of such forms presented to our eyes; for we cannot elevate our thoughts above the sensual things of the body, nor think of god above the objects of bodily vision." i then asked him again, "are not your idols of different forms? how then can they excite the idea of one god?" he replied, "this is a mystery to us; somewhat of the worship of god lies concealed in each form." i then said, "you are merely sensual corporeal spirits; you have neither the love of god nor the love of a married partner grounded in any spiritual principle; and these loves together form a man (_homo_) and from sensual make him celestial." as i said this, there appeared through the gate as it were lightning: and on my asking what it meant, he said, "such lightning is a sign to us that there will come the ancient one from the east, who teaches us concerning god, that he is one, the alone omnipotent, who is the first and the last; he also admonishes us not to worship idols, but only to look at them as images representative of the virtues proceeding from the one god, which also together form his worship. this ancient one is our angel, whom we revere and obey. he comes to us, and raises us, when we are falling into obscure worship of god from mere fancies respecting images." on hearing this, we left the house and went out of the city; and in the way, from what we had seen in the heavens, we drew some conclusions respecting the circuit and the progression of conjugial love; of the circuit that it had passed from the east to the south, from the south to the west, and from the west to the north; and of the progression, that it had decreased according to its circulation, namely, that in the east it was celestial, in the south spiritual, in the west natural, and in the north sensual; and also that it had decreased in a similar degree with the love and the worship of god: from which considerations we further concluded, that this love in the first age was like gold, in the second like silver, in the third like brass, and in the fourth like iron, and that at length it ceased. on this occasion the angel, my guide and companion, said, "nevertheless i entertain a hope that this love will be revived by the god of heaven, who is the lord, because it is capable of being so revived." . the fifth memorable relation, the angel that had been my guide and companion to the ancients who had lived in the four ages, the golden, the silver, the copper, and the iron, again presented himself to me, and said, "are you desirous of seeing the age which succeeded those ancient ones, and to know what its quality formerly was, and still is? follow me, and you shall see. they are those concerning whom daniel thus prophesied: '_a kingdom shall arise after those four in which iron shall be mixed with miry clay: they shall mingle themselves together by the seed of man: but they shall not cohere one with the other, as iron is not mixed with clay_, dan. ii. - :'" and he said, "by the seed of man, whereby iron shall be mixed with clay, and still they shall not cohere, is meant the truth of the word falsified." after he had said this, i followed him, and in the way, he related to me these particulars. "they dwell in the borders between the south and the west, but at a great distance beyond those who lived in the four former ages, and also at a greater depth." we then proceeded through the south to the region bordering on the west, and passed though a formidable forest; for in it there were lakes, out of which crocodiles raised their heads, and opened at us their wide jaws beset with teeth; and between the lakes were terrible dogs, some of which were three-headed like cerberus, some two-headed, all looking at us as we passed with a horrible hungry snarl and fierce eyes. we entered the western tract of this region, and saw dragons and leopards, such as are described in the revelation, chap. xii. ; chap. xiii. . then the angel said to me, "all these wild beasts which you have seen, are not wild beasts but correspondences, and thereby representative forms of the lusts of the inhabitants whom we shall visit. the lusts themselves are represented by those horrible dogs; their deceit and cunning by crocodiles; their falsities and depraved inclinations to the things which relate to worship, by dragons and leopards: nevertheless the inhabitants represented do not live close behind the forest, but behind a great wilderness which lies intermediate, that they may be fully withheld and separated from the inhabitants of the foregoing ages, being of an entirely different genius and quality from them: they have indeed heads above their breasts, and breasts above their loins, and loins above their feet, like the primeval men; but in their heads there is not any thing of gold, nor in their breasts any thing of silver, nor in their loins any thing of brass, no, nor in their feet any thing of pure iron; but in their heads is iron mixed with clay, in their breasts is each mixed with brass, in their loins is also each mixed with silver, and in their feet is each mixed with gold: by this inversion they are changed from men (_homines_) into graven images of men, in which inwardly nothing coheres; for what was highest, is made lowest, thus what was the head is become the heel, and _vice versa_. they appear to us from heaven like stage-players, who lie upon their elbows with the body inverted, and put themselves in a walking motion; or like beasts, which lie on their backs, and lift the feet upwards, and from the head, which they plunge in the earth, look towards heaven." we passed through the forest, and entered the wilderness, which was not less terrible: it consisted of heaps of stones, and ditches between them, out of which crept hydras and vipers, and there flew forth venomous flying serpents. this whole wilderness was on a continual declivity: we descended by a long steep descent, and at length came into the valley inhabited by the people of that region and age. there were here and there cottages, which appeared at length to meet, and to be joined together in the form of a city: this we entered, and lo! the houses were built of the scorched branches of trees, cemented together with mud and covered with black slates. the streets were irregular; all of them at the entrance narrow, but wider as they extended, and at the end spacious, where there were places of public resort: here there were as many places of public resort as there were streets. as we entered the city, it became dark, because the sky did not appear; we therefore looked up and light was given us, and we saw: and then i asked those we met, "are you able to see because the sky does not appear above you?" they replied "what a question is this! we see clearly; we walk in full light." on hearing this, the angel said to me, "darkness to them is light, and light darkness, as is the case with birds of night; as they look downwards and not upwards." we entered into some of the cottages, and saw in each a man with his woman, and we asked them, "do all live here in their respective houses with one wife only?" and they replied with a hissing, "what do you mean by one wife only? why do not you ask, whether we live with one harlot? what is a wife but a harlot? by our laws it is not allowable to commit fornication with more than one woman; but still we do not hold it dishonorable or unbecoming to do so with more; yet out of our own houses we glory in the one among another: thus we rejoice in the license we take, and the pleasure attending it, more than polygamists. why is a plurality of wives denied us, when yet it has been granted, and at this day is granted in the whole world about us? what is life with one woman only, but captivity and imprisonment? we however in this place have broken the bolt of this prison, and have rescued ourselves from slavery, and made ourselves free, and who is angry with a prisoner for asserting his freedom when it is in his power?" to this we replied, "you speak, friend, as if without any sense of religion. what rational person does not know that adulteries are profane and infernal, and that marriages are holy and heavenly. do not adulteries take place with devils in hell, and marriages with angels in heaven? did you never read the sixth commandment [footnote: according to the division of the commandments adopted by the church of england, it is the _seventh_ that is here referred to.] of the decalogue? and in paul, that adulterers can by no means enter heaven?" hereupon our host laughed heartily, and regarded me as a simpleton, and almost as out of my senses. but just then there came running a messenger from the chief of the city, and said, "bring the two strangers into the town-hall; and if they refuse to come, drag them there: we have seen them in a shade of light; they have entered privately; they are spies." hereupon the angel said to me, "the reason why we were seen in a shade, is, because the light of heaven in which we have been, is to them a shade, and the shade of hell is to them light; and this is because they regard nothing as sin, not even adultery: hence they see what is false altogether as what is true; and what is false is lucid in hell before satans, and what is true darkens their eyes like the shade of night." we said to the messenger, "we will not be pressed, still less will we be dragged into the town-hall; but we will go with you of our own accord." so we went: and lo! there was a great crowd assembled, out of which came some lawyers, and whispered to us, saying, "take heed to yourselves how you speak any thing against religion, the form of our government, and good manners:" and we replied, "we will not speak against them, but for them and from them." then we asked, "what are your religious notions respecting marriages?" at this the crowd murmured, and said, "what have you to do here with marriages? marriages are marriages." again we asked, "what are your religious notions respecting whoredoms?" at this also they murmured, saying, "what have you to do here with whoredoms? whoredoms are whoredoms: let him that is guiltless cast the first stone." and we asked thirdly, "does your religion teach that marriages are holy and heavenly, and that adulteries are profane and infernal?" hereupon several in the crowd laughed aloud, jested, and bantered, saying, "inquire of our priests, and not of us, as to what concerns religion. we acquiesce entirely in what they declare; because no point of religion is an object of decision in the understanding. have you never heard that the understanding is without any sense or discernment in mysteries, which constitute the whole of religion? and what have actions to do with religion? is not the soul made blessed by the muttering of words from a devout heart concerning expiation, satisfaction, and imputation, and not by works?" but at this instant there came some of the wise ones of the city, so called, and said, "retire hence; the crowd grows angry; a storm is gathering: let us talk in private on this subject; there is a retired walk behind the town-hall; come with us there." we followed them; and they asked us whence we came, and what was our business there? and we said, "to be instructed concerning marriages, whether they are holy with you, as they were with the ancients who lived in the golden, silver, and copper ages; or whether they are not holy." and they replied, "what do you mean by holiness? are not marriages works of the flesh and of the night?" and we answered, "are they not also works of the spirit? and what the flesh does from the spirit, is not that spiritual? and all that the spirit does, it does from the marriage of good and truth. is not this marriage spiritual, which enters the natural marriage of husband and wife?" to this the wise ones, so called, made answer, "there is too much subtlety and sublimity in what you say on this subject; you ascend far above rational principles to spiritual: and who, beginning at such an elevation, can descend thence, and thus form any decision?" to this they added with a smile of ridicule, "perhaps you have the wings of an eagle, and can fly in the highest region of heaven, and make these discoveries: this we cannot do." we then asked them to tell us, from the altitude or region in which the winged ideas of their minds fly, whether they knew, or were able to know, that the love of one man with one wife is conjugial love, into which are collected all the beatitudes, satisfactions, delights, pleasantnesses, and pleasures of heaven; and that this love is from the lord according to the reception of good and truth from him; thus according to the state of the church? on hearing this, they turned away, and said, "these men are out of their senses; they enter the ether with their judgement, and scatter about vain conjectures like nuts and almonds." after this they turned to us, saying, "we will give a direct answer to your windy conjectures and dreams;" and they said, "what has conjugial love in common with religion and inspiration from god? is not this love with every one according to the state of his potency? is it not the same with those who are out of the church as with those who are in it, with gentiles as with christians, yea, with the impious as with the pious? has not every one the strength of this love either hereditarily, or from bodily health, or from temperance of life, or from warmth of climate? by medicines also it may be strengthened and stimulated. is not the case similar with the brute creation, especially with birds which unite in pairs? moreover, is not this love carnal? and what has a carnal principle in common with the spiritual state of the church? does this love, as to its ultimate effect with a wife, differ at all from love as to its effect with a harlot? is not the lust similar, and the delight similar? wherefore it is injurious to deduce the origin of conjugial love from the holy things of the church." on hearing this, we said to them, "you reason from the stimulus of lasciviousness, and not from conjugial love; you are altogether ignorant what conjugial love is, because it is cold with you; from what you have said we are convinced that you are of the age which has its name from and consists of iron and clay, which do not cohere, according to the prophecy in daniel, chap. ii. ; for you make conjugial love and adulterous love the same thing; and do these two cohere any more than iron and clay? you are believed and called wise, and yet you have not the smallest pretensions to that character." on hearing this, they were inflamed with rage and made a loud cry, and called the crowd together to cast us out; but at that instant, by virtue of power given us by the lord, we stretched out our hands, and lo! the flying serpents, vipers, and hydras, and also the dragons from the wilderness, presented themselves, and entered and filled the city; at which the inhabitants being terrified fled away. the angel then said to me, "into this region new comers from the earth daily enter, and the former inhabitants are by turns separated and cast down into the gulphs of the west, which appear at a distance like lakes of fire and brimstone. all in those gulphs are spiritual and natural adulterers." . the sixth memorable relation. as the angel said this, i looked to the western boundary, and lo! there appeared as it were lakes of fire and brimstone; and i asked him, why the hells in that quarter had such an appearance? he replied, "they appear as lakes in consequence of the falsifications of truth; because water in the spiritual sense signifies truth; and there is an appearance as it were of fire round about them, and in them, in consequence of the love of evil, and as it were of brimstone in consequence of the love of what is false. those three things, the lake, the fire, and the brimstone, are appearances, because they are correspondences of the evil loves of the inhabitants. all in that quarter are shut up in eternal work-houses, where they labor for food, for clothing, and for a bed to lie on; and when they do evil, they are grievously and miserably punished." i further asked the angel, why he said that in that quarter are spiritual and natural adulterers, and why he had not rather said, that they were evil doers and impious? he replied, "because all those who make light of adulteries, that is, who commit them from a confirmed persuasion that they are not sins, and thus are in the purpose of committing them from a belief of their being harmless, are in their hearts evil doers and impious; for the conjugial human principle ever goes hand in hand with religion; and every step and movement made under the influence of religion, and leading to it, is also a step and movement made under the influence of the conjugial principle, and leading to it, which is peculiar and proper to the christian." on asking what that conjugial principle was, he said, "it is the desire of living with one wife; and every christian has this desire according to his religion." i was afterwards grieved in spirit to think that marriages, which in the most ancient times had been most holy, were so wretchedly changed into adulteries. the angel said, "the case is the same at this day with religion; for the lord says '_in the consummation of the age there will be the abomination of desolation foretold by daniel. and there will be great affliction, such as there has not been from the beginning of the world_,' matt. xxiv. , . the abomination of desolation signifies the falsification and deprivation of all truth; affliction signifies the state of the church infested by evils and falses; and the consummation of the age, concerning which those things are spoken, signifies the last time or end of the church. the end is now, because there does not remain a truth which is not falsified; and the falsification of truth is spiritual whoredom, which acts in unity with natural whoredom, because they cohere." . as we were conversing and lamenting together on this occasion, there suddenly appeared a beam of light, which, darting powerfully upon my eyes, caused me to look up: and lo! the whole heaven above us appeared luminous; and from the east to the west in an extended series we heard a glorification: and the angel said to me, "that is a glorification of the lord on account of his coming, and is made by the angels of the eastern and western heavens." from the northern and southern heavens nothing was heard but a soft and pleasing murmur. as the angel understood everything, he told me first, that glorifications and celebrations of the lord are made from the word, because then they are made from the lord; for the lord is the word, that is, the essential divine truth therein; and he said, "now in particular they glorify and celebrate the lord by these words, which were spoken by daniel the prophet, '_thou sawest iron mixed with miry clay; they shall mingle themselves together by the seed of man; but they shall not cohere. nevertheless in those days the god of the heavens shall cause a kingdom to arise, which shall not perish for ages. it shall bruise and consume those kingdoms; but itself shall stand for ages_.' dan. ii. , ." after this, i heard as it were the voice of singing, and further in the east i saw a glittering of light more resplendent than the former; and i asked the angel what was the subject of their glorification? he said, "these words in daniel; '_i saw in the visions of the night, and lo! with the clouds of heaven there came as it were the son of man: and to him was given dominion and a kingdom; and all people and nations shall worship him. his dominion is the dominion of an age, which shall not pass away; and his kingdom that which shall not perish_,' dan. vii. , . they are further celebrating the lord from these words in the revelation: '_to jesus christ be glory and strength: behold he cometh with clouds. he is alpha and omega, the beginning and the end, the first and the last; who is, who was, and who is to come, the almighty. i, john, heard this from the son of man, out of the midst of the seven candlesticks_,' rev. i. - , - ; chap. xxii. ; matt. xxiv. , ." i looked again into the eastern heaven: it was enlightened on the right side, and the light entered the southern expanse. i heard a sweet sound; and i asked the angel, what was the subject of their glorification in that quarter respecting the lord? he said, "these words in the revelation: '_i saw a new heaven and a new earth; and i saw the holy city, new jerusalem, coming down from god out of heaven, prepared as a bride for her husband: and the angel spake with me, and said, come, i will shew thee the bride, the lamb's wife: and he carried me away in the spirit to a great and high mountain, and shewed me the holy city, jerusalem_,' rev. xxi. , , , : also these words, 'i jesus _am the bright and morning star; and the spirit and the bride say, come; and he said, even i come quickly; amen: even come, lord jesus_,' rev. xxii. , , ." after these and several other subjects of glorification, there was heard a common glorification from the east to the west of heaven, and also from the south to the north; and i asked the angel, "what now is the subject?" he said, "these words from the prophets; '_let all flesh know that i, jehovah, am thy saviour and thy redeemer_,' isaiah xlix. . '_thus saith jehovah, the king of israel, and his redeemer, jehovah zebaoth, i am the first and the last, and beside me there is no god_,' isaiah xliv. . '_it shall be said in that day, lo! this is our god, whom we have expected to deliver us; this is jehovah whom we have expected_.' isaiah xxv. . '_the voice of him that crieth in the wilderness, prepare a way for jehovah. behold the lord jehovah cometh in strength. he shall feed his flock like a shepherd_,' isaiah xl. , , . '_unto us a child is born; unto us a son is given; whose name is wonderful counsellor, god, hero, father of eternity, prince of peace_,' isaiah ix. . '_behold the days will come, and i will raise up to david a righteous branch, who shall reign a king: and this is his name, jehovah our righteousness_,' jeremiah xxiii. , ; chap, xxxiii. , . '_jehovah zebaoth is his name, and thy redeemer the holy one of israel: the god of the whole earth shall he be called_,' isaiah liv. . 'in that day there shall be one jehovah, and his name one,' zech. xiv. ." on hearing and understanding these words, my heart exulted, and i went home with joy; and there i returned out of a state of the spirit into a state of the body; in which latter state i committed to writing what i had seen and heard: to which i now add the following particular. that conjugial love, such as it was with the ancients, will be revived again by the lord after his coming; because this love is from the lord alone, and is the portion of those who from him, by means of the word, are made spiritual. . after this, a man from the northern quarter came running in great haste, and looked at me with a threatening countenance, and addressing me in a passionate tone of voice, said, "are you the man that wishes to seduce the world, under the notion of re-establishing a new church, which you understand by the new jerusalem coming down out of heaven from god; and teaching, that the lord will endow with love truly conjugial those who embrace the doctrines of that church; the delights and felicity of which love you exalt to the very heaven? is not this a mere fiction? and do you not hold it forth as a bait and enticement to accede to your new opinions? but tell me briefly, what are the doctrinals of the new church, and i will see whether they agree or disagree." i replied, "the doctrines of the church, which is meant by the new jerusalem, are as follow: i. that there is one god, in whom there is a divine trinity; and that he is the lord jesus christ. ii. that a saving faith is to believe on him. iii. that evils are to be shunned, because they are of the devil and from the devil. iv. that goods are to be done, because they are of god and from god. v. that these are to be done by a man as from himself; but that it ought to be believed, that they are done from the lord with him and by him." on hearing these doctrines, his fury for some moments abated; but after some deliberation he again looked at me sternly, and said, "are these five precepts the doctrines of faith and charity of the new church?" i replied, "they are." he then asked sharply, "how can you demonstrate the first, 'that there is one god in whom there is a divine trinity; and that he is the lord jesus christ?" i said, "i demonstrate it thus: is not god one and individual? is not there a trinity? if god be one and individual, is not he one person? if he be one person, is not the trinity in that person? that this god is the lord jesus christ, is evident from these considerations, that he was conceived from god the father, luke i. , ; and thus that as to his soul he is god; and hence, as he himself saith, that the father and himself are one, john x. ; that he is in the father, and the father in him, john xix. , ; that he that seeth him and knoweth him, seeth and knoweth the father, john xiv. , ; that no one seeth and knoweth the father, except he that is in the bosom of the father, john i. ; that all things of the father are his, john iii. ; chap. xvi. ; that he is the way, the truth, and the life; and that no one cometh to the father but by him, john xiv. ; thus of or from him, because the father is in him; and, according to paul, that all the fulness of the godhead dwelleth bodily in him, coloss. ii. ; and moreover, that he hath power over all flesh, john xvii. ; and that he hath all power in heaven and in earth, matt, xxviii. : from which declarations it follows, that he is god of heaven and earth." he afterwards asked how i proved the second, "that a saving faith is to believe on him?" i said, "by these words of the lord, 'this is the will of the father, that every one that believeth on the son should have eternal life, john vi. .' 'god so loved the world, that he gave his only-begotten son, that every one that believeth on him should not perish, but should have eternal life,' john iii. , . 'he that believeth on the son, hath eternal life; but he that believeth not the son will not see life; but the wrath of god abideth on him,' john iii. ." he afterwards said, "demonstrate also the third, and the next two doctrines:" i replied, "what need is there to demonstrate 'that evils ought to be shunned, because they are of the devil and from the devil; and that goods ought to be done, because they are of god and from god;' also 'that the latter are to be done by a man as from himself; but that he ought to believe that they are from the lord with him and by him?' that these three doctrines are true, is confirmed by the whole sacred scripture from beginning to end; for what else is therein principally insisted on, but to shun evils and do goods, and believe on the lord god? moreover, without these three doctrines there can be no religion: for does not religion relate to life? and what is life but to shun evils and do goods? and how can a man do the latter and shun the former but as from himself? therefore if you remove these doctrines from the church, you remove from it the sacred scripture, and also religion; and these being removed, the church is no longer a church." the man on hearing this retired, and mused on what he had heard; but still he departed in indignation. * * * * * on the origin of conjugial love as grounded in the marriage of good and truth. . there are both internal and external origins of conjugial love, and several of each; nevertheless there is but one inmost or universal origin of all. that this origin is the marriage of good and truth, shall be demonstrated in what now follows. the reason why no one heretofore has deduced the origin of that love from this ground, is, because it has never yet been discovered that there is any union between good and truth; and the reason why this discovery has not been made, is, because good does not appear in the light of the understanding, as truth does, and hence the knowledge of it conceals itself and evades every inquiry: and as from this circumstance good is as it were unknown, it was impossible for any one to conjecture that any marriage subsisted between it and truth: yea, before the rational natural sight, good appears so different from truth, that no conjunction between them can be supposed. that this is the case, may be seen from common discourse whenever they are mentioned; as when it is said, "this is good," truth is not at all thought of; and when it is said, "this is true," neither is good at all thought of; therefore at this day it is believed by many, that truth is one thing and good another; and by many also, that a man is intelligent and wise, and thereby a man (_homo_), according to the truths which he thinks, speaks, writes, and believes, and not at the same time according to goods. that nevertheless there is no good without truth, nor any truth without good, consequently that there is an eternal marriage between them; also that this marriage is the origin of conjugial love, shall now be shewn and explained in the following order: i. _good and truth are the universals of creation, and thence are in all created things; but they are in created subjects according to the form of each._ ii. _there is neither solitary good nor solitary truth, but in all cases they are conjoined._ iii. _there is the truth of good, and from this the good of truth; or truth grounded in good, and good grounded in that truth: and in those two principles is implanted from creation an inclination to join themselves together into a one._ iv. _in the subjects of the animal kingdom, the truth of good, or truth grounded in good, is male (or masculine); and the good of that truth, or good grounded in that truth, is female (or feminine)._ v. _from the influx of the marriage of good and truth from the lord, the love of the sex and conjugial love are derived._ vi. _the love of the sex belongs to the external or natural man, and hence it is common to every animal._ vii. _but conjugial love belongs to the internal or spiritual man; and hence this love is peculiar to man._ viii. _with man conjugial love is in the love of the sex as a gem in its matrix._ ix. _the love of the sex with man is not the origin of conjugial love, but its first rudiment; thus it is like an external natural principle, in which an internal spiritual principle is implanted._ x. _during the implantation of conjugial love, the love of the sex inverts itself and becomes the chaste love of the sex._ xi. _the male and the female were created to be the essential form of the marriage of good and truth._ xii. _they are that form in their inmost principles, and thence in what is derived from those principles, in proportion as the interiors of their minds are opened._ we will now proceed to the explanation. . i. good and truth are the universals of creation, and thence are in all created things; but they are in created subjects according to the form of each. the reason why good and truth are the universals of creation, is, because these two are in the lord god the creator; yea, they are himself; for he is essential divine good and essential divine truth. but this enters more clearly into the perception of the understanding, and thereby into the ideas of thought, if instead of good we say love, and instead of truth we say wisdom: consequently that in the lord god the creator there are divine love and divine wisdom, and that they are himself; that is, that he is essential love and essential wisdom; for those two are the same as good and truth. the reason of this is, because good has relation to love, and truth to wisdom; for love consists of goods, and wisdom truths. as the two latter and the two former are one and the same, in the following pages we shall sometimes speak of the latter and sometimes of the former, while by both the same is understood. this preliminary observation is here made, lest different meanings should be attached to the expressions when they occur in the following pages. . since therefore the lord god the creator is essential love and essential wisdom, and from him was created the universe, which thence is as a work proceeding from him, it must needs be, that in all created things there is somewhat of good and of truth from him; for whatever is done and proceeds from any one, derives from him a certain similarity to him. that this is the case, reason also may see from the order in which all things in the universe were created; which order is, that one exists for the sake of another, and that thence one depends upon another, like the links of a chain: for all things are for the sake of the human race, that from it the angelic heaven may exist, through which creation returns to the creator himself, in whom it originated: hence there is a conjunction of the created universe with its creator, and by conjunction everlasting conservation. hence it is that good and truth are called the universals of creation. that this is the case, is manifested to every one who takes a rational view of the subject: he sees in every created thing something which relates to good, and something which relates to truth. . the reason why good and truth in created subjects are according to the form of each, is, because every subject receives influx according to its form. the conservation of the whole consists in the perpetual influx of divine good and divine truth into forms created from those principles; for thereby subsistence or conservation is perpetual existence or creation. that every subject receives influx according to its form, may be illustrated variously; as by the influx of heat and light from the sun into vegetables of every kind; each of which receives influx according to its form; thus every tree and shrub according to its form, every herb and every blade of grass according to its form: the influx is alike into all; but the reception, which is according to the form, causes every species to continue a peculiar species. the same thing may also be illustrated by the influx into animals of every kind according to the form of each. that the influx is according to the form of every particular thing, may also be seen by the most unlettered person, if he attends to the various instruments of sound, as pipes, flutes, trumpets, horns, and organs which give forth a sound from being blown alike, or from a like influx of air, according to their respective forms. . ii. there is neither solitary good nor solitary truth. but in all cases they are conjoined. whoever is desirous from any of the senses to acquire an idea respecting good, cannot possibly find it without the addition of something which exhibits and manifests it: good without this is a nameless entity; and this something, by which it is exhibited and manifested, has relation to truth. pronounce the term _good_ only, and say nothing at the same time of this or that thing with which it is conjoined; or define it abstractedly, or without the addition of anything connected with it; and you will see that it is a mere nothing, and that it becomes something with its addition; and if you examine the subject with discernment, you will perceive that good, without some addition, is a term of no predication, and thence of no relation, of no affection, and of no state; in a word, of no quality. the case is similar in regard to truth, if it be pronounced and heard without what it is joined with: that what it is joined with relates to good, may be seen by refined reason. but since goods are innumerable, and each ascends to its greatest, and descends to its least, as by the steps of a ladder, and also, according to its progression and quality, varies its name, it is difficult for any but the wise to see the relation of good and truth to their objects, and their conjunction in them. that nevertheless there is not any good without truth, nor any truth without good, is manifest from common perception, provided it be first acknowledged that every thing in the universe has relation to good and truth; as was shewn in the foregoing article, n. , . that there is neither solitary good nor solitary truth, may be illustrated and at the same time confirmed by various considerations; as by the following: that there is no essence without a form, nor any form without an essence; for good is an essence or _esse_; and truth is that by which the essence is formed and the _esse_ exists. again in a man (_homo_) there are the will and the understanding. good is of the will, and truth is of the understanding; and the will alone does nothing but by the understanding; nor does the understanding alone do anything but from the will. again, in a man there are two fountains of bodily life, the heart and the lungs. the heart cannot produce any sensitive and moving life without the respiring lungs; neither can the lungs without the heart. the heart has relation to good, and the respiration of the lungs to truth: there is also a correspondence between them. the case is similar in all the things of the mind and of the body belonging to him; but we have not leisure to produce further confirmations in this place; therefore the reader is referred to the angelic wisdom concerning the divine providence, n. - , where this subject is more fully confirmed and explained in the following order: i. that the universe with all its created subjects, is from the divine love by the divine wisdom; or, what is the same thing, from the divine good by the divine truth. ii. that the divine good and the divine truth proceed as a one from the lord. iii. that this one, in a certain image, is in every created thing. v. that good is not good, only so far as it is united with truth; and that truth is not truth, only so far as it is united with good. vii. that the lord doesn't suffer that any thing should be divided; wherefore a man must either be in good and at the same time in truth, or in evil and at the same time in falsehood: not to mention several other considerations. . iii. there is the truth of good, and from this the good of truth; or truth grounded in good, and good grounded in that truth; and in those two principles is implanted from creation an inclination to join themselves together into a one. it is necessary that some distinct idea be acquired concerning these principles; because on such idea depends all knowledge respecting the essential origin of conjugial love: for, as will be seen presently, the truth of good, or truth grounded on good, is male (or masculine), and the good of truth, or good grounded in that truth, is female (or feminine): but this may be comprehended more distinctly, if instead of good we speak of love, and instead of truth we speak of wisdom; which are one and the same, as may be seen above, n. . wisdom cannot exist with a man but by means of the love of growing wise; if this love be taken away, it is altogether impossible for him to become wise. wisdom derived from this love is meant by the truth of good, or by truth grounded in good: but when a man has procured to himself wisdom from that love, and loves it in himself, or himself for its sake, he then forms a love which is the love of wisdom, and is meant by the good of truth, or by good grounded in that truth. there are therefore two loves belonging to a man, whereof one, which is prior, is the love of growing wise; and the other, which is posterior, is the love of wisdom: but this latter love if it remains with man, is an evil love, and is called self-conceit, or the love of his own intelligence. that it was provided from creation, that this love should be taken out of the man, lest it should destroy him, and should be transferred to the woman, for the effecting of conjugial love, which restores man to integrity, will be confirmed in the following pages. something respecting those two loves, and the transfer of the latter to the woman, may be seen above, n. , , and in the preliminary memorable relation, n. . if therefore instead of love is understood good, and instead of wisdom truth, it is evident, from what has been already said, that there exists the truth of good, or truth grounded in good, and from this the good of truth, or good grounded in that truth. . the reason why in these two principles there is implanted from creation an inclination to join themselves together into a one, is because the one was formed from the other; wisdom being formed from the love of growing wise, or truth being formed from good; and the love of wisdom being formed from that wisdom, or the good of truth from that truth; from which formation it may be seen, that there is a mutual inclination to re-unite themselves, and to join themselves together into a one. this effect takes place with men who are in genuine wisdom, and with women who are in the love of that wisdom in the husband; thus with those who are in love truly conjugial. but concerning the wisdom which ought to exist with the man, and which should be loved by the wife, more will be said in what follows. . iv. in the subject of the animal kingdom the truth of good, or truth grounded in good, is male (or masculine); and the good of that truth, or good grounded in that truth, is female (or feminine). that from the lord, the creator and supporter of the universe, there flows a perpetual union of love and wisdom, or a marriage of good and truth, and that created subjects receive the influx, each according to its form, was shewn above, n. - : but that the male from this marriage, or from that union, receives the truth of wisdom, and that the good of love from the lord is conjoined thereto according to reception, and that this reception takes place in the intellect, and that hence the male is born to become intellectual, reason, by its own light, may discover from various particulars respecting him, especially from his affection, application, manners, and form. it is discoverable from his affection, which is the affection of knowing, of understanding, and of growing wise; the affection of knowing takes place in childhood, the affection of understanding in youth and in the entrance upon manhood, and the affection of growing wise takes place from the entrance upon manhood even to old age; from which it is evident, that his nature or peculiar temper is inclinable to form the intellect; consequently that he is born to become intellectual: but as this cannot be effected except by means of love, therefore the lord adjoins love to him according to his reception; that is, according to his intention in desiring to grow wise. the same is discoverable from his application, which is to such things as respect the intellect, or in which the intellect is predominant; several of which relate to public offices and regard the public good. the same is discoverable too from his manners, which are all grounded in the intellect as a ruling principle; in consequence whereof the actions of his life, which are meant by manners, are rational; and if not, still he is desirous they should appear so; masculine rationality is also discernible in every one of his virtues. lastly, the same is discoverable from his form, which is different and totally distinct from the female form; on which subject see also what was said above, n. . add to this, that the principle of prolification is in him, which is derived from the intellect alone; for it is from truth grounded in good in the intellect: that the principle of prolification is from this source may be seen in the following pages. . but that the female is born to be a subject of the will (_ut sit voluntaria_), yet a subject of the will as grounded in the intellectual principle of the man, or what is the same, to be the love of the man's wisdom, because she was formed through his wisdom, (on which subject see above, n. , ,) may also appear from the female's affection, application, manners, and form. from her affection, which is the affection of loving knowledge, intelligence, and wisdom; nevertheless not in herself but in the man; and thus of loving the man: for the man (_vir_) cannot be loved merely on account of his form, in that he appears as a man (_homo_), but on account of the talent with which he is gifted, which causes him to be a man. from her application; in that it is to such manual works as knitting, needlework, and the like, serving for ornament, both to decorate herself and to exalt her beauty: and moreover from her application to various domestic duties, which connect themselves with the duties of men, which, as was said, relate to public offices. they are led to these duties from an inclination to marriage, that they may become wives, and thereby one with their husbands. that the same is also discoverable from their manners and form, needs no explanation. . v. from the influx of the marriage of good and truth from the lord, the love of the sex and conjugial love are derived. that good and truth are the universals of creation, and thence are in all created subjects; and that they are in created subjects according to the form of each; and that good and truth proceed from the lord not as two but as one, was shewn above, n. - : from these considerations it follows, that the universal conjugial sphere proceeds from the lord, and pervades the universe from its primaries to its ultimates; thus from angels even to worms. the reason why such a sphere of the marriage of good and truth proceeds from the lord, is, because it is also the sphere of propagation, that is, of prolification and fructification; and this sphere is the same with the divine providence relating to the preservation of the universe by successive generations. now since this universal sphere, which is that of the marriage of good and truth, flows into its subjects according to the form of each, see n. , it follows that the male receives it according to his form, thus in the intellect, because he is in an intellectual form; and that the female receives it according to her form, thus in the will, because she is a form of the will grounded in the intellect of the man; and since that sphere is also the sphere of prolification, it follows that hence is the love of the sex. . the reason why conjugial love also is from this same source, is, because that sphere flows into the form of wisdom with men, and also with angels; for a man may increase in wisdom to the end of his life in the world, and afterwards to eternity in heaven; and in proportion as he increases in wisdom, his form is perfected; and this form receives not the love of the sex, but the love of one of the sex; for with one of the sex it may be united to the inmost principles in which heaven with its felicities consists, and this union is conjugial love. . vi. the love of the sex belongs to the external or natural man, and hence it is common to every animal. every man is born corporeal, and becomes more and more interiorly natural, and in proportion as he loves intelligence he becomes rational, and afterwards, if he loves wisdom, he becomes spiritual. what the wisdom is by which a man becomes spiritual, will be shewn in the following pages, n. . now as a man advances from knowledge into intelligence, and from intelligence into wisdom, so also his mind changes its form; for it is opened more and more, and conjoins itself more nearly with heaven, and by heaven with the lord; hence it becomes more enamored of truth, and more desirous of the good of life. if therefore he halts at the threshold in the progression to wisdom, the form of his natural mind remains; and this receives the influx of the universal sphere, which is that of the marriage of good and truth, in the same manner as it is received by the inferior subjects of the animal kingdom--beasts and birds; and as these are merely natural, the man in such case becomes like them, and thereby loves the sex just as they do. this is what is meant by the assertion,--the love of the sex belongs to the external or natural man, and hence it is common to every animal. . vii. but conjugial love belongs to the internal or spiritual man; and hence this love is peculiar to man. the reason why conjugial love belongs to the internal or spiritual man is, because in proportion as a man becomes more intelligent and wise, in the same proportion he becomes more internal and spiritual, and in the same proportion the form of his mind is more perfected; and this form receives conjugial love: for therein it perceives and is sensible of a spiritual delight, which is inwardly blessed, and a natural delight thence arising, which derives its soul, life, and essence from the spiritual delight. . the reason why conjugial love is peculiar to man, is because he only can become spiritual, he being capable of elevating his intellect above his natural loves, and from that state of elevation of seeing them beneath him, and of judging of their quality, and also of amending, correcting, and removing them. no other animal can do this; for the loves of other animals are altogether united with their inborn knowledge; on which account this knowledge cannot be elevated into intelligence, and still less into wisdom; in consequence of which every other animal is led by the love implanted in his knowledge, as a blind person is led through the streets by a dog. this is the reason which conjugial love is peculiar to man; it may also be called native and near akin to him; because man has the faculty of growing wise, with which faculty this love is united. . viii. with man conjugial love is in the love of the sex as a gem in its matrix. as this however is merely a comparison, we will explain it in the article which immediately follows: this comparison also illustrates what was shown just above, n. , ,--that the love of the sex belongs to the external or natural man, and conjugial love to the internal or spiritual man. . ix. the love of the sex with man is not the origin of conjugial love, but its first rudiment; thus it is like an external natural principle, in which an internal spiritual principle is implanted. the subject here treated of is love truly conjugial, and not ordinary love, which also is called conjugial, and which with some is merely the limited love of the sex. love truly conjugial exists only with those who desire wisdom, and who consequently advance more and more into wisdom. these the lord foresees, and provides for them conjugial love; which love indeed commences with them from the love of the sex, or rather by it; but still it does not originate in it; for it originates in proportion to the advancement in wisdom and the dawning of the light thereof in man; for wisdom and that love are inseparable companions. the reason why conjugial love commences by the love of the sex is, because before a suitable consort is found, the sex in general is loved and regarded with a fond eye, and is treated with civility from a moral ground: for a young man has to make his choice; and while this is determining, from an innate inclination to marriage with one, which lies concealed in the interiors of his mind, his external receives a gentle warmth. a further reason is, because determinations to marriage are delayed from various causes even to riper years, and in the mean time the beginning of that love is as lust; which with some actually goes astray into the love of the sex; yet with them it is indulged no further than may be conducive to health. this, however, is to be understood as spoken of the male sex, because it has enticements which actually inflame it; but not of the female sex. from these considerations it is evident that the love of the sex is not the origin of love truly conjugial; but that it is its first rudiment in respect to time, yet not in respect to end; for what is first in respect to end, is first in the mind and its intention, because it is regarded as primary; but to this first there is no approaching unless successively through mediums, and these are not first in themselves, but only conducive to what is first in itself. . x. during the implantation of conjugial love, the love of the sex inverts itself and becomes the chaste love of the sex. it is said that in this case the love of the sex inverts itself; because while conjugial love is coming to its origin, which is in the interiors of the mind, it sees the love of the sex not before itself but behind, or not above itself but beneath, and thus as somewhat which it passes by and leaves. the case herein is similar to that of a person climbing from one office to another through a great variety, till he reaches one which exceeds the rest in dignity; when he looks back upon the offices through which he had passed, as behind or beneath him; or as when a person intends a journey to the palace of some king, after his arrival at his journey's end, he inverts his view in regard to the objects which he had seen in the way. that in this case the love of the sex remains and becomes chaste, and yet, to those who are principled in love truly conjugial, is sweeter than it was before, may be seen from the description given of it by those in the spiritual world, in the two memorable relations, n. , and . . xi. the male and the female were created to be the essential form of the marriage of good and truth. the reason for this is, because the male was created to be the understanding of truth, thus truth in form; and the female was created to be the will of good, thus good in form; and there is implanted in each, from their inmost principles, an inclination to conjunction into a one, as may be seen above, n. ; thus the two make one form, which emulates the conjugial form of good and truth. it is said to emulate it, because it is not the same, but is like it; for the good which joins itself with the truth belonging to the man, is from the lord immediately; whereas the good of the wife, which joins itself with the truth belonging to the man, is from the lord mediately through the wife; therefore there are two goods, the one internal, the other external, which join themselves with the truth belonging to the husband, and cause him to be constantly in the understanding of truth, and thence in wisdom, by love truly conjugial: but on this subject more will be said in the following pages. . xii. married partners are that form in their inmost principles, and thence in what is derived from those principles, in proportion as the interiors of their minds are opened. there are three things of which every man consists, and which follow in an orderly connection,--the soul, the mind, and the body: his inmost is the soul, his middle is the mind, and his ultimate is the body. every thing which flows from the lord into a man, flows into his inmost principle, which is the soul, and descends thence into his middle principle, which is the mind, and through this into his ultimate principle, which is the body. such is the nature of the influx of the marriage of good and truth from the lord with man: it flows immediately into his soul, and thence proceeds to the principles next succeeding, and through these to the extreme or outermost: and thus conjointly all the principles constitute conjugial love. from an idea of this influx it is manifest, that two married partners are the form of conjugial love in their inmost principles, and thence in those derived from the inmost. . but the reason why married partners become that form in proportion as the interiors of their minds are opened, is, because the mind is successively opened from infancy even to extreme old age: for a man is born corporeal: and in proportion as the mind is opened proximately above the body, he becomes rational; and in proportion as his rational principle is purified, and as it were drained of the fallacies which flow in from the bodily senses, and of the concupiscences which flow in from the allurements of the flesh, in the same proportion it is opened; and this is affected solely by wisdom: and when the interiors of the rational mind are open, the man becomes a form of wisdom; and this form is the receptacle of love truly conjugial. "the wisdom which constitutes this form, and receives this love, is rational, and at the same time moral, wisdom: rational wisdom regards the truths and goods which appear inwardly in man, not as its own, but as flowing in from the lord; and moral wisdom shuns evils and falses as leprosies, especially the evils of lasciviousness, which contaminate its conjugial love." * * * * * . to the above i shall add two memorable relations: the first is this. one morning before sun-rise i was looking towards the east in the spiritual world, and i saw four horsemen as it were issuing from a cloud refulgent with the flame of the dawning day. on their heads they had crested helmets, on their arms as it were wings, and around their bodies light orange-colored tunics; thus clad as for expedition, they rose in their seats, and gave their horses the reins, which thus ran as if they had had wings to their feet. i kept my eye fixed on their course or flight, desiring to know where they were going; and lo! three of the horsemen took their direction towards three different quarters, the south, the west, and the north; and the fourth in a short space of time halted in the east. wondering at all this, i looked up into heaven, and inquired where those horsemen were going? i received for answer, "to the wise men in the kingdoms of europe, who with clear reasoning and acute discernment discuss the subjects of their investigation, and are distinguished above the rest for their genius, that they may assemble together and explain the secret respecting the origin of conjugial love, and respecting its virtue or potency." it was then said from heaven, "wait awhile, and you will see twenty-seven chariots; three, in which are spaniards; three, in which are frenchmen; three, in which are italians; three, in which are germans; three, in which are dutchmen or hollanders; three, in which are englishmen; three, in which are swedes; three, in which are danes; and three, in which are poles." in about two hours i saw the chariots, drawn by horses of a pale-red color, with remarkable trappings: they passed rapidly along towards a spacious house in the confines of the east and south, around which all alighted from their several chariots, and entered in with much confidence. then it was said to me, "go, and do you also enter, and you will hear." i went and entered: and on examining the house within, i saw that it was square, the sides looking to the four quarters: in each side there were three high windows of crystalline glass, the frames of which were of olive-wood; on each side of the frames were projections from the walls, like chambers vaulted above, in which there were tables. the walls of these chambers were of cedar, the roof of the noble almug wood, and the floor of poplar boards. near the eastern wall, where no windows were seen, there was set a table overlaid with gold, on which was placed a turban set with precious stones, which was to be given as a prize or reward to him who should by investigation discover the secret about to be proposed. while my attention was directed to the chamber projections like closets near the windows, i saw five men in each from every kingdom of europe, who were prepared and waiting to know the object for the exercise of their judgements. an angel then presented himself in the middle of the palace, and said, "the object for the exercise of your judgements shall be respecting the origin of conjugial love, and respecting its virtue or potency. investigate this and decide upon it; and write your decision on a piece of paper, and put it into the silver urn which you see placed near the golden table, and subscribe the initial letter of the kingdom from which you come; as f for french, b for batavians or hollanders, i for italians, e for english, p for poles, g for german, h for spaniards (_hispani_), d for danes, s for swedes." as he said this, the angel departed, saying, "i will return." then the five men, natives of the same country, in each closet near the windows, took into consideration the proposed subject, examined it attentively, and came to a decision according to their respective talents and powers of judgement, which they wrote on a piece of paper, and placed it in the silver urn, having first subscribed the initial letter of their kingdom. this business being accomplished in about three hours, the angel returned and drew the papers in order from the urn, and read them before the assembly. . from the first paper which he happened to lay hold of, he read as follows; "we five, natives of the same country, in one closet have decreed that the origin of conjugial love is from the most ancient people in the golden age, and that it was derived to them from the creation of adam and his wife; hence is the origin of marriages, and with marriages the origin of conjugial love. the virtue or potency of conjugial love we derive from no other source than climate or situation in regard to the sun, and the consequent heat of the country; and we are confirmed in this sentiment, not by vain conjectures of reason, but by evident proofs of experience, as by the case of the people who live under the line, or the equinoctial, where the heat of the day is intense, and by the case of those who live nearer to the line, or more distant from it; and also from the co-operation of the sun's heat with the vital heat in the living creatures of the earth and the fowls of heaven, in the time of spring during prolification. moreover, what is conjugial love but heat, which becomes virtue or potency, if the heat supplied from the sun be added to it?" to this decision was subscribed the letter h, the initial of the kingdom from which they were. . after this he put his hand into the urn a second time, and took out a paper from which he read as follows: "we, natives of the same country, in our lodge have agreed that the origin of conjugial love is the same with the origin of marriages, which were sanctioned by laws in order to restrain man's innate concupiscences prompting him to adultery, which ruins the soul, defiles the reason, pollutes the morals, and infects the body with disease: for adultery is not human but bestial, not rational but brutish, and thus not in any respect christian but barbarous: with a view to the condemnation of such adultery, marriages originated, and at the same time conjugial love. the case is the same with the virtue or potency of this love; for it depends on chastity, which consists in abstaining from the rovings of whoredom: the reason is, because virtue or potency, with him who loves his married partner alone, is confined to one, and is thus collected and as it were concentrated; and then it becomes refined like a quintessence from which all defilement is separated, which would otherwise be dispersed and cast away in every direction. one of us five, who is a priest, has also added predestination as a cause of that virtue or potency, saying, 'are not marriages predestinated? and this being the case, are not the progeny thence issuing and the means conducive thereto, predestinated also?' he insisted on adding this cause because he had sworn to it." to this decision was subscribed the letter b. on hearing it, a certain spirit observed with a smile, "how fair an apology is predestination for weakness or impotence!" . presently he drew from the urn a third paper, from which he read as follows: "we, natives of the same country, in our department have deliberated concerning the causes of the origin of conjugial love, and have seen this to be the principal, that it is the same with the origin of marriage, because conjugial love had no existence before marriage; and the ground of its existence is, that when any one is desperately in love with a virgin, he desires in heart and soul to possess her as being lovely above all things; and as soon as she betroths herself to him he regards her as another self. that this is the origin of conjugial love, is clearly manifest from the fury of every man against his rivals, and from the jealousy which takes place in case of violation. we afterwards considered the origin of the virtue or potency of this love; and the sentiments of three prevailed against the other two, viz., that virtue or potency with a married partner arises from some degree of licentiousness with the sex. they affirmed that they knew from experience that the potency of the love of the sex is greater than the potency of conjugial love." to this decision was subscribed the letter i. on hearing it, there was a cry from the table, "remove this paper and take another out of the urn." . and instantly he drew out a fourth, from which he read as follows: "we, natives of the same country, under our window have come to this conclusion, that the origin of conjugial love and of the love of the sex is the same, the former being derived from the latter; only that the love of the sex is unlimited, indeterminate, loose, promiscuous, and roving; whereas conjugial love is limited, determinate, fixed, regular, and constant; and that this love therefore has been sanctioned and established by the prudence of human wisdom as necessary to the existence of every empire, kingdom, commonwealth, and even society; for without it men would wander like droves of cattle in fields and forests, with harlots and ravished females, and would fly from one habitation to another to avoid the bloody murders, violations, and depredations, whereby the whole human race would be in danger of being extirpated. this is our opinion concerning the origin of conjugial love. but the virtue or potency of conjugial love we deduce from an uninterrupted state of bodily health continuing from infancy to old age; for the man who always retains a sound constitution and enjoys a continual freedom from sickness, feels his vigor unabated, while his fibres, nerves, muscles, and sinews, are neither torpid, relaxed, nor feeble, but retain the full strength of their powers: farewell." to this decision was subscribed the letter e. . fifthly, he drew a paper out of the urn, from which he read as follows: "we, natives of the same country, at our table, from the rationality of our minds, have examined into the origin of conjugial love and of its virtue or potency; and from all the considerations which have presented themselves, we have seen and concluded upon no other origin of conjugial love than this: that every man, from incentives and consequent incitements which are concealed in the interiors of his mind and body, after indulging in various desires of his eyes, at length fixes his mind and inclination on one of the female sex, until his passion is determined entirely to her: from this moment his warmth is enkindled more and more, until at length it becomes a flame; in this state the inordinate love of the sex is banished, and conjugial love takes its place. a youthful bridegroom under the influence of this flame, knows no other than that the virtue or potency of this love will never cease; for he wants experience and therefore knowledge respecting a state of the failure of his powers, and of the coldness of love which then succeeds to delights: conjugial love therefore has its origin in this first ardor before the nuptial ceremony, and from the same source it derives its virtue or potency; but this virtue or potency changes its aspect after the nuptial ceremony, and decreases and increases; yet still it continues with regular changes, or with decrease and increase, even to old age, by means of prudent moderation, and by restraining the libidinous desires which burst forth from the lurking places of the mind not yet thoroughly purified: for libidinous desire precedes wisdom. this is our judgement concerning the origin and continuance of conjugial virtue or potency." to this decision was subscribed the letter p. . sixthly, he drew out a paper, from which he read as follows: "we, natives of the same country, from the fellowship subsisting among us, have attentively considered the causes of the origin of conjugial love, and have agreed in assigning two; one of which is the right education of children, and the other the distinct possession of inheritances. we have assigned these two, because they aim at and regard the same end, which is the public good: and this end is obtained, because infants conceived and born from conjugial love become proper and true children; and these in consequence of the natural love of the parents, exalted by the consideration of their offspring being legitimate, are educated to be heirs of all their parents' possessions both spiritual and natural. that the public good is founded on a right education of children and on a distinct possession of inheritances, is obvious to reason. of the love of the sex and conjugial love, the latter appears as if it were one with the former, but it is distinctly different; neither is the one love near to the other, but within it; and what is within is more excellent than what is without: and we have seen that conjugial love from creation is within, and lies hid in the love of the sex, just as an almond does in its shell; therefore when conjugial love comes out of its shell, which is the love of the sex, it glitters before the angels like a gem, a beryl, and astroites. the reason of this is, because on conjugial love is inscribed the safety of the whole human race, which we conceive to be understood by the public good. this is our judgement respecting the origin of this love. with respect to the origin of its virtue or potency, from a consideration of its causes, we have concluded it to be the development and separation of conjugial love from the love of the sex, which is effected by wisdom on the man's part, and by the love of the man's wisdom on the part of the wife: for the love of the sex is common to man and beast; whereas conjugial love is peculiar to men: therefore so far as conjugial love is developed and separated from the love of the sex, so far a man is a man and not a beast; and a man acquires virtue or potency from his love, as a beast does from his." to this decision was subscribed the letter g. . seventhly, he drew out a paper from which he read as follows: "we, natives of the same country, in the chamber under the light of our window, have found our thoughts and thence our judgements exhilarated by meditating on conjugial love; for who is not exhilarated by this love, which, while it prevails in the mind, prevails also through the whole body? we judge of the origin of this love from its delights; for who in any case knows or has known the trace of any love except from its delight and pleasurableness? the delights of conjugial love in their origins are felt as beatitudes, satisfactions, and happinesses, in their derivations as pleasantnesses and pleasures, and in their ultimates as superlative delights. the love of the sex therefore originates when the interiors of the mind, and thence the interiors of the body, are opened for the influx of those delights; but conjugial love originated at the time when, from entering into marriage engagements, the primitive sphere of that love ideally promoted those delights. the virtue or potency of this love arises from its passing, with its inmost principles, from the mind into the body; for the mind, by derivation from the head, is in the body, while it feels and acts, especially when it is delighted from this love: hence we judge of the degrees of its potency and the regularity of its alterations. moreover we also deduce the virtue of potency from the stock whence a man is descended: if this be noble on the father's side, it becomes also by transmission noble with his offspring. that such nobility is generated, inherited and descends by transmission, is agreeable to the dictates of reason supported by experience." to this decision was subscribed the letter f. . from the paper which came forth the eighth in order, he read as follows: "we, natives of the same country, in our place of assembly have not discovered the real origin of conjugial love, because it lies deeply concealed in the sacred repositories of the mind. the most consummate vision cannot, by any intellectual effort, reach that love in its origin. we have made many conjectures; but after the vain exertion of subtle inquiry, we have been in doubt whether our conjectures might not be called rather trifling than judicious; therefore whoever is desirous to extract the origin of that love from the sacred repositories of his mind, and to exhibit it clearly before his eyes, let him go to _delphos_. we have contemplated that love beneath its origin, and have seen that in the mind it is spiritual, and as a fountain from which a sweet stream flows, whence it descends into the breast, where it becomes delightful, and is called bosom love, which in itself is full of friendship and confidence, from a full inclination to reciprocality; and that when it has passed the breast, it becomes genial love. these and similar considerations, which a young man revolves in his mind while he is determining his choice to one of the sex, kindle in his heart the fire of conjugial love; which fire, as it is the primitive of that love is its origin. in respect to the origin of its virtue or potency, we acknowledge no other than that love itself, they being inseparable companions, yet still they are such that sometimes the one precedes and sometimes the other. when the love precedes and the virtue or potency follows it, each is noble because in this case potency is the virtue of conjugial love; but if the potency precedes and the love follows, each is then ignoble; because in this case the love is subordinate to carnal potency; we therefore judge of the quality of each from the order in which the love descends or ascends, and thus proceeds from its origin to its proposed end." to this decision was subscribed the letter d. . lastly, or ninthly, he took up a paper, from which he read as follows: "we, natives of the same country, in our council-chamber have exercised our judgement on the two points proposed, viz., the origin of conjugial love, and the origin of its virtue or potency. in the subtleties of inquiry respecting the origin of conjugial love, in order to avoid obscurity in our reasonings, we have distinguished between the love of the sex as being spiritual, natural, and carnal; and by the spiritual love of the sex we have understood love truly conjugial, because this is spiritual; and by the natural love of the sex we have understood polygamical love, because this is natural; and by the merely carnal love of the sex we have understood adulterous love because this is merely carnal. in exercising our judgements to examine into love truly conjugial, we have clearly seen that this love exists only between one male and one female, and that from creation it is celestial and inmost, the soul and father of all good loves, being inspired into the first parents, and capable of being inspired into christians; it is also of such a conjunctive nature that by it two minds may become one mind, and two men (_homines_) as it were one man (_homo_); which is meant by becoming one flesh. that this love was inspired at creation, is plain from these words in the book of creation, '_and a man shall leave father and mother, and shall cleave to his wife; and they shall be one flesh_,' gen. ii. . that it can be inspired into christians, is evident from these words, '_jesus said, have ye not read, that he who made them from the beginning, made them male and female, and said, for this cause shall a man leave father and mother, and shall cleave to his wife; and they two shall be one flesh? wherefore they are no longer two but one flesh_,' matt. xix. - . so far in regard to the origin of conjugial love: but as to the origin of the virtue or potency of love truly conjugial, we conceive it to proceed from a similitude of minds and unanimity; for when two minds are conjugially united, their thoughts spiritually kiss each other, and these inspire into the body their virtue or potency." to this decision was subscribed the letter s. . there were standing behind an oblong stage in the palace, erected before the doors, some strangers from africa, who cried out to the natives of europe, "permit one of us to deliver his sentiments respecting the origin of conjugial love, and respecting its virtue or potency." and immediately all the tables gave signs of assent with their hands. then one of them entered and stood at the table on which the turban was placed, and said, "you christians deduce the origin of conjugial love from love itself; but we africans deduce it from the god of heaven and earth. is not conjugial love a chaste, pure, and holy love? are not the angels of heaven principled therein? is not the whole human race, and thence the whole angelic heaven, the seed of that love? and can such super-eminent principle derive its existence from any other source than from god himself, the creator and preserver of the universe? you christians deduce conjugial virtue or potency from various causes rational and natural; but we africans deduce it from the state of man's conjunction with the god of the universe. this state we call a state of religion; but you call it a state of the church: for when the love is derived from that state, and is fixed and permanent, it must needs produce its own virtue, which resembles it, and thus also is fixed and permanent. love truly conjugial is known only to those few who live near to god; consequently the potency of that love is known to none else. this potency is described by the angels in the heavens as the delight of a perpetual spring." . as he said these word, the whole assembly arose, and lo! behind the golden table on which lay the turban, there appeared a window that had not before been seen; and through it was heard a voice, saying, "the african is to have the turban." the angel then gave it into his hand, but did not place it upon his head; and he went home with it. the inhabitants of the kingdoms of europe then left the assembly and entered their chariots, in which they returned to their respective societies. . the second memorable relation. awaking from sleep at midnight, i saw at some elevation towards the east an angel holding in his right hand a paper, which appeared extremely bright, being illuminated by the light flowing from the sun. in the middle of the paper there was written in golden letters, the marriage of good and truth. from the writing there darted forth a splendor which formed a wide circle about the paper. this circle or encompassing splendor appeared like the early dawn in spring. after this i saw the angel descending with the paper in his hand; and as he descended the paper became less and less lucid, and the writing, which was the marriage of good and truth, changed from a golden into a silver color, afterwards into a copper color, next into an iron color, and at length into the color of iron and copper rust: finally, i saw the angel enter an obscure mist, and through the mist descend upon the ground; and here i did not see the paper, although he still held it in his hand. this happened in the world of spirits, in which all men first assemble after their decease. the angel then said to me, "ask those who come hither whether they see me, or anything in my hand." there came a great number; one company from the east, another from the south, another from the west, and another from the north; and i asked those who came from the east and from the south, who in the world had applied themselves to literary pursuits, "do you see any one here with me, and anything in his hand?" they all said, "no." i then put the same question to those who came from the west and from the north, who in the world had believed in the words of the learned; and these gave the same answer: nevertheless the last of them, who in the world had been principled in simple faith grounded in charity, or in some degree of truth grounded in good, when the rest were gone away, said, that they saw a man with a paper, the man in a graceful dress, and the paper with letters written upon it: and when they applied their eyes nearer to it, they said that they could read these words, _the marriage of good and truth_; and they addressed the angel, intreating him to explain to them the meaning of the writing. he said, "all things in the whole heaven and in the whole world, are a marriage of good and truth; for all things whatever, both those which live and communicate life and those which do not live and do not communicate life, were created from and into the marriage of good and truth. there does not exist anything which was created into truth alone, or any thing which was created into good alone: solitary good or solitary truth is not any thing; but by marriage they exist and become something which derives its nature and quality from that of the marriage. in the lord the creator are divine good and divine truth in their very substance: the _esse_ of his substance is divine good, and its _existere_ is divine truth: in him also they are in their very essential union; for in him they infinitely make a one: and since these two in the creator himself are a one, therefore also they are a one in all things created from him; hereby also the creator is conjoined in an eternal covenant as of marriage with all things created from himself." the angel further said, that the sacred scripture, which proceeded immediately from the lord, is in general and in particular a marriage of good and truth; and since the church, which is formed by the truth of doctrine, and religion, which is formed by the good of life agreeable to the truth of doctrine, are with christians derived solely from the sacred scripture, therefore it may manifestly appear, that the church in general and in particular is a marriage of good and truth; (that this is the case, may be seen in the apocalypse revealed, n. , .) what has just been said concerning the marriage of good and truth, is applicable also to the marriage of charity and faith; for good relates to charity, and truth to faith. some of the spirits above-mentioned who did not see the angel and the writing, being still near, and hearing these things, said in an under tone, "_yes, we also comprehend what has been spoken_;" but the angel then said to them, "turn aside a little from me and speak in like manner." they turned aside, and then said aloud, "_it is not so_." after this the angel spoke concerning the marriage of good and truth with married pairs, saying, that if their minds were in that marriage, the husband being truth, and the wife the good thereof, they would both be in the delights of the blessedness and innocence, and thence in the happiness which the angels of heaven enjoy; and in this state the prolific principle of the husband would be in a continual spring, and thereby in the endeavour and vigor of propagating its truth, and the wife would be in a continual reception thereof from a principle of love. the wisdom which husbands derive from the lord, is sensible of no greater delight than to propagate its truths; and the love of wisdom which wives have from the lord is sensible of no higher gratification than to receive those truths as it were in the womb, and thus to conceive them, to carry them in the womb, and to bring them forth. spiritual prolifications with the angels of heaven are of this sort; and if you are disposed to believe it, natural prolifications are also from the same origin. the angel, after a salutation of peace, raised himself from the ground, and passing through the mist ascended into heaven; and then the paper shone as before according to the degrees of ascent; and behold! the circle, which before appeared as the dawn of day, descended and dispelled the mist which caused darkness on the ground, and a bright sunshine succeeded. on the marriage of the lord and the church, and its correspondence. . the reason why the marriage of the lord and the church, together with its correspondence, is here also treated of, is, because without knowledge and intelligence on this subject, scarcely any one can know, that conjugial love in its origin is holy, spiritual, and celestial, and that it is from the lord. it is said indeed by some in the church, that marriages have relation to the marriage of the lord with the church; but the nature and quality of this relationship is unknown, in order therefore that this relationship may be exhibited to the understanding so as to be seen in some degree of light, it is necessary to treat particularly of that holy marriage which has place with and in those who are the lord's church. these also, and no others, are principled in love truly conjugial. but for the better elucidation of this arcanum, it may be expedient to consider the subject distinctly, as arranged under the following articles: i. _the lord in the word is called the bridegroom and husband, and the church the bride and wife; and the conjunction of the lord with the church, and the reciprocal conjunction of the church with the lord, is called a marriage._ ii. _the lord is also called a father, and the church, a mother._ iii. _the offspring derived from the lord as a husband and father, and from the church as a wife and mother, are all spiritual; and in the spiritual sense of the word are understood by sons and daughters, brothers and sisters, sons-in-law and daughters-in-law, and by other names of relations._ iv. _the spiritual offspring, which are born from the lord's marriage with the church are truths and goods; truths, from which are derived understanding, perception, and all thought; and goods, from which are derived love, charity, and all affection._ v. _from the marriage of good and truth, which proceeds from the lord in the way of influx, man (homo) receives truth, and the lord conjoins good thereto; and thus the church is formed by the lord with man._ vi. _the husband does not represent the lord and the wife the church; because both together, the husband and the wife, constitute the church._ vii. _therefore there is not a correspondence of the husband with the lord and of the wife with the church, in the marriages of the angels in the heavens and of men on earth._ viii. _but there is a correspondence with conjugial love, semination, prolification, the love of infants, and similar things which exist in marriages, and are derived from them._ ix. _the word is the medium of conjunction, because it is from the lord, and therefore is the lord._ x. _the church is from the lord, and exists with those who come to him, and live according to his precepts._ xi. _conjugial love is according to the state of the church, because it is according to the state of wisdom with man (homo)._ xii. _and as the church is from the lord, conjugial love is also from him._ we proceed to the explanation of each article. . i. the lord in the word is called the bridegroom and husband, and the church the bride and wife; and the conjunction of the lord with the church, and the reciprocal conjunction of the church with the lord, is called a marriage. that the lord in the word is called the bridegroom and husband, and the church the bride and wife, may appear from the following passages: "_he that hath the bride is the bridegroom; but the friend of the bridegroom, who standeth and heareth him, rejoiceth with joy because of the bridegroom's voice_," john iii. : this was spoken by john the baptist concerning the lord. "_jesus said, so long as the bridegroom is with them, the sons of the nuptials cannot fast: the days will come when the bridegroom will be taken away from them, and then will they fast_," matt ix. ; mark ii. , ; luke v. , . "_i saw the holy city, new jerusalem, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband_," rev. xxi. . the new jerusalem signifies the new church of the lord, as may be seen in the apocalypse revealed, n. , . "_the angel said to john, come, and i will shew thee the bride, the lamb's wife: and he shewed him the holy city, new jerusalem_," rev. xxi. , . "_the time of the marriage of the lamb is come, and his wife hath made herself ready. blessed are those who are called to the supper of the marriage of the lamb_," rev. xix. , . the bridegroom, whom the five prepared virgins went forth to meet, and with whom they entered in to the marriage, matt. xxv. - , denotes the lord; as is evident from verse , where it is said, "watch, therefore; because ye know neither the day nor the hour in which the son of man will come:" not to mention many passages in the prophets. . ii. the lord is also called a father, and the church, a mother. the lord is called a father, as appears from the following passages: "_unto us a child is born; unto us a son is given; and his name shall be called, wonderful, counsellor, god, the father of eternity, the prince of peace_," isaiah ix. . "_thou, jehovah, art our father, our redeemer; thy name is from an age_," isaiah lxiii. . again, "_jesus said, he that seeth me, seeth the father that sent me_," john xii. . "_if ye have known me, ye have known my father also; and henceforth ye have known him, and have seen him_," john xiv. . "_philip said, shew us the father: jesus said unto him, he that seeth me, seeth the father; how sayest them then, shew us the father_?" john xiv. , . "_jesus said, the father and i are one_," john x. . "_all things that the father hath are mine_," john xvi. ; chap. xvii. . "_the father is in me, and i in the father_," john x. ; chap, xiv , , . that the lord and his father are one, as the soul and the body are one, and that god the father descended from heaven, and assumed the human (nature or principle), to redeem and save men, and that his human nature is what is called the son, and is said to be sent into the world, has been fully shewn in the apocalypse revealed. . the church is called a mother, as appears from the following passages: "_jehovah said, contend with your mother: she is not my wife, and i am not her husband_." hosea ii. , . "_thou art thy mother's daughter, that loatheth her husband_," ezek. xvi. . "_where is the hill of thy mother's divorcement, whom i have put away_?" isaiah l. . "_thy mother was like a vine planted by the waters, bearing fruit_," ezek. xix. ; speaking of the jewish church. "_jesus stretching out his hand to the disciples, said, my mother and my brethren are those who hear the word of god, and do it_," luke viii. ; matt. xii. , ; mark iii. - : the lord's disciples means the church. "_there was standing at the cross of jesus his mother: and jesus seeing his mother and the disciple whom he loved, standing by, he saith unto his mother, woman, behold thy son; and he saith to the disciple, behold thy mother: wherefore from that hour the disciple took her unto his own_," john xix. - . this implies, that the lord did not acknowledge mary as a mother, but the church; therefore he calls her woman, and the disciple's mother. the reason why the lord called her the mother of this disciple, or of john, was, because john represented the church as to the goods of charity, which are the church in real effect; therefore it is said, he took her unto his own. peter represented truth and faith, james charity, and john the works of charity, as may be seen in the apocalypse revealed, n. , , , , ; and the twelve disciples together represented the church as to all its constituent principles, as may be seen, ibid, n. , , , . . iii. the offspring derived from the lord as a husband and father, and from the church as a wife and mother, are all spiritual; and in the spiritual sense of the word are understood by sons and daughters, brothers and sisters, sons-in-law, and daughters-in-law, and by other names of relations. that no other than spiritual offspring are born of the lord by the church, is a proposition which wants no demonstration, because reason sees it to be self-evident; for it is the lord from whom every good and truth proceeds, and it is the church which receives them and brings them into effect; and all the spiritual things of heaven and the church relate to good and truth. hence it is that sons and daughters in the word, in its spiritual sense, signify truths and goods: sons, truths conceived in the spiritual man, and born in, the natural; and daughters, goods in like manner: therefore those who are regenerated by the lord, are called in the word sons of god, sons of the kingdom, born of him; and the lord called the disciples sons: the male child, that the woman brought forth, and that was caught up to god, rev. xii. , has a similar signification; see apocalypse revealed, n. . since daughters signify goods of the church, therefore in the word mention is so frequently made of the daughter of zion, the daughter of jerusalem, the daughter of israel, and the daughter of judah; by whom is signified not any daughter, but the affection of good, which is an affection of the church; see also apocalypse revealed, n. . the lord also calls those who are of his church, brethren and sisters; see matt. xii. , ; chap. xxv. ; chap, xxviii. ; mark iii. ; luke viii. . . iv. the spiritual offspring, which are born from the lord's marriage with the church, are truths and goods; truths, from which are derived understanding, perception, and all thought; and goods, from which are derived love, charity, and all affection. the reason why truths and goods are the spiritual offspring, which are born of the lord by the church, is, because the lord is essential good and essential truth, and these in him are not two but one; also, because nothing can proceed from the lord but what is in him, and what he is. that the marriage of truth and good proceeds from the lord, and flows in with men, and is received according to the state of the mind and life of those who are of the church, was shewn in the foregoing section on the marriage of good and truth. the reason why by means of truths a man has understanding, perception, and all thought, and by means of goods has love, charity, and all affection, is, because all things of man relate to truth and good; and there are two constituents of man--the will and the understanding; the will being the receptacle of good, and the understanding of truth. that love, charity and affection, belong to the will, and that perception and thought belong to the understanding, may appear without the aid of light arising from demonstration; for there is a light derived from the understanding itself by which these propositions are seen to be self-evident. . v. from the marriage of good and truth, which proceeds from the lord in the way of influx, man (_homo_) receives truth, and the lord conjoins good thereto; and thus the church is formed by the lord with man. the reason why a man receives truth by virtue of the good and truth which proceed as a one from the lord, is, because he receives this as his own, and appropriates it to himself as his own; for he thinks what is true as from himself, and in like manner speaks from what is true; and this takes place because truth is in the light of the understanding, and hence he sees it: and whatever he sees in himself, or in his mind, he knows not whence it is; for he does not see the influx, as he sees those objects which strike upon the bodily vision; hence he supposes that it is himself. that it should appear thus, is granted by the lord to him, in order that he may be a man (_homo_), and that he may have a reciprocal principle of conjunction: add to this, that every man is born a faculty of knowing, understanding, and growing wise; and this faculty receives truths, whereby it has knowledges, intelligence, and wisdom. and since the female was created through the truth of the male, and is formed into the love thereof more and more after marriage, it follows, that she also receives the husband's truth in herself, and conjoins it with her own good. . the lord adjoins and conjoins good to the truths which a man receives, because he cannot take good as of himself, it being no object of his sight, as it does not relate to light, but to heat, which is felt and not seen; therefore when a man sees truth in his thought, he seldom reflects upon the good which flows into it from the love of the will, and which gives it life: neither does a wife reflect upon the good belonging to her, but upon the husband's inclination towards her, which is according to the assent of his understanding to wisdom: the good which belongs to her from the lord, she applies, without the husband's knowing any thing respecting such application. from these considerations then it plainly appears, that a man receives truth from the lord, and that the lord adjoins good to that truth, according to the application of truth to use; consequently as the man is desirous to think, and thence to live, wisely. . the church is thus formed with a man by the lord, because in such case he is in conjunction with the lord, in good from him, and in truth as from himself; thus he is in the lord, and the lord in him, according to the lord's words in john xv. :, . the case is the same, if instead of good we say charity, and instead of truth faith; because good is of charity, and truth is of faith. . vi. the husband does not represent the lord, and the wife the church; because both together, the husband and the wife, constitute the church. it is a common saying in the church, that as the lord is the head of the church, so the husband is the head of the wife; whence it should follow, that the husband represents the lord, and the wife the church: but the lord is the head of the church; and man (_homo_), the man (_vir_) and the woman, are the church; and still more the husband and wife together. with these the church is first implanted in the man, and through him in the wife; because the man with his understanding receives the truth of the church, and the wife from the man; but if it be _vice versa_, it is not according to order: sometimes, however, this is the case; but then it is with men, who either are not lovers of wisdom, and consequently are not of the church, or who are in a servile dependence on the will of their wives. something on this subject may be seen in the preliminary relations, n. . . vii. therefore there is not a correspondence of the husband with the lord and of the wife with the church, in the marriages of the angels in the heavens and of men on earth. this follows as a consequence from what has just been said; to which, nevertheless, it may be expedient to add, that it appears as if truth was the primary constituent of the church, because it is first in respect to time: from this appearance, the prelates of the church have exalted faith, which is of truth, above charity, which is of good; in like manner the learned have exalted thought, which is of the understanding, above affection, which is of the will; therefore the knowledge of what the good of charity and the affection of the will are, lies deeply buried as in a tomb, while some even cast earth upon them, as upon the dead, to prevent their rising again. that the good of charity, notwithstanding, is the primary constituent of the church, may be plainly seen by those who have not closed the way from heaven to their understandings, by confirmations in favor of faith, as the sole constituent of the church, and in favor of thought, as the sole constituent of man. now as the good of charity is from the lord, and the truth of faith is with a man as from himself, and these two principles cause conjunction of the lord with man, and of man with the lord, such as is understood by the lord's words, that he is in them, and they in him, john xv. , , it is evident that this conjunction constitutes the church. . viii. but there is a correspondence with conjugial love, semination, prolification, the love of infants, and similar things which exist in marriages and are derived from them. these, however, are arcana of too deep a nature to enter the understanding with any degree of light, unless preceded by knowledge concerning correspondence; nor is it possible, if this knowledge be wanting, so to explain them as to make them comprehensible. but what correspondence is, and that it exists between natural things and spiritual, is abundantly shown in the apocalypse revealed, also in the arcana coelestia, and specifically in the doctrine of the new jerusalem concerning the sacred scripture, and particularly in a memorable relation respecting it in the following pages. before some knowledge on this subject is acquired, we will only present to the intellectual view, as in a shade, these few particulars: conjugial love corresponds to the affection of genuine truth, its chastity, purity, and sanctity; semination corresponds to the potency of truth; prolification corresponds to the propagation of truth; and the love of infants corresponds to the defence of truth and good. now as truth with a man (_homo_) appears as his own, and good is adjoined thereto from the lord, it is evident that these correspondences are those of the natural or external man with the spiritual or internal man: but some degree of light will be reflected on this subject from the memorable relations which follow. . ix. the word is the medium of conjunction, because it is from the lord, and therefore is the lord. the word is the medium of conjunction of the lord with man (_homo_), and of man with the lord, because in its essence it is divine truth united to divine good, and divine good united to divine truth: that this union exists in every part of the word in its celestial and spiritual sense, may be seen in the apocalypse revealed, n. , , , ; whence it follows, that the word is the perfect marriage of good and truth; and as it is from the lord, and what is from him is also himself, it follows, that while a man reads the word, and collects truths out of it, the lord adjoins good. for a man does not see the goods which affect him in reading; because he reads the word from the understanding, and the understanding acquires thence only such things as are of its own nature, that is, truths. that good is adjoined thereto from the lord, is made sensible to the understanding from the delight which flows in during a state of illustration; but this takes place interiorly with those only who read the word to the end that they may become wise; and such persons are desirous of learning the genuine truths contained in the word, and thereby of forming the church in themselves; whereas those who read the word only with a view to gain the reputation of learning, and those also who read it from an opinion that the mere reading or hearing it inspires faith and conduces to salvation, do not receive any good from the lord; for the end proposed by the latter is to save themselves by the mere expressions contained in the word, in which there is nothing of truth; and the end proposed by the former is to be distinguished for their learning; which end has no conjunction with any spiritual good, but only with the natural delight arising from worldly glory. as the word is the medium of conjunction, it is therefore called the old and the new covenant: a covenant signifies conjunction. . x. the church is from the lord, and exists with those who come to him and live according to his precepts. it is not denied at this day that the church is the lord's, and consequently that it is from the lord. the reason why it exists with those who come to him, is, because his church in that part of the globe which is called christian, is derived from the word; and the word is from him, and in such a manner from him, that it is himself, the divine truth being therein united to the divine good, and this also is the lord. this is meant by the word, "_which was with god, and which was god, from which men have life and light, and which was made flesh_," john i. - . moreover, the reason why the church exists with those who come to him, is, because it exists with those who believe in him; and to believe that he is god the saviour and redeemer, that he is jehovah our justice, that he is the door by which we are to enter into the sheepfold, that is, into the church, that he is the way, the truth, and the life, and that no one comes to the father but by him, that the father and he are one, besides many other particulars which he himself teaches; to believe these things, i say, is impossible for any one, except by influence from him; and the reason why this is impossible unless he be approached, is, because he is the god of heaven and earth, as he also teaches. who else is to be approached, and who else can be? the reason why the church exists with those who live according to his precepts, is, because there is conjunction with none else; for he says, "_he that hath my precepts, and doeth them, he it is that loveth me; and i will love him, and will make my abode with him: but he that doth not love me, doth not keep my precepts_," john xiv. - . love is conjunction; and conjunction with the lord is the church. . xi. conjugial love is according to the state of the church, because it is according to the state of wisdom with man (_homo_). that conjugial love is according to the state of wisdom with man, has been often said above, and will be often repeated in the following pages: at present therefore we will show what wisdom is, and that it makes one with the church. "there are belonging to man knowledge, intelligence, and wisdom. knowledge relates to information; intelligence, to reason; and wisdom to life. wisdom considered in its fulness relates at the same time to information, to reason, and to life: information precedes, reason is formed by it, and wisdom by both; as is the case when a man lives rationally according to the truths which he knows. wisdom therefore relates to both reason and life at once; and it becomes (or is making) wisdom while it is a principle of reason and thence of life; but it is wisdom when it is made a principle of life and thence of reason. the most ancient people in this world acknowledged no other wisdom than the wisdom of life; which was the wisdom of those who were formerly called sophi: but the ancient people, who succeeded the most ancient, acknowledged the wisdom of reason as wisdom; and these were called philosophers. at this day, however, many call even knowledge, wisdom; for the learned, the erudite, and the mere sciolists, are called wise; thus wisdom has declined from its mountain-top to its valley. but it may be expedient briefly to shew what wisdom is in its rise, in its progress, and thence in its full state. the things relating to the church, which are called spiritual, reside in the inmost principles with man; those relating to the public weal, which are called things of a civil nature, hold a place below these; and those relating to science, to experience, and to art, which are called natural things, constitute their seat or basis. the reason why the things relating to the church, which are called spiritual, reside in the inmost principles with man, is, because they conjoin themselves with heaven, and by heaven with the lord; for no other things enter from the lord through heaven with man. the reason why the things relating to the public weal, which are called things of a civil nature, hold a place beneath spiritual things, is, because they have relation to the world, and conjoin themselves with it; for statutes, laws, and rules, are what bind men, so that a civil society and state may be composed of them in a well-connected order. the reason why the things relating to science, to experience, and to art, which are called natural, constitute their seat or basis, is, because they conjoin themselves closely with the five bodily senses; and these senses are the ultimates on which the interior principles of the mind and the inmost principles of the soul, as it were sit or rest. now as the things relating to the church, which are called spiritual, reside in the inmost principles, and as the things residing in the inmost principles constitute the head, and the succeeding things beneath them, which are called things of a civil nature, constitute the body, and the ultimate things, which are called natural, constitute the feet; it is evident, that while these three kinds of things follow in their order, a man is a perfect man; for in such case there is an influx like that of the things of the head into those of the body, and through the body into the feet; thus spiritual things flow into things of a civil nature, and through them into natural things. now as spiritual things are in the light of heaven, it is evident that by their light they illustrate the things which succeed in order, and by their heat, which is love, animate them; and when this is the case the man has wisdom. as wisdom is a principle of life, and thence of reason, as was said above, it may be asked, what is wisdom as a principle of life? in a summary view, it is to shun evils, because they are hurtful to the soul, to the public weal, and to the body; and it is to do goods, because they are profitable to the soul, to the public weal, and to the body. this is the wisdom which is meant by the wisdom to which conjugial love binds itself; for it binds itself thereto by shunning the evil of adultery as the pest of the soul, of the public weal, and of the body: and as this wisdom originates in spiritual things relating to the church, it follows, that conjugial love is according to the state of the church; because it is according to the state of wisdom with men. hereby also is understood what has been frequently said above, that so far as a man becomes spiritual, so far he is principled in love truly conjugial; for a man becomes spiritual by means of the spiritual things of the church." more observations respecting the wisdom with which conjugial love conjoins itself, may be seen below, n. - . . xii. and as the church is from the lord, conjugial love is also from him. as this follows as a consequence from what has been said above, it is needless to dwell upon the confirmation of it. moreover, that love truly conjugial is from the lord, all the angels of heaven testify; and also that this love is according to their state of wisdom, and that their state of wisdom is according to the state of the church with them. that the angels of heaven thus testify, is evident from the memorable relations annexed to the chapters, containing an account of what was seen and heard in the spiritual world. * * * * * . to the above i shall add two memorable relations. first. i was conversing on a time with two angels, one from the eastern heaven and the other from the southern; who perceiving me engaged in meditation on the arcana of wisdom relating to conjugial love, said, "are you at all acquainted with the schools of wisdom in our world?" i replied, "not as yet." and they said, "there are several; and those who love truths from spiritual affection, or because they are truths, and because they are the means of attaining wisdom, meet together on a given signal, and investigate and decide upon such questions as require deeper consideration than common." they then took me by the hand, saying, "follow us; and you shall see and hear: to-day the signal for meeting is given." i was led across a plain to a hill; and lo! at the foot of the hill was an avenue of palms continued even to its summit, which we entered and ascended: on the summit or top of the hill was a grove, the trees of which, on an elevated plot of ground, formed as it were a theatre, within which was a court paved with various colored stones: around it in a square form were placed seats, on which the lovers of wisdom were seated; and in the middle of the theatre was a table, on which was laid a sealed paper. those who sat on the seats invited us to sit down where there was room: and i replied, "i was led here by two angels to see and hear, and not to sit down." then those two angels went into the middle of the court to the table, and broke the seal of the paper, and read in the presence of those who were seated the arcana of wisdom written on the paper, which were now to be investigated and explained. they were written by angels of the third heaven, and let down upon the table. there were three arcana, first, what is the image of god, and what the likeness of god, into which man (_homo_) was created? second, why is not a man born into the knowledge of any love, when yet beasts and birds, from the highest to the lowest, are born into the knowledge of all their loves? third, what is signified by the tree of life, and what by the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, and what by eating thereof? underneath was written, collect your opinions on these three questions into one decision, and write it on a new piece of paper, and lay it on this table, and we shall see it: if the decision, on examination, appear just and reasonable, each of you shall receive a prize of wisdom. having read the contents of the paper, the two angels withdrew, and were carried up into their respective heavens. then those who sat on the seats began to investigate and explain the arcana proposed to them, and delivered their sentiments in order; first those who sat on the north, next those on the west, afterwards those on the south, and lastly those on the east. they began with the first subject of inquiry, what is the image of god, and what the likeness of god, into which man was created? but before they proceeded, these words were read in the presence of them all out of the book of creation, "_god said, let us make man into our image, according to our likeness: and god created man into his image; into the image of god created he him_," gen. i. , . "_in the day that god created man, into the likeness of god made he him_," gen. v. . those who sat on the north spoke first, saying, "the image of god and the likeness of god are the two lives breathed into man by god, which are the life of the understanding; for it is written, '_jehovah god breathed into adam's nostril the soul of lives; and man became a living soul_,' gen. ii. ; into the nostrils denotes into the perception, that the will of good and the understanding of truth, and thereby the soul of lives, was in him; and since life from god was breathed into him, the image and likeness of god signify integrity derived from wisdom and love, and from justice and judgment in him." these sentiments were favored by those who sat to the west; only they added, that the state of integrity then breathed in from god is continually breathed into every man since; but that it is a man as in a receptacle; and a man, as he is a receptacle, is an image and likeness of god. after this, the third in order, who were those who were seated on the south, delivered their sentiments as follows: "an image of god and a likeness of god are two distinct things; but in man they are united from creation; and we see, as from an interior light, that the image of god maybe destroyed by man, but not the likeness of god. this appears as clear as the day from this consideration, that adam retained the likeness of god after that he had lost the image of god; for it is written after the curse, '_behold the man is as one of us, knowing good and evil_,' gen. iii. ; and afterwards he is called a likeness of god, and not an image of god, gen. v. . but we will leave to our associates who sit on the east, and are thence in superior light, to say what is properly meant by an image of god, and what by a likeness of god." and then, after silence was obtained, those who sat on the east arose from their seats, and looked up to the lord, and afterwards sat down again, and thus began: "an image of god is a receptacle of god; and since god is love itself and wisdom itself, an image of god is a receptacle of love and wisdom from god in it; but a likeness of god is a perfect likeness and full appearance, as if love and wisdom are in a man, and thence altogether as his; for a man has no other sensation than that he loves and is wise from himself, or that he wills good and understands truth from himself; when nevertheless nothing of all this is from himself, but from god. god alone loves from himself and is wise from himself; because god is love itself and wisdom itself. the likeness or appearance that love and wisdom, or good and truth, are in a man as his, causes a man to be a man, and makes him capable of being conjoined to god, and thereby of living to eternity: from which consideration it follows, that a man is a man from this circumstance, that he can will good and understand truth altogether as from himself, and yet know and believe that it is from god; for as he knows and believes this, god places his image in him, which could not be if he believed it was from himself and not from god." as they said this, being overpowered with zeal derived from the love of truth, they thus continued: "how can a man receive any thing of love and wisdom, and retain it, and reproduce it, unless he feel it as his own? and how can there be conjunction with god by love and wisdom, unless a man have some reciprocity of conjunction? for without such a reciprocity conjunction is impossible; and the reciprocity of conjunction is, that a man should love god, and enjoy the things which are of god, as from himself, and yet believe that it is from god. also, how can a man live eternally, unless he be conjoined to an eternal god? consequently how can a man be a man without such a likeness of god in him?" these words met with the approbation of the whole assembly; and they said, let this conclusive decision be made from them, "a man is a recipient of god, and a recipient of god is an image of god; and since god is love itself and wisdom itself, a man is a recipient of those principles; and a recipient becomes an image of god in proportion to reception; and a man is a likeness of god from this circumstance, that he feels in himself that the things which are of god are in him as his own; but still from that likeness he is only so far an image of god, as he acknowledges that love and wisdom, or good and truth, are not his own in him, and consequently are not from him, but are only in god, and consequently from god." . after this, they entered upon the next subject of discussion, why is not a man born into the knowledge of any love, when yet beasts and birds, from the highest to the lowest, are born into the knowledge of all their loves? they first confirmed the truth of the proposition by various considerations; as in regard to a man, that he is born into no knowledge, not even into the knowledge of conjugial love; and they inquired, and were informed by attentive examiners, that an infant from connate knowledge cannot even move itself to the mother's breast, but must be moved thereto by the mother or nurse; and that it knows only how to suck, and this in consequence of habit acquired by continual suction in the womb; and that afterwards it does not know how to walk, or to articulate any human expression; no, nor even to express by its tone of voice the affection of its love, as the beasts do: and further, that it does not know what is salutary for it in the way of food, as all the beasts do, but catches at whatever falls in its way, whether it be clean or unclean, and puts it into its mouth. the examiners further declared, that a man without instruction is an utter stranger to every thing relating to the sexes and their connection; and that neither virgins nor young men have any knowledge thereof without instruction from others, notwithstanding their being educated in various sciences: in a word, a man is born corporeal as a worm; and he remains such, unless he learns to know, to understand, and to be wise, from others. after this, they gave abundant proofs that beasts, from the highest to the lowest, as the animals of the earth, the fowls of the air, reptiles, fishes, the small creatures called insects, are born into all the knowledges of the loves of their life, as into the knowledge of all things relating to nourishment, to habitation, to the love of the sex and prolification, and to the rearing of their young. this they continued by many wonderful things which they recollected to have seen, heard, and read, in the natural world, (so they called our world, in which they had formerly lived), in which not representative but real beasts exist. when the truth of the proposition was thus fully proved they applied all the powers of their minds to search out and discover the ends and causes which might serve to unfold and explain this arcanum; and they all said, that the divine wisdom must needs have ordained these things, to the end that a man, may be a man, and a beast a beast; and thus, that the imperfection of a man at his birth becomes his perfection, and the perfection of a beast at his birth is his imperfection. . those on the north then began to declare their sentiments, and said, "a man is born without knowledges, to the end that he may receive them all; whereas supposing him to be born into knowledges, he could not receive any but those into which he was born, and in this case neither could he appropriate any to himself; which they illustrated by this comparison: a man at his first birth is like ground in which no seeds are implanted, but which nevertheless is capable of receiving all seeds, and of bringing them forth and fructifying them; whereas a beast is like ground already sown, and tilled with grasses and herbs, which receives no other seeds than what are sown in it, or if it received any it would choke them. hence it is, that a man requires many years to bring him to maturity of growth; during which time he is capable of being cultivated like ground, and of bringing forth as it were grain, flowers, and trees of every kind; whereas a beast arrives at maturity in a few years, during which no cultivation can produce any thing in him but what is born with him." afterwards, those on the west delivered their sentiments, and said, "a man is not born knowledge, as a beast is; but he is born faculty and inclination; faculty to know, and inclination to love; and he is born faculty not only to know but also to understand and be wise; he is likewise born the most perfect inclination to love not only the things relating to self and the world, but also those relating to god and heaven; consequently a man, by birth from his parents, is an organ which lives merely by the external senses, and at first by no internal senses, to the end that he may successively become a man, first natural, afterwards rational, and lastly spiritual; which could not be the case if he was born into knowledges and loves, as the beasts are: for connate knowledges and affections set bounds to that progression; whereas connate faculty and inclination set no such bounds; therefore a man is capable of being perfected, in knowledge, intelligence, and wisdom to eternity." those on the south next took up the debate, and expressed their sentiments as follows: "it is impossible for a man to take any knowledge from himself, since he has no connate knowledge; but he may take it from others; and as he cannot take any knowledge from himself, so neither can he take any love; for where there is no knowledge there is no love; knowledge and love being undivided companions, and no more capable of separation than will and understanding, or affection and thought; yea, no more than essence and form: therefore in proportion as a man takes knowledge from others, so love joins itself thereto as its companion. the universal love which joins itself is the love of knowing, of understanding, and of growing wise; this love is peculiar to man alone, and not to any beast, and flows in from god. we agree with our companions from the west, that a man is not born into any love, and consequently not into any knowledge; but that he is only born into an inclination to love, and thence into a faculty to receive knowledges, not from himself but from others, that is, by others: we say, by others, because neither have these received any thing of knowledge from themselves, but from god. we agree also with our companions to the north, that a man is first born as ground, in which no seeds are sown, but which is capable of receiving all seeds, both useful and hurtful. to these considerations we add, that beasts are born into natural loves, and thereby into knowledges corresponding to them; and that still they do not know, think, understand, and enjoy any knowledges, but are led through them by their loves, almost as blind persons are led through the streets by dogs, for as to understanding they are blind; or rather like people walking in their sleep, who act from the impulse of blind knowledge, the understanding being asleep." lastly, those on the east declared their sentiments, and said, "we agree with our brethren in the opinions they have delivered, that a man knows nothing from himself, but from and by others, to the end that he may know and acknowledge that all knowledge, understanding, and wisdom, is from god; and that a man cannot otherwise be conceived, born, and generated of the lord, and become an image and likeness of him; for he becomes an image of the lord by acknowledging and believing, that he has received and does receive from the lord all the good of love and charity, and all the truth of wisdom and faith, and not the least portion thereof from himself; and he becomes a likeness of the lord by his being sensible of those principles in himself, as if they were from himself. this he is sensible of, because he is not born into knowledges, but receives them; and what he receives, appears to him as if it was from himself. this sensation is given him by the lord, to the end that he may be a man and not a beast; since by willing, thinking, loving, knowing, understanding, and growing wise, as from himself, he receives knowledges, and exalts them into intelligence, and by the use thereof into wisdom; thus the lord conjoins man to himself, and man conjoins himself to the lord. this could not have been the case, unless it had been provided by the lord, that man should be born in total ignorance." when they had finished speaking, it was the desire of all present, that a conclusion should be formed from the sentiments which had been expressed; and they agreed upon the following: "that a man is born into no knowledge, to the end that he may come into all knowledge, and may advance into intelligence, and thereby into wisdom, and that he is born into no love, to the intent that he may come into all love, by application of the knowledges from intelligence, and into love to the lord by love towards his neighbour, and may thereby be conjoined to the lord, and by such conjunction be made a man, and live for ever." . after this they took the paper, and read the third subject of investigation, which was, what is dignified by the tree of life, what by the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, and what by eating thereof? and all the others intreated as a favor, that those who were from the east would unfold this arcanum, because it required a more than ordinary depth of understanding, and because those who were from the east are in flaming light, that is, in the wisdom of love, this wisdom being understood by the garden of eden, in which those two trees were placed. they said, "we will declare our sentiments; but as man does not take any thing from himself, but from the lord, therefore we will speak from him; but yet from ourselves as of ourselves:" and then they continued, "a tree signifies a man, and the fruit thereof the good of life; hence the tree of life signifies a man living from god, or god living in man; and since love and wisdom, and charity and faith, or good and truth, constitute the life of god in man, therefore these are signified by the tree of life, and hence man has eternal life: the like is signified by the tree of life, of which it will be given to eat, rev. ii. ; chap xxii. , . the tree of the knowledge of good and evil signifies a man believing that he lives from himself and not from god; thus that in man love and wisdom, charity and faith, that is, good and truth, are his and not god's; believing this, because he thinks and wills, and speaks and acts to all appearance, as from himself: and as a man from this faith persuades himself, that god has implanted himself, or infused his divine into him, therefore the serpent said, '_god doth know, in the day that ye eat of the fruit of that tree, your eyes will be opened, and ye will be as god, knowing good and evil_,' gen. iii. . eating of those trees signifies reception and appropriation; eating of the tree of life, the reception of life eternal, and eating of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, the reception of damnation; therefore also both adam and his wife, together with the serpent, were cursed: the serpent means the devil as to self-love and the conceit of his own intelligence. this love is the possessor of that tree; and the men who are in conceit, grounded in that love, are those trees. those persons, therefore, are grievously mistaken who believe that adam was wise and did good from himself, and that this was his state of integrity; when yet adam himself was cursed by reason of that belief; for this is signified by eating of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil; therefore he then fell from the state of integrity in which he had been, in consequence of believing that he was wise and did good from god and not at all from himself; for this is meant by eating of the tree of life. the lord alone, when he was in the world, was wise and did good from himself; because the essential divine from birth was in him and was his; therefore also from his own ability he was made the redeemer and saviour." from all these considerations they came to this conclusion, "that by the tree of life, and the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, and eating thereof, is signified that life for man is god in him, and that in this case he has heaven and eternal life; but that death for man is the persuasion and belief, that life for him is not god but self; whence he has hell and eternal death, which is condemnation." . after this they looked into the paper left by the angels upon the table, and saw written underneath, collect your opinions on these three questions into one decision. then they collected them, and saw that they cohered in one series, and that the series or decision was this, "that man is created to receive love and wisdom from god, and yet to all appearance as from himself; and this for the sake of reception and conjunction: and that therefore a man is not born into any love, or into any knowledge, and also not into any ability of loving and growing wise from himself; therefore if he ascribes all the good of love and truth of wisdom to god, he becomes a living man; but if he ascribes them to himself, he becomes a dead man." these words they wrote on a new piece of paper, and placed it on the table: and lo! on a sudden the angels appeared in bright light, and carried the paper away into heaven; and after it was read there, those who sat on the seats heard these words from thence, "well, well;" and instantly there appeared a single angel as it were flying from heaven, with two wings about his feet, and two about his temples, having in his hand prizes, consisting of robes, caps, and wreaths of laurel; and he alighted on the ground, and gave those who sat on the north robes of an opaline color; those who sat on the west robes of scarlet color; those who sat on the south caps whose borders were ornamented with bindings of gold and pearls, and which on the left side upwards were set with diamonds cut in the form of flowers; but to those who sat to the east he gave wreaths of laurel, intermixed with rubies and sapphires. then all of them, adorned with their respective prizes, went home from the school of wisdom; and when they shewed themselves to their wives, their wives came to meet them, being distinguished also with ornaments presented to them from heaven; at which the husbands wondered. . the second memorable relation. on a time when i was meditating on conjugial love, lo! there appeared at a distance two naked infants with baskets in their hands, and turtledoves flying around them; and on a nearer view, they seemed as if they were naked, handsomely ornamented with garlands; chaplets of flowers decorated their heads, and wreaths of lilies and roses of a hyacinthine blue, hanging obliquely from the shoulders to the loins, adorned their bosoms; and round about both of them there was as it were a common band woven of small leaves interspersed with olives. but when they came nearer, they did not appear as infants, or naked, but as two persons in the prime of their age, wearing cloaks and tunics of shining silk, embroidered with the most beautiful flowers: and when they were near me, there breathed forth from heaven through them a vernal warmth, attended with an odoriferous fragrance, like what arises from gardens and fields in the time of spring. they were two married partners from heaven, and they accosted me; and because i was musing on what i had just seen, they inquired, "what did you see?" and when i told them that at first they appeared to me as naked infants, afterwards as infants decorated with garlands, and lastly as grown up persons in embroidered garments, and that instantly i experienced a vernal warmth with its delights, they smiled pleasantly, and said, "in the way we did not seem to ourselves as infants, or naked, or adorned with garlands, but constantly in the same appearance which we now have: thus at a distance was represented our conjugial love; its state of innocence by our seeming like naked infants, its delights by garlands, and the same delights now by our cloaks and tunics being embroidered with flowers; and as you said that, as we approached, a vernal warmth breathed on you, attended with its pleasant fragrance as from a garden, we will explain to you the reason of all this." they said, "we have now been married partners for ages, and constantly in the prime of our age in which you now see us: our first state was like the first state of a virgin and a youth, when they enter into consociation by marriage; and we then believed, that this state was the very essential blessedness of our life; but we were informed by others in our heaven, and have since perceived ourselves, that this was a state of heat not tempered by light; and that it is successively tempered, in proportion as the husband is perfected in wisdom, and the wife loves that wisdom in the husband; and that this is effected by and according to the uses which each, by mutual aid, affords to society; also that delights succeed according to the temperature of heat and light; or of wisdom and its love. the reason why on our approach there breathed on you as it were a vernal warmth, is, because conjugial love and that warmth in our heaven act in unity; for warmth with us is love; and the light, wherewith warmth is united, is wisdom; and use is as it were the atmosphere which contains each in its bosom. what are heat and light without that which contains them? in like manner, what are love and wisdom without their use? in such case there is nothing conjugial in them, because the subject is wanting in which they should exist to produce it. in heaven where there is vernal warmth, there is love truly conjugial; because the vernal principle exists only where warmth is equally united to light, or where warmth and light are in equal proportions; and it is our opinion, that as warmth is delighted with light, and _vice versa_, so love is delighted with wisdom, and wisdom in its turn with love." he further added, "with us in heaven there is perpetual light, and on no occasion do the shades of evening prevail, still less is there darkness; because our sun does not set and rise like yours, but remains constantly in a middle altitude between the zenith and the horizon, which, as you express it, is at an elevation of degrees. hence, the heat and light proceeding from our sun cause perpetual spring, and a perpetual vernal warmth inspires those with whom love is united with wisdom in just proportion; and our lord, by the eternal union of heat and light, breathes nothing but uses: hence also come the germinations of your earth, and the connubial associations of your birds and animals in the spring; for the vernal warmth opens their interiors even to the inmost, which are called their souls, and affects them, and communicates to them its conjugial principle, and causes their principle of prolification to come into its delights, in consequence of a continual tendency to produce fruits of use, which use is the propagation of their kind. but with men (_homines_) there is a perpetual influx of vernal warmth from the lord; wherefore they are capable of enjoying marriage delights at all times, even in the midst of winter; for the males of the human race were created to be recipients of light, that is, of wisdom from the lord, and the females to be recipients of heat, that is, of the love of the wisdom of the male from the lord. hence then it is, that, as we approached, there breathed on you a vernal warmth attended with an odoriferous fragrance, like what arises from gardens and fields in the spring." as he said this, he gave me his right hand, and conducted me to houses inhabited by married partners in a like prime of their age with himself and his partner; and said, "these wives, who now seem like young virgins, were in the world infirm old women; and their husbands, who now seem in the spring of youth, were in the world decrepit old men; and all of them were restored by the lord to this prime of their age, because they mutually loved each other, and from religious motives shunned adulteries as enormous sins:" and he added, "no one knows the blessed delights of conjugial love, unless he rejects the horrid delights of adultery; and no one can reject these delights, unless he is under the influence of wisdom from the lord; and no one is under the influence of wisdom from the lord, unless he performs uses from the love of uses." i also saw on this occasion their house utensils, which were all in celestial forms, and glittered with gold, which had a flaming appearance from the rubies with which it was studded. * * * * * on the chaste principle and the non-chaste. . as we are yet only at the entrance of our subject respecting conjugial love specifically considered, and as conjugial love cannot be known specifically, except in a very indistinct and obscure manner, unless its opposite, which is the unchaste principle, also in some measure appear; and as this unchaste principle appears in some measure, or in a shade, when the chaste principle is described together with the non-chaste, non-chastity being only a removal of what is unchaste from what is chaste; therefore we will now proceed to treat of the chaste principle and the non-chaste. but the unchaste principle, which is altogether opposite to the chaste, is treated of in the latter part of this work, entitled adulterous love and its sinful pleasures, where it is fully described with all its varieties. but what the unchaste principle is, and what the non-chaste, and with what persons each of them prevails, shall be illustrated in the following order: i. _the chaste principle and the non-chaste are predicated only of marriages and of such things as relate to marriages._ ii. _the chaste principle is predicated only of monogamical marriages, or of the marriage of one man with one wife._ iii. _the christian conjugial principle alone is chaste._ iv. _love truly conjugial is essential chastity._ v. _all the delights of love truly conjugial, even the ultimate, are chaste._ vi. _with those who are made spiritual by the lord, conjugial love is more and more purified and rendered chaste._ vii. _the chastity of marriage exists by a total renunciation of whoredoms from a principle of religion._ viii. _chastity cannot he predicated of infants, or of boys and girls, or of young men and virgins before they feel in themselves the love of the sex._ ix. _chastity cannot be predicated of eunuchs so born, or of eunuchs so made._ x. _chastity cannot be predicated of those who do not believe adulteries to be evils in regard to religion; and still less of those who do not believe them to be hurtful to society._ xi. _chastity cannot be predicated of those who abstain from adulteries only for various external reasons._ xii. _chastity cannot be predicated of those who believe marriages to be unchaste._ xiii. _chastity cannot be predicated of those who have renounced marriage by vows of perpetual celibacy, unless there be and remain in them the love of a life truly conjugial._ xiv. _a state of marriage is to be preferred to a state of celibacy._ we will now proceed to an explanation of each article. . i. the chaste principle and the non-chaste are predicated only of marriages and of such things as relate to marriages. the reason of this is, because, as will be shewn presently, love truly conjugial is essential chastity; and the love opposite to it, which is called adulterous, is essential unchastity; so far therefore as any one is purified from the latter love, so far he is chaste; for so far the opposite, which is destructive of chastity, is taken away; whence it is evident that the purity of conjugial love is what is called chastity. nevertheless there is a conjugial love which is not chaste, and yet it is not unchastity; as is the case with married partners, who, for various external reasons, abstain from the effects of lasciviousness so as not to think about them; howbeit, if that love is not purified in their spirits, it is still not chaste; its form is chaste, but it has not in it a chaste essence. . the reason why the chaste principle and the non-chaste are predicated of such things as relate to marriages, is, because the conjugial principle is inscribed on both sexes from inmost principles to ultimates; and a man's quality as to his thoughts and affections, and consequently as to his bodily actions and behaviour, is according thereto. that this is the case, appears more evidently from such as are unchaste. the unchaste principle abiding in their minds is heard from the tone of their voice in conversation, and from their applying whatever is said, even though it be chaste, to wanton and loose ends; (the tone of the voice in conversation is grounded in the will-affection, and the conversation itself is grounded in the thought of the understanding;) which is a proof that the will and the understanding, with everything belonging to them, consequently the whole mind, and thence everything belonging to the body, from inmost principles to ultimates, abound with what is unchaste. i have been informed by the angels, that, with the greatest hypocrites, the unchaste principle is perceivable from hearing their conversation, however chastely they may talk, and also is made sensible from the sphere that issues from them; which is a further proof that unchastity resides in the inmost principles of their minds, and thence in the inmost principles of their bodies, and that the latter principles are exteriorly covered like a shell painted with figures of various colors. that a sphere of lasciviousness issues forth from the unchaste, is manifest from the statutes prescribed to the sons of israel, ordaining that everything should be unclean that was touched even by the hand of those who were defiled by such unchaste persons. from these considerations it may be concluded that the case is similar in regard to the chaste, viz., that with them everything is chaste from inmost principles to ultimates, and that this is an effect of the chastity of conjugial love. hence it is, that in the world it is said, "to the pure all things are pure, and to the defiled all things are defiled." . ii. the chaste principle is predicated only of monogamical marriages, or of the marriage of one man with one wife. the reason of this is, because with them conjugial love does not reside in the natural man, but enters into the spiritual man, and successively opens to itself a way to the essential spiritual marriage, or the marriage of good and truth, which is its origin, and conjoins itself therewith; for that love enters according to the increase of wisdom, which is according to the implantation of the church from the lord, as has been abundantly shewn above. this cannot be effected with polygamists; for they divide conjugial love; and this love when divided, is not unlike the love of the sex, which in itself is natural; but on this subject something worthy of attention may be seen in the section on polygamy. . iii. the christian conjugial principle alone is chaste. this is, because love truly conjugial keeps pace with the state of the church in man (_homo_), and because the state of the church is from the lord, as has been shewn in the foregoing section, n. , , and elsewhere; also because the church in its genuine truths is in the word, and the lord is there present in those truths. from these considerations it follows, that the chaste conjugial principle exists nowhere but in the christian world, and still that there is a possibility of its existing elsewhere. by the christian conjugial principle we mean the marriage of one man with one wife. that this conjugial principle is capable of being ingrafted into christians, and of being transplanted hereditarily into the offspring from parents who are principled in love truly conjugial, and that hence both the faculty and the inclination to grow wise in the things of the church and of heaven may become connate, will be seen in its proper place. christians, if they marry more wives than one, commit not only natural but also spiritual adultery: this will be shewn in the section on polygamy. . iv. love truly conjugial is essential chastity. the reasons for this are, . because it is from the lord, and corresponds to the marriage of the lord and the church. . because it descends from the marriage of good and truth. . because it is spiritual, in proportion as the church exists with man (_homo_). . because it is the foundation and head of all celestial and spiritual loves. . because it is the orderly seminary of the human race, and thereby of the angelic heaven. . because on this account it also exists with the angels of heaven, and gives birth with them to spiritual offspring, which are love and wisdom. . and because its uses are thus more excellent than the other uses of creation. from these considerations it follows, that love truly conjugial, viewed from its origin and in its essence, is pure and holy, so that it may be called purity and holiness, consequently essential chastity: but that nevertheless it is not altogether pure, either with men or angels, may be seen below in article vi, n. . . v. all the delights of love truly conjugial, even the ultimate, are chaste. this follows from what has been above explained, that love truly conjugial is essential chastity, and from the considerations that delights constitute its life. that the delights of this love ascend and enter heaven, and in the way pass through the delights of the heavenly loves, in which the angels of heaven are principled; also, that they conjoin themselves with the delights of the conjugial love of the angels, has been mentioned above. moreover, i have heard it declared by the angels, that they perceive those delights with themselves to be exalted and filled, while they ascend from chaste marriages on the earths: and when some by-standers, who were unchaste, inquired concerning the ultimate delights whether they were chaste, they assented and said, "how should it be otherwise? are not these the delights of true conjugial love in their fulness?" the origin, nature, and quality of the delights of this love, may be seen above, n. : and also in the memorable relations, especially those which follow. . vi. with those who are made spiritual by the lord, conjugial love is more and more purified and rendered chaste. the reasons for this are, . because the first love, by which is meant the love previous to the nuptials and immediately after them, partakes somewhat of the love of the sex, and thus of the ardor belonging to the body not as yet moderated by the love of the spirit. . because a man (_homo_) from natural is successively made spiritual; for he becomes spiritual in proportion as his rational principle, which is the medium between heaven and the world, begins to drive a soul from influx out of heaven, which is the case so far as it is affected and delighted with wisdom; concerning which wisdom see above, n. ; and in proportion as this is effected, in the same proportion his mind is elevated into a superior _aura_, which is the continent of celestial light and heat, or, what is the same, of the wisdom and love in which the angels are principled; for heavenly light acts in unity with wisdom, and heavenly heat with love; and in proportion as wisdom and the love thereof increase, with married pairs, in the same proportion conjugial love is purified with them; and as this is effected successively, it follows that conjugial love is rendered more and more chaste. this spiritual purification may be compared with the purification of natural spirits, which is effected by the chemists, and is called defecation, rectification, castigation, acution, decantation, and sublimation; and wisdom purified may be compared with alcohol, which is a highly rectified spirit. . now as spiritual wisdom in itself is of such a nature that it becomes more and more warmed with the love of growing wise, and by virtue of this love increases to eternity; and as this is effected in proportion as it is perfected by a kind of defecation, castigation, rectification, acution, decantation, and sublimation, and this by elevating and abstracting the intellect from the fallacies of the senses, and the will from the allurements of the body; it is evident that conjugial love, whose parent is wisdom, is in like manner rendered successively more and more pure, and thereby chaste. that the first state of love between married partners is a state of heat not yet tempered by light; but that it is successively tempered in proportion as the husband is perfected in wisdom, and the wife loves it in her husband, may be seen in the memorable relation, n. . . it is however to be observed, that there is no conjugial love altogether chaste or pure either with men (_homines_) or with angels; there is still somewhat not chaste or not pure which adjoins or subjoins itself thereto; but this has a different origin from that which gives birth to what is unchaste: for with the angels the chaste principle is above and the non-chaste beneath, and there is as it were a door with a hinge interposed by the lord, which is opened by determination, and is carefully prevented from standing open, lest the one principle should pass into the other, and they should mix together: for the natural principle of man from his birth is defiled and fraught with evils; whereas his spiritual principle is not so, because its birth is from the lord, for it is regeneration; and regeneration is a successive separation from the evils to which a man is naturally inclined. that no love with either men or angels is altogether pure, or can be pure; but that the end, purpose, or intention of the will, is principally regarded by the lord: and that therefore so far as a man is principled in a good end, purpose, or intention, and perseveres therein, so far he is initiated into purity, and so far he advances and approaches towards purity, may be seen above, n. . . vii. the chastity of marriage exists by a total renunciation of whoredoms from a principle of religion. the reason of this is, because chastity is the removal of unchastity; it being a universal law, that so far as any one removes evil, so far a capacity is given for good to succeed in its place; and further, so far as evil is hated, so far good is loved; and also _vice versa_; consequently, so far as whoredom is renounced, so far the chastity of marriage enters. that conjugial love is purified and rectified according to the renunciation of whoredoms, every one sees from common perception as soon as it is mentioned and heard; thus before confirmation; but as all have not common perception, it is of importance that the subject should also be illustrated in the way of proof by such considerations as may tend to confirm it. these considerations are, that conjugial love grows cold as soon as it is divided, and this coldness causes it to perish; for the heat of unchaste love extinguishes it, as two opposite heats cannot exist together, but one must needs reject the other and deprive it of its potency. whenever therefore the heat of conjugial love begins to acquire a pleasant warmth, and from a sensation of its delights to bud and flourish, like an orchard and garden in spring; the latter from the vernal temperament of light and heat from the sun of the natural world, but the former from the vernal temperament of light and heat from the sun of the spiritual world. . there is implanted in every man (_homo_) from creation, and consequently from his birth, an internal and an external conjugial principle; the internal is spiritual, and the external natural: a man comes first into the latter, and as he becomes spiritual, he comes into the former. if therefore he remains in the external or natural conjugial principle, the internal or spiritual conjugial principle is veiled or covered, until he knows nothing respecting it; yea, until he calls it an ideal shadow without a substance: but if a man becomes spiritual, he then begins to know something respecting it, and afterwards to perceive something of its quality, and successively to be made sensible of its pleasantness, agreeableness, and delights; and in proportion as this is the case, the veil or covering between the external and internal, spoken of above, begins to be attenuated, and afterwards as it were to melt, and lastly to be dissolved and dissipated. when this effect takes place, the external conjugial principle remains indeed; but it is continually purged and purified from its dregs by the internal; and this, until the external becomes as it were the face of the internal, and derives its delight from the blessedness which is in the internal, and at the same time its life, and the delights of its potency. such is the renunciation of whoredoms, by which the chastity of marriage exists. it may be imagined, that the external conjugial principle, which remains after the internal has separated itself from it, or it from itself, resembles the external principle not separated: but i have heard from the angels that they are altogether unlike; for that the external principle in conjunction with the internal, which they called the external of the internal, was void of all lasciviousness, because the internal cannot be lascivious, but only be delighted chastely; and that it imparts the same disposition to its external, wherein it is made sensible of its own delights: the case is altogether otherwise with the external separated from the internal; this they said, was lascivious in the whole and in every part. they compared the external conjugial principle derived from the internal to excellent fruit, whose pleasant taste and flavor insinuate themselves into its outward rind, and form this into correspondence with themselves; they compared it also to a granary, whose store is never diminished, but is continually recruited according to its consumption; whereas they compared the external principle, separate from the internal, to wheat in a winnowing machine, when it is put in motion about its axis; in which case the chaff only remains, which is dispersed by the wind; so it is with the conjugial principle, unless the adulterous principle be renounced. . the reason why the chastity of marriage does not exist by the renunciation of whoredoms, unless it be made from a principle of religion, is, because a man (_homo_) without religion is not spiritual, but remains natural; and if the natural man renounces whoredoms, still his spirit does not renounce them; and thus, although it seems to himself that he is chaste by such renunciation, yet nevertheless unchastity lies inwardly concealed like corrupt matter in a wound only outwardly healed. that conjugial love is according to the state of the church with man, may be seen above n. . more on this subject may be seen in the exposition of article xi. . viii. chastity cannot be predicated of infants, or of boys and girls, or of young men and virgins before they feel in themselves the love of the sex. this is because the chaste principle and the unchaste are predicated only of marriages, and of such things as relate to marriages, as may be seen above, n. ; and of those who know nothing of the things relating to marriage, chastity is not predicable; for it is as it were nothing relating to them; and nothing cannot be an object either of affection or thought: but after this nothing there arises something, when the first motion towards marriage is felt, which is the love of the sex. that virgins and young men, before they feel in themselves the love of the sex, are commonly called chaste, is owing to ignorance of what chastity is. . xi. chastity cannot be predicated of eunuchs so born, or of eunuchs so made. eunuchs so born are those more especially with whom the ultimate of love is wanting from birth: and as in such case the first and middle principles are without a foundation on which to stand, they have therefore no existence; and if they exist, the persons in whom they exist have no concern to distinguish between the chaste principle and the unchaste, each being indifferent to them; but of these persons there are several distinctions. the case is nearly the same with eunuchs so made as with some eunuchs so born; but eunuchs so made, as they are both men and women, cannot possibly regard conjugial love any otherwise than as a phantasy, and the delights thereof as idle stories. if they have any inclination, it is rendered mute, which is neither chaste nor unchaste: and what is neither chaste nor unchaste, derives no quality from either the one or the other. . x. chastity cannot be predicated of those who do not believe adulteries to be evils in regard to religion; and still less of those who do not believe them to be hurtful to society. the reason why chastity cannot be predicated of such is, because they neither know what chastity is nor even that it exists; for chastity relates to marriage, as was shewn in the first article of this section. those who do not believe adulteries be evil in regard to religion, regard even marriages as unchaste; whereas religion with married pairs constitutes their chastity; thus such persons have nothing chaste in them, and therefore it is in vain to talk to them of chastity; these are confirmed adulterers: but those who do not believe adulteries to be hurtful to society, know still less than the others, either what chastity is or even that it exists; for they are adulterers from a determined purpose: if they say that marriages are less unchaste than adulteries, they say so merely with the mouth, but not with the heart, because marriages with them are cold, and those who speak from such cold concerning chaste heat, cannot have an idea of chaste heat in regard to conjugial love. the nature and quality of such persons, and of the ideas of their thought, and hence of the interior principles of their conversation, will be seen in the second part of this work,--adulterous love and its sinful pleasures. . xi. chastity cannot be predicated of those who abstain from adulteries only for various external reasons. many believe that the mere abstaining from adulteries in the body is chastity; yet this is not chastity, unless at the same time there is an abstaining in spirit. the spirit of man (_homo_), by which is here meant his mind as to affections and thoughts, constitutes the chaste principle and the unchaste, for hence it flows into the body, the body being in all cases such as the mind or spirit is. hence it follows, that those who abstain from adulteries in the body, without being influenced from the spirit are not chaste; neither are those chaste who abstain from them in spirit as influenced from the body. there are many assignable causes which make a man desist from adulteries in the body, and also in the spirit as influenced from the body; but still, he that does not desist from them in the body as influenced from the spirit, is unchaste; for the lord says, "_that whosoever looketh upon another's woman, so as to lust after her, hath already committed adultery with her in his heart_," matt. v. . it is impossible to enumerate all the causes of abstinence from adulteries in the body only, they being various according to states of marriage, and also according to states of the body; for there are some persons who abstain from them from fear of the civil law and its penalties; some from fear of the loss of reputation and thereby of honor; some from fear of diseases which may be thereby contracted; some from fear of domestic quarrels on the part of the wife, whereby the quiet of their lives may be disturbed; some from fear of revenge on the part of the husband or relations; some from fear of chastisement from the servants of the family; some also abstain from motives of poverty, avarice, or imbecility, arising either from disease, from abuse, from age, or from impotence. of these there are some also, who, because they cannot or dare not commit adultery in the body, condemn adulteries in the spirit; and thus they speak morally against adulteries, and in favor of marriages; but such person, unless in spirit they call adulteries accursed, and this from a religious principle in the spirit, are still adulterers; for although they do not commit them in the body, yet they do in the spirit; wherefore after death, when they become spirits, they speak openly in favor of them. from these considerations it is manifest, that even a wicked person may shun adulteries as hurtful; but that none but a christian can shun them as sins. hence then the truth of the proposition is evident, that chastity cannot be predicated of those who abstain from adulteries merely for various external reasons. . xii. chastity cannot be predicated of those who believe marriages to be unchaste. these, like the persons spoken of just above, n. , do not know either what chastity is, or even that it exists; and in this respect they are like those who make chastity to consist merely in celibacy, of whom we shall speak presently. . xiii. chastity cannot be predicated of those who have renounced marriage by vows of perpetual celibacy, unless there be and remain in them the love of a life truly conjugial. the reason why chastity cannot be predicated of these, is, because after a vow of perpetual celibacy, conjugial love is renounced; and yet it is of this love alone that chastity can be predicated: nevertheless there still remains an inclination to the sex implanted from creation, and consequently innate by birth; and when this inclination is restrained and subdued, it must needs pass away into heat, and in some cases into a violent burning, which, in rising from the body into the spirit, infests it, and with some persons defiles it; and there may be instances where the spirit thus defiled may defile also the principles of religion, casting them down from their internal abode, where they are in holiness, into things external, where they become mere matters of talk and gesture; therefore it was provided by the lord, that celibacy should have place only with those who are in external worship, as is the case with all who do not address themselves to the lord, or read the word. with such, eternal life is not so much endangered by vows of celibacy attended with engagements to chastity, as it is with those who are principled in internal worship: moreover, in many instances that state of life is not entered upon from any freedom of the will, many being engaged therein before they attain to freedom grounded in reason, and some in consequence of alluring worldly motives. of those who adopt that state with a view to have their minds disengaged from the world, that they may be more at leisure to apply themselves to divine things, those only are chaste with whom the love of a life truly conjugial either preceded that state or followed it, and with whom it remains; for the love of a life truly conjugial is that alone of which chastity is predicated. wherefore also, after death, all who have lived in monasteries are at length freed from their vows and set at liberty, that, according to the interior vows and desires of their love, they may be led to choose a life either conjugial or extra-conjugial: if in such case they enter into conjugial life, those who have loved also the spiritual things of divine worship are given in marriage in heaven; but those who enter into extra-conjugial life are sent to their like, who dwell on the confines of heaven. i have inquired of the angels, whether those who have devoted themselves to works of piety, and given themselves up entirely to divine worship, and who thus have withdrawn themselves from the snares of the world and the concupiscences of the flesh, and with this view have vowed perpetual virginity, are received into heaven, and there admitted among the blessed to enjoy an especial portion of happiness according to their faith. to this the angels replied, that such are indeed received into heaven; but when they are made sensible of the sphere of conjugial love there, they become sad and fretful, and then, some of their own accord, some by asking leave, and some from being commanded, depart and are dismissed, and when they are out of that heaven, a way is opened for them to their consociates, who had been in a similar state of life in the world; and then from being fretful they become cheerful, and rejoice together. . xiv. a state of marriage is to be preferred to a state of celibacy. this is evident from what has been said above respecting marriage and celibacy. a state of marriage is to be preferred because it is a state ordained from creation; because it originates in the marriage of good and truth; because it corresponds with the marriage of the lord and the church; because the church and conjugial love are constant companions; because its use is more excellent than all the other uses of the things of creation, for thence according to order is derived the increase of the human race, and also of the angelic heaven, which is formed from the human race: moreover, marriage constitutes the completeness of a man (_homo_); for by it he becomes a complete man, as will be shewn in the following chapter. all these things are wanting in celibacy. but if the proposition be taken for granted, that a state of celibacy is preferable to a state of marriage, and if this proposition be left to the mind's examination, to be assented to and established by confirming proofs, then the conclusion must be, that marriages are not holy, neither can they be chaste; yea, that chastity in the female sex belongs only to those, who abstain from marriage and vow perpetual virginity: and moreover, that those who have vowed perpetual celibacy are understood by the eunuchs _who make themselves eunuchs for the kingdom of heaven's sake_, matt. xix. ; not to mention other conclusions of a like nature; which, being grounded in a proposition that is not true, are also not true. the eunuchs who make themselves eunuchs for the kingdom of heaven's sake, are spiritual eunuchs, who are such as in marriages abstain from the evils of whoredoms: that italian eunuchs are not meant, is evident. * * * * * [transcriber's note: the out-of-order section numbers which follow are in the original text, as are the asterisks which do not seem to indicate footnotes.] .* to the above i shall add two memorable relations. first. as i was going home from the school of wisdom (concerning which, see above, n. ), i saw in the way an angel dressed in blue. he joined me and walked by my side, and said, "i see that you are come from the school of wisdom, and are made glad by what you heard there; and as i perceive that you are not a full inhabitant of this world, because you are at the same time in the natural world, and therefore know nothing of our olympic gymnasia, where the ancient _sophi_ meet together, and by the information they collect from every new comer, learn what changes and successions wisdom has undergone and is still undergoing in your world; if you are willing i will conduct you to the place where several of those ancient _sophi_ and their sons, that is, their disciples, dwell." so he led me to the confines between the north and east; and while i was looking that way from a rising ground, lo! i saw a city, and on one side of it two small hills; that which was nearer to the city being lower than the other. "that city," said he, "is called athens, the lower hill parnassus, and the higher helicon. they are so called, because in the city and around it dwell the wise men who formerly lived in greece, as pythagoras, socrates, aristippus, xenophon, with their disciples and scholars." on my asking him concerning plato and aristotle, he said, "they and their followers dwell in another region, because they taught principles of rationality which relate to the understanding; whereas the former taught morality which relates to the life." he further informed me, that it was customary at times to depute from the city of athens some of the students to learn from the literati of the christians, what sentiments they entertain at this day respecting god, the creation of the universe, the immortality of the soul, the relative state of men and beasts, and other subjects of interior wisdom: and he added, that a herald had that day announced an assembly, which was a token that the emissaries had met with some strangers newly arrived from the earth, who had communicated some curious information. we then saw several persons going from the city and its suburbs, some having their heads decked with wreaths of laurel, some holding palms in their hands, some with books under their arms, and some with pens under the hair of the left temple. we mixed with the company, and ascended the hill with them; and lo! on the top was an octagonal palace, which they called the palladium, into which we entered; within there were eight hexangular recesses, in each of which was a book-case and a table: at these recesses were seated the laureled _sophi_, and in the palladium itself there were seats cut out of the rock, on which the rest were seated. a door on the left was then opened, through which the two strangers newly arrived from the earth were introduced; and after the compliments of salutation were paid, one of the laureled _sophi_ asked them, "what news from the earth?" they replied, "this is news, that in forests there have been found men like beasts, or beasts like men: from their face and body they were known to have been born men, and to have been lost or left in the forests when they were two or three years old; they were not able to give utterance to any thought, nor could they learn to articulate the voice into any distinct expression; neither did they know the food suitable for them as the beasts do, but put greedily into their mouths whatever they found in the forest, whether it was clean or unclean; besides many other particulars of a like nature: from which some of the learned among us have formed several conjectures and conclusions concerning the relative state of men and beasts." on hearing this account, some of the ancient _sophi_ asked, "what were the conjectures and conclusions formed from the circumstances you have related?" the two strangers replied, "there were several: but they may all be comprised under the following: . that a man by nature, and also by birth, is more stupid and consequently viler than any beast; and that he remains so, unless he is instructed. . that he is capable of being instructed, because he has learnt to frame articulate sounds, and thence to speak, and thereby has begun to express his thoughts, and this successively more and more perfectly until he has been able to express the laws of civil society; several of which are nevertheless impressed on beasts from their birth. . that beasts have rationality like men. . therefore, that if beasts could speak, they would reason on any subject as acutely as men; a proof of which is, that they think from reason and prudence just as men do. . that the understanding is only a modification of light from the sun; the heat co-operating by means of ether, so that it is only an activity of interior nature; and that this activity may be so exalted as to appear like wisdom. . that therefore it is ridiculous to believe that a man lives after death any more than a beast; unless perchance, for some days after his decease, in consequence of an exhalation of the life of the body, he may appear as a mist under the form of a spectre, before he is dissipated into nature; just as a shrub raised up from its ashes, appears in the likeness of its own form. . consequently that religion, which teaches a life after death, is a mere device, in order to keep the simple inwardly in bonds by its laws, as they are kept outwardly in bonds by the laws of the state." to this they added, that "people of mere ingenuity reason in this manner, but not so the intelligent:" and they were asked, "how do the intelligent reason?" they said they had not been informed; but they supposed that they must reason differently. .* on hearing this relation, all those who were sitting at the tables exclaimed, "alas! what times are come on the earth! what changes has wisdom undergone? how is she transformed into a false and infatuated ingenuity! the sun is set, and in his station beneath the earth is in direct opposition to his meridian altitude. from the case here adduced respecting such as have been left and found in forests, who cannot see that an uninstructed man is such as here represented? for is not the nature of his life determined by the nature of the instruction he receives? is he not born in a state of greater ignorance than the beasts? must he not learn to walk and to speak? supposing he never learnt to walk, would he ever stand upright? and if he never learnt to speak, would he ever be able to express his thoughts? is not every man such as instruction makes him,--insane from false principles, or wise from truths? and is not he that is insane from false principles, entirely possessed with an imagination that he is wiser than he that is wise from truths? are there not instances of men who are so wild and foolish, that they are no more like men than those who have been found in forests? is not this the case with such as have been deprived of memory? from all these considerations we conclude, that a man without instruction is neither a man nor a beast; but that he is a form, which is capable of receiving in itself that which constitutes a man; and thus that he is not born a man, but that he is made a man; and that a man is born such a form as to be an organ receptive of life from god, to the end that he may be a subject into which god may introduce all good, and, by union with himself, may make him eternally blessed. we have perceived from your conversation, that wisdom at this day is so far extinguished or infatuated, that nothing at all is known concerning the relative state of the life of men and of beasts; and hence it is that the state of the life of man after death is not known: but those who are capable of knowing this, and yet are not willing, and in consequence deny it, as many christians do, may fitly be compared to such as are found in forests: not that they are rendered so stupid from a want of instruction, but that they have rendered themselves so by the fallacies of the senses, which are the darkness of truths." .* at that instant a certain person standing in the middle of the palladium, and holding in his hand a palm, said, "explain, i pray, this arcanum, how a man, created a form of god, could be changed into a form of the devil. i know that the angels of heaven are forms of god and that the angels of hell are forms of the devil, and that the two forms are opposite to each other, the latter being insanities, the former wisdoms. tell me, therefore, how a man, created a form of god, could pass from day into such night, as to be capable of denying god and life eternal." to this the several teachers replied in order; first the pythagoreans, next the socratics, and afterwards the rest: but among them there was a certain platonist, who spoke last; and his opinion prevailed, which was to this effect; that the men of the saturnine or golden age knew and acknowledged that they were forms receptive of life from god; and that on this account wisdom was inscribed on their souls and hearts, and hence they saw truth from the light of truth, and by truths perceived good from the delight of the love thereof: but as mankind in the following ages receded from the acknowledgement that all the truth of wisdom and the consequent good of love belonging to them, continually flowed in from god, they ceased to be habitations of god; and then also discourse with god, and consociation with angels ceased: for the interiors of their minds were bent from their direction, which had been elevated upwards to god from god, into a direction more and more oblique, outwardly into the world, and thereby to god from god through the world, and at length inverted into an opposite direction, which is downwards to self; and as god cannot be looked at by a man interiorly inverted, and thereby averted, men separated themselves from god, and were made forms of hell or devils. from these considerations it follows, that in the first ages they acknowledged in heart and soul, that all the good of love and the consequent true wisdom, were derived to them from god, and also that they were god's in them: and thus that they were mere recipients of life from god, and hence were called images of god, sons of god, and born of god: but that in succeeding ages they did not acknowledge this in heart and soul, but by a certain persuasive faith, next by an historical faith, and lastly only with the mouth; and this last kind of acknowledgement is no acknowledgement at all; yea, it is in fact a denial at heart. from these considerations it may be seen what is the quality of the wisdom which prevails at this day on the earth among christians, while they do not know the distinction between a man and a beast, notwithstanding their being in possession of a written revelation, whereby they may be inspired by god: and hence many believe, that in case a man lives after death, a beast must live also; or because a beast is not to live after death, neither will a man. is not our spiritual light, which enlightens the sight of the mind, become thick darkness with them? and is not their natural light, which only enlightens the bodily sight, become brightness to them? .* after this they all turned towards the two strangers, and thanked them for their visit, and for the relation they had given, and entreated them to go and communicate to their brethren what they had heard. the strangers replied that they would endeavor to confirm their brethren in this truth, that so far as they ascribe all the good of charity and the truth of faith to the lord, and not to themselves, so far they are men, and so far they become angels of heaven. .* the second memorable relation. one morning i was awoke by some delightful singing which i heard at a height above me, and in consequence, during the first watch, which is internal, pacific, and sweet, more than the succeeding part of the day, i was in a capacity of being kept for some time in the spirit as it were out of the body, and of attending carefully to the affection which was sung. the singing of heaven is an affection of the mind, sent forth through the mouth as a tune: for the tone of the voice in speaking, separate from the discourse of the speaking, and grounded in the affection of love, is what gives life to the speech. in that state i perceived that it was the affection of the delights of conjugial love, which was made musical by wives in heaven: that this was the case, i observed from the sound of the song, in which those delights were varied in a wonderful manner. after this i arose, and looked into the spiritual world; and lo! in the east, beneath the sun, there appeared as it were a golden shower. it was the morning dew descending in great abundance, which, catching the sun's rays, exhibited to my eyes the appearance of a golden shower. in consequence of this i became fully awake, and went forth in the spirit, and asked an angel who then happened to meet me, whether he saw a golden shower descending from the sun? he replied, that he saw one whenever he was meditating on conjugial love; and at the same time turning his eyes towards the sun, he added, "that shower falls over a hall, in which are three husbands with their wives, who dwell in the midst of an eastern paradise. such a shower is seen falling from the sun over that hall, because with those husbands and wives there resides wisdom respecting conjugial love and its delights; with the husbands respecting conjugial love, and with the wives respecting its delights. but i perceive that you are engaged in meditating on the delights of conjugial love: i will therefore conduct you there, and introduce you to them." he led me through paradisiacal scenery to houses built of olive wood, having two cedar columns before the gate, and introduced me to the husbands, and asked their permission for me to converse with them in the presence of the wives. they consented, and called their wives. these looked into my eyes most shrewdly; upon which i asked them, "why do you do so?" they said, "we can thereby discover exquisitely what is your inclination and consequent affection, and your thought grounded in affection, respecting the love of the sex; and we see that you are meditating intensely, but still chastely, concerning it." and they added, "what do you wish us to tell you on the subject?" i replied, "tell me, i pray, something respecting the delights of conjugial love." the husbands assented, saying, "if you are so disposed, give them some information in regard to those delights: their ears are chaste." they asked me, "who taught you to question us respecting the delights of that love? why did you not question our husbands?" i replied, "this angel, who accompanies me, informed me, that wives are the recipients and sensories of those delights, because they are born loves; and all delights are of love." to this they replied with a smile, "be prudent, and declare nothing of this sort except ambiguously; because it is a wisdom deeply seated in the hearts of our sex, and is not discovered to any husband, unless he be principled in love truly conjugial. there are several reasons for this, which we keep entirely to ourselves." then the husbands said, "our wives know all the states of our minds, none of which are hid from them: they see, perceive, and are sensible of whatever proceeds from our will. we, on the other hand, know nothing of what passes with our wives. this faculty is given to wives, because they are most tender loves, and as it were burning zeals for the preservation of friendship and conjugial confidence, and thereby of all the happiness of life, which they carefully attend to, both in regard to their husbands and themselves, by virtue of a wisdom implanted in their love, which is so full of prudence, that they are unwilling to say, and consequently cannot say, that they love, but that they are loved." i asked the wives, "why are you unwilling, and consequently cannot say so?" they replied, "if the least hint of the kind were to escape from the mouth of a wife, the husband would be seized with coolness, which would entirely separate him from all communication with his wife, so that he could not even bear to look upon her; but this is the case only with those husbands who do not hold marriages to be holy, and therefore do not love their wives from spiritual love: it is otherwise with those who do. in the minds of the latter this love is spiritual, and by derivation thence in the body is natural. we in this hall are principled in the latter love by derivation from the former; therefore we trust our husbands with our secrets respecting our delights of conjugial love." then i courteously asked them to disclose to me some of those secrets: they then looked towards a window on the southern quarter, and lo! there appeared a white dove, whose wings shone as if they were of silver, and its head was crested with a crown as of gold: it stood upon a bough, from which there went forth an olive; and while it was in the attempt to spread out its wings, the wives said, "we will communicate something: the appearing of that dove is a token that we may. every man (_vir_)" they continued, "has five senses, seeing, hearing, smelling, taste, and touch; but we have likewise a sixth, which is the sense of all the delights of the conjugial love of the husband; and this sense we have in the palms of our hands, while we touch the breasts, arms, hands, or cheeks, of our husbands, especially their breasts; and also while we are touched by them. all the gladness and pleasantness of the thoughts of their minds (_mentium_), all the joys and delights of their minds (_animarum_) and all the festive and cheerful principles of their bosoms, pass from them to us, and become perceptible, sensible, and tangible: we discern them as exquisitely and distinctly as the ear does the tune of a song, and the tongue the taste of dainties; in a word, the spiritual delights of our husbands put on with us a kind of natural embodiment; therefore they call us the sensory organs of chaste conjugial love, and thence its delights. but this sixth sense of ours exists, subsists, persists, and is exalted in the degree in which our husbands love us from wisdom and judgement, and in which we in our turn love them from the same principles in them. this sense in our sex is called in the heavens the sport of wisdom with its love, and of love with its wisdom." from this information i became desirous of asking further questions concerning the variety of their delights. they said, "it is infinite; but we are unwilling and therefore unable to say more; for the dove at our window, with the olive branch under his feet, is flown away." i waited for its return, but in vain. in the meantime i asked the husbands, "have you a like sense of conjugial love?" they replied, "we have a like sense in general, but not in particular. we enjoy a general blessedness, delight, and pleasantness, arising from the particulars of our wives; and this general principle, which we derive from them, is serenely peaceful." as they said this, lo! through the window there appeared a swan standing on a branch of a fig-tree, which spread out his wings and flew away. on seeing this, the husbands said, "this is a sign for us to be silent respecting conjugial love: come again some other time, and perhaps you may hear more." they then withdrew, and we took our leave. * * * * * on the conjunction of souls and minds by marriage, which is meant by the lord's words,--they are no longer two, but one flesh. .* that at creation there was implanted in the man and the woman an inclination and also a faculty of conjunction as into a one, and that this inclination and this faculty are still in man and woman, is evident from the book of creation, and at the same time from the lord's words. in the book of creation, called genesis, it is written, "_jehovah god builded the rib, which he had taken from the man, into a woman, and brought her to the man. and the man said, this now is bone of my bones, and flesh of my flesh. she shall be called woman, because she was taken out of man; for this cause shall a man leave his father and his mother, and shall cleave to his wife: and they shall be one flesh_," chap. ii. - . the lord also says in matthew, "_have ye not read, that he that made them from the beginning, made them a male and a female, and said, for this cause shall a man leave father and mother, and shall cleave to his wife; and they two shall become one flesh? wherefore they are no longer two, but one flesh_," chap. xix. - . from this it is evident, that the woman was created out of the man (_vir_), and that each has an inclination and faculty to reunite themselves into a one. that such reunion means into one man (_homo_), is also evident from the book of creation, where both together are called man (_homo_); for it is written, "_in the day that god created man (homo), he created them a male and a female, and called their name man (homo)_," chap. v. . it is there written, he called their name adam; but adam and man are one expression in the hebrew tongue: moreover, both together are called man in the same book, chap. i. ; chap. iii. - . one flesh also signifies one man; as is evident from the passages in the word where mention is made of all flesh, which signifies every man, as gen. chap. vi. , , , ; isaiah xl. , ; chap. xlix. ; chap. lxvi. , , ; jer. xxv. ; chap, xxxii. ; chap. xlv. ; ezek. xx. ; chap. xxi. , ; and other passages. but what is meant by the man's rib, which was builded into a woman; what by the flesh, which was closed up in the place thereof, and thus what by bone of my bones, and flesh of my flesh; and what by a father and a mother, whom a man (_vir_) shall leave after marriage; and what by cleaving to a wife, has been shewn in the arcana coelestia; in which work the two books, genesis and exodus, are explained as to the spiritual sense. it is there proved that a rib does not mean a rib,--nor flesh, flesh,--nor a bone, a bone,--nor cleaving to, cleaving to; but that they signify spiritual things, which correspond thereto, and consequently are signified thereby. that spiritual things are understood, which from two make one man (_homo_), is evident from this consideration, that conjugial love conjoins them, and this love is spiritual. that the love of the man's wisdom is transferred into the wife, has been occasionally observed above, and will be more fully proved in the following sections: at this time it is not allowable to digress from the subject proposed, which is concerning the conjunction of two married partners into one flesh by a union of souls and minds. this union we will elucidate by treating of it in the following order. i. _from creation there is implanted in each sex a faculty and inclination, whereby they are able and willing to be conjoined together as it were into a one._ ii. _conjugial love conjoins two souls, and thence two minds into a one._ iii. _the will of the wife conjoins itself with the understanding of the man, and thence the understanding of the man conjoins itself with the will of the wife._ iv. _the inclination to unite the man to herself is constant and perpetual with the wife; but is inconstant and alternate with the man._ v. _conjunction is inspired into the man from the wife according to her love, and is received by the man according to his wisdom._ vi. _this conjunction is effected successively from the first days of marriage; and with those who are principled in love truly conjugial, is effected more and more thoroughly to eternity._ vii. _the conjunction of the wife with the rational wisdom of the husband is effected from within, but with this moral wisdom from without._ viii. _for the sake of this conjunction as an end, the wife has a perception of the affections of the husband, and also the utmost prudence in moderating them._ ix. _wives conceal this perception with themselves, and hide it from their husbands, for reasons of necessity, in order that conjugial love, friendship, and confidence, and thereby the blessedness of dwelling together, and the happiness of life may he secured._ x. _this perception is the wisdom of the wife, and is not communicable to the man; neither is the rational wisdom of the man communicable to the wife._ xi. _the wife, from a principle of love, is continually thinking about the man's inclination to her, with the purpose of joining him to herself: it is otherwise with the man._ xii. _the wife conjoins herself to the man, by applications to the desires of his will._ xiii. _the wife is conjoined to her husband by the sphere of her life flowing from the love of him._ xiv. _the wife is conjoined to the husband by the appropriation of the powers of his virtue; which however is effected according to their mutual spiritual love._ xv. _thus the wife receives in herself the image of her husband, and thence perceives, sees, and is sensible of, his affections._ xvi. _there are duties proper to the husband, and others proper to the wife; and the wife cannot enter into the duties proper to the husband, nor the husband into the duties proper to the wife, so as to perform them aright._ xvii. _these duties, also, according to mutual aid, conjoin the two into a one, and at the same time constitute one house._ xviii. _married partners, according to these conjunctions, become one man (homo) more and more._ xix. _those who are principled in love truly conjugial, are sensible of their being a united man, and as it were one flesh._ xx. _love truly conjugial, considered in itself, is a union of souls, a conjunction of minds, and an endeavor towards conjunction in the bosoms and thence in the body._ xxi. _the states of this love are innocence, peace, tranquillity, inmost friendship, full confidence, and a mutual desire of mind and heart to do very good to each other; and the states derived from these are blessedness, satisfaction, delight, and pleasure; and from the eternal enjoyment of these is derived heavenly felicity._ xxii. _these things can only exist in the marriage of one man with one wife._ we proceed now to the explanation of these articles. . i. from creation there is implanted in each sex a faculty and inclination, whereby they are able and willing to be joined together, as it were into a one. that the woman was taken out of the man, was shewn just above from the book of creation; hence it follows, that there is in each sex a faculty and inclination to join themselves together into a one; for that which is taken out of anything, derives and retains its constituent principle, from the principle proper to the thing whence it was taken; and as this derived principle is of a similar nature with that from which it was derived, it seeks after a reunion; and when it is reunited, it is as in itself when it is in that from whence it came, and _vice versa_. that there is a faculty of conjunction of the one sex with the other, or that they are capable of being united, is universally allowed; and also that there is an inclination to join themselves the one with the other; for experience supplies sufficient confirmation in both cases. . ii. conjugial love conjoins two souls, and thence two minds, into a one. every man consists of a soul, a mind, and a body. the soul is his inmost, the mind his middle, and the body his ultimate constituent. as the soul is a man's inmost principle, it is, from its origin, celestial; as the mind is his middle principle, it is, from its origin, spiritual; and as the body is his ultimate principle, it is, from its origin, natural. those things, which, from their origin, are celestial and spiritual, are not in space, but in the appearance of space. this also is well known in the word; therefore it is said, that neither extension nor place can be predicated of spiritual things. since therefore spaces are appearances, distances also and presences are appearances. that the appearances of distances and presences in the spiritual world are according to proximities, relationships, and affinities of love, has been frequently pointed out and confirmed in small treatises respecting that world. these observations are made, in order that it may be known that the souls and minds of men are not in space like their bodies; because the former, as was said above, from their origin, are celestial and spiritual; and as they are not in space, they may be joined together as into a one, although their bodies at the same time are not so joined. this is the case especially with married partners, who love each other intimately: but as the woman is from the man, and this conjunction is a species of reunion, it may be seen from reason, that it is not a conjunction into a one, but an adjunction, close and near according to the love, and approaching to contact with those who are principled in love truly conjugial. this adjunction may be called spiritual dwelling together; which takes place with married partners who love each other tenderly, however distant their bodies may be from each other. many experimental proofs exist, even in the natural world, in confirmation of these observations. hence it is evident, that conjugial love conjoins two souls and minds into a one. . iii. the will of the wife conjoins itself with the understanding of the man, and thence the understanding of the man with the will of the wife. the reason of this is, because the male is born to become understanding, and the female to become will, loving the understanding of the male; from which consideration it follows, that conjugial conjunction is that of the will of the wife with the understanding of the man, and the reciprocal conjunction of the understanding of the man with the will of the wife. every one sees that the conjunction of the understanding and the will is of the most intimate kind; and that it is such, that the one faculty can enter into the other, and be delighted from and in the conjunction. . iv. the inclination to unite the man to herself is constant and perpetual with the wife, but inconstant and alternate with the man. the reason of this is, because love cannot do otherwise than love and unite itself, in order that it may be loved in return, this being its very essence and life; and women are born loves; whereas men, with whom they unite themselves in order that they may be loved in return, are receptions. moreover love is continually efficient; being like heat, flame, and fire, which perish if their efficiency is checked. hence the inclination to unite the man to herself is constant and perpetual with the wife: but a similar inclination does not operate with the man towards the wife, because the man is not love, but only a recipient of love; and as a state of reception is absent or present according to intruding cares, and to the varying presence or absence of heat in the mind, as derived from various causes, and also according to the increase and decrease of the bodily powers, which do not return regularly and at stated periods, it follows, that the inclination to conjunction is inconstant and alternate with men. . v. conjunction is inspired into the man from the wife according to her love, and is received by the man according to his wisdom. that love and consequent conjunction is inspired into the man by the wife, is at this day concealed from the men; yea, it is universally denied by them; because wives insinuate that the men alone love, and that they themselves receive; or that the men are loves, and themselves obediences: they rejoice also in heart when the men believe it to be so. there are several reasons why they endeavour to persuade the men of this, which are all grounded in their prudence and circumspection; respecting which, something shall be said in a future part of this work, particularly in the chapter on the causes of coldness, separations, and divorces between married partners. the reason why men receive from their wives the inspiration or insinuation of love, is, because nothing of conjugial love, or even of the love of the sex, is with the men, but only with wives and females. that this is the case, has been clearly shewn me in the spiritual world. i was once engaged in conversation there on this subject; and the men, in consequence of a persuasion infused from their wives, insisted that they loved and not the wives; but that the wives received love from them. in order to settle the dispute respecting this arcanum, all the females, married and unmarried, were withdrawn from the men, and at the same time the sphere of the love of the sex was removed with them. on the removal of this sphere, the men were reduced to a very unusual state, such as they had never before perceived, at which they greatly complained. then, while they were in this state, the females were brought to them, and the wives to the husbands; and both the wives and the other females addressed them in the tenderest and most engaging manner; but they were cold to their tenderness, and turned away, and said one to another, "what is all this? what is a female?" and when some of the women said that they were their wives, they replied, "what is a wife? we do not know you." but when the wives began to be grieved at this absolutely cold indifference of the men, and some of them to shed tears, the sphere of the love of the female sex, and the conjugial sphere, which had for a time been withdrawn from the men, was restored; and then the men instantly returned into their former state, the lovers of marriage into their state, and the lovers of the sex into theirs. thus the men were convinced, that nothing of conjugial love, or even of the love of the sex, resides with them, but only with the wives and females. nevertheless, the wives afterwards from their prudence induced the men to believe, that love resides with the men, and that some small spark of it may pass from them into the wives. this experimental evidence is here adduced, in order that it may be known, that wives are loves and men recipients. that men are recipients according to their wisdom, especially according to this wisdom grounded in religion, that the wife only is to be loved, is evident from this consideration, that so long as the wife only is loved, the love is concentrated; and because it is also ennobled, it remains in its strength, and is fixed and permanent; and that in any other case it would be as when wheat from the granary is cast to the dogs, whereby there is scarcity at home. . vi. this conjunction is effected successively from the first days of marriage; and with those who are principled in love truly conjugial, it is effected more and more thoroughly to eternity. the first heat of marriage does not conjoin; for it partakes of the love of the sex, which is the love of the body and thence of the spirit; and what is in the spirit, as derived from the body, does not long continue; but the love which is in the body, and is derived from the spirit, does continue. the love of the spirit, and of the body from the spirit, is insinuated into the souls and minds of married partners, together with friendship and confidence. when these two (friendship and confidence) conjoin themselves with the first love of marriage, there is effected conjugial love, which opens the bosoms, and inspires the sweets of that love; and this more and more thoroughly, in proportion as those two principles adjoin themselves to the primitive love, and that love enters into them, and _vice versa_. . vii. the conjunction of the wife with the rational wisdom of the husband is effected from within, but with his moral wisdom from without. that wisdom with men is two-fold, rational and moral, and that their rational wisdom is of the understanding alone, and their moral wisdom is of the understanding and the life together, may be concluded and seen from mere intuition and examination. but in order that it may be known what we mean by the rational wisdom of men, and what by their moral wisdom, we will enumerate some of the specific distinctions. the principles constituent of their rational wisdom are called by various names; in general they are called knowledge, intelligence, and wisdom; but in particular they are called rationality, judgement, capacity, erudition, and sagacity; but as every one has knowledge peculiar to his office, therefore they are multifarious; for the clergy, magistrates, public officers, judges, physicians and chemists, soldiers and sailors, artificers and laborers, husbandmen, &c., have each their peculiar knowledge. to rational wisdom also appertain all the knowledge into which young men are initiated in the schools, and by which they are afterwards initiated into intelligence, which also are called by various names, as philosophy, physics, geometry, mechanics, chemistry, astronomy, jurisprudence, politics, ethics, history, and several others, by which, as by doors, an entrance is made into things rational, which are the ground of rational wisdom. . but the constituents of moral wisdom with men are all the moral virtues, which have respect to life, and enter into it, and also all the spiritual virtues, which flow from love to god and love towards our neighbour, and centre in those loves. the virtues which appertain to the moral wisdom of men are also of various kinds, and are called temperance, sobriety, probity, benevolence, friendship, modesty, sincerity, courtesy, civility, also carefulness, industry, quickness of wit, alacrity, munificence, liberality, generosity, activity, intrepidity, prudence and many others. spiritual virtues with men are the love of religion, charity, truth, conscience, innocence, and many more. the latter virtues and also the former, may in general be referred to love and zeal for religion, for the public good, for a man's country, for his fellow-citizens, for his parents, for his married partner, and for his children. in all these, justice and judgement have dominion; justice having relation to moral, and judgement to rational wisdom. . the reason why the conjunction of the wife with the man's rational wisdom is from within, is, because this wisdom belongs to the man's understanding, and ascends into the light in which women are not and this is the reason why women do not speak from that wisdom; but, when the conversation of the men turns on subjects proper thereto, they remain silent and listen. that nevertheless such subjects have place with the wives from within, is evident from their listening thereto, and from their inwardly recollecting what had been said, and favoring those things which they had heard from their husbands. but the reason why the conjunction of the wife with the moral wisdom of the man is from without, is, because the virtues of that wisdom for the most part are akin to similar virtues with the women, and partake of the man's intellectual will, with which the will of the wife unites and constitutes a marriage; and since the wife knows those virtues appertaining to the man more than the man himself does, it is said that the conjunction of the wife with those virtues is from without. . viii. for the sake of this conjunction as an end, the wife has a perception of the affections of the husband, and also the utmost prudence in moderating them. that wives know the affections of their husbands, and prudently moderate them, is among the arcana of conjugial love which lie concealed with wives. they know those affections by three senses, the sight, the hearing, and the touch, and moderate them while their husbands are not at all aware of it. now as the reasons of this are among the arcana of wives, it does not become me to disclose them circumstantially; but as it is becoming for the wives themselves to do so, therefore four memorable relations are added to this chapter, in which those reasons are disclosed by the wives: two of the relations are taken from the three wives that dwelt in the hall, over which was seen falling as it were a golden shower; and two from the seven wives that were sitting in the garden of roses. a perusal of these relations will unfold this arcanum. . ix. wives conceal this perception with themselves and hide it from their husbands, for reasons of necessity, in order that conjugial love, friendship, and confidence, and thereby the blessedness of dwelling together and the happiness of life may be secured. the concealing and hiding of the perception of the affections of the husband by the wives, are said to be of necessity; because if they should reveal them, they would cause a complete alienation of their husbands, both in mind and body. the reason of this is, because there resides deep in the minds of many men a conjugial coldness, originating in several causes, which will be enumerated in the chapter on the causes of coldnesses, separation, and divorces between married partners. this coldness, in case the wives should discover the affections and inclinations of their husbands, would burst forth from its hiding places, and communicate its cold, first to the interiors of the mind, afterwards to the breast, and thence to the ultimates of love which are appropriated to generation; and these being affected with cold, conjugial love would be banished to such a degree, that there would not remain any hope of friendship, of confidence, of the blessedness of dwelling together, and thence of the happiness of life; when nevertheless wives are continually feeding on this hope. to make this open declaration, that they know their husbands' affections and inclinations of love, carries with it a declaration and publication of their own love: and it is well known, that so far as wives make such a declaration, so far the men grow cold and desire a separation. from these considerations the truth of this proposition is manifest, that the reasons why wives conceal their perception with themselves, and hide it from their husbands, are reasons of necessity. . x. this perception is the wisdom of the wife, and is not communicable to the man; neither is the rational wisdom of the man communicable to the wife. this follows from the distinction subsisting between the male principle and the female. the male principle consists in perceiving from the understanding, and the female in perceiving from love: and the understanding perceives also those things which are above the body and are out of the world; for the rational and spiritual sight reaches to such objects; whereas love reaches no further than to what it feels; when it reaches further, it is in consequence of conjunction with the understanding of the man established from creation: for the understanding has relation to light, and love to heat; and those things which have relation to light, are seen, and those which have relation to heat, are felt. from these considerations it is evident, that from the universal distinction subsisting between the male principle and the female, the wisdom of the wife is not communicable to the man, neither is the wisdom of the man communicable to the wife: nor, further, is the moral wisdom of the man communicable to women, so far as it partakes of his rational wisdom. . xi. the wife from a principle of love in continually thinking about the man's inclination to her, with the purpose of joining him to herself: it is otherwise with the man. this agrees with what was explained above; namely, that the inclination to unite the man to herself is constant and perpetual with the wife, but inconstant and alternate with the man; see n. : hence it follows, that the wife's thoughts are continually employed about her husband's inclination to her, with the purpose of joining him to herself. her thoughts concerning her husband are interrupted indeed by domestic concerns; but still they remain in the affection of her love; and this affection does not separate itself from the thoughts with women, as it does with men: these things, however, i relate from hearsay; see the two memorable relations from the seven wives sitting in the rose-garden, which are annexed to some of the following chapters. . xii. the wife conjoins herself to the man by applications to the desires of his will. this being generally known and admitted, it is needless to explain it. . xiii. the wife is conjoined to her husband by the sphere of her life flowing from the love of him. there flows, yea there overflows, from every man (_homo_) a spiritual sphere, derived from the affections of his love, which encompasses him, and infuses itself into the natural sphere derived from the body, so that the two spheres are conjoined. that a natural sphere is continually flowing, not only from men, but also from beasts, yea from trees, fruits, flowers, and also from metals, is generally known. the case is the same in the spiritual world; but the spheres flowing from subjects in that world are spiritual, and those which emanate from spirits and angels are altogether spiritual; because there appertain thereto affections of love, and thence interior perceptions and thoughts. this is the origin of all sympathy and antipathy, and likewise of all conjunction and disjunction, and, according thereto, of presence and absence in the spiritual world: for what is of a similar nature or concordant causes conjunction and presence, and what is of a dissimilar nature and discordant causes disjunction and absence; therefore those spheres cause distances in that world. what effects those spiritual spheres produce in the natural world, is also known to some. the inclinations of married partners towards each other are from no other origin. they are united by unanimous and concordant spheres, and disunited by adverse and discordant spheres; for concordant spheres are delightful and grateful, whereas discordant spheres are undelightful and ungrateful. i have been informed by the angels, who are in a clear perception of those spheres, that every part of a man, both interior and exterior, renews itself; which is effected by solutions and reparations; and that hence arises the sphere which continually issues forth. i have also been informed that this sphere encompasses a man on the back and on the breast, lightly on the back, but more densely on the breast, and that the sphere issuing from the breast conjoins itself with the respiration; and that this is the reason why two married partners, who are of different minds and discordant affections, lie in bed back to back, and, on the other hand, why those who agree in minds and affections, mutually turn towards each other. i have been further informed by the angels, that these spheres, because they flow from every part of a man (_homo_), and are abundantly continued around him, conjoin and disjoin two married partners not only externally, but also internally; and that hence come all the differences and varieties of conjugial love. lastly, i have been informed, that the sphere of love, flowing from a wife who is tenderly loved, is perceived in heaven as sweetly fragrant, by far more pleasant than it is perceived in the world by a newly married man during the first days after marriage. from these considerations is manifested the truth of the assertion, that a wife is conjoined to a man by the sphere of her life flowing from the love of him. . xiv. the wife is conjoined to the husband by the appropriation of the powers of his virtue; which however is effected according to their mutual spiritual love. that this is the case, i have also gathered from the mouth of angels. they have declared that the prolific principles imparted from the husbands are received universally by the wives and add themselves to their life; and that thus the wives lead a life unanimous, and successively more unanimous with their husbands; and that hence is effectively produced a union of souls and a conjunction of minds. they declared the reason of this was, because in the prolific principle of the husband is his soul, and also his mind as to its interiors, which are conjoined to the soul. they added, that this was provided from creation, in order that the wisdom of the man, which constitutes his soul, may be appropriated to the wife, and that thus they may become, according to the lord's words, one flesh: and further, that this was provided, lest the husband (_homovir_) from some caprice should leave the wife after conception. but they added further, that applications and appropriations of the life of the husband with the wife are effected according to conjugial love, because love which is spiritual union, conjoins; and that this also is provided for several reasons. . xv. thus the wife receives in herself the image of her husband, and thence perceives, sees, and is sensible of, his affections. from the reasons above adduced it follows as an established fact, that wives receive in themselves those things which appertain to the wisdom of their husbands, thus which are proper to the souls and minds of their husbands, and thereby from virgins make themselves wives. the reasons from which this follows, are, . that the woman was created out of the man. . that hence she has an inclination to unite, and as it were to reunite herself with the man. . that by virtue of this union with her partner, and for the sake of it, the woman is born the love of the man, and becomes more and more the love of him by marriage; because in this case the love is continually employing its thoughts to conjoin the man to itself. . that the woman is conjoined to her only one (_unico suo_) by application to the desires of his life. . that they are conjoined by the spheres which encompass them, and which unite themselves universally and particularly according to the quality of the conjugial love with the wives, and at the same time according to the quality of the wisdom recipient thereof with the husbands. . that they are also conjoined by appropriations of the powers of the husbands by the wives. . from which reasons it is evident, that there is continually somewhat of the husband being transferred to the wife, and inscribed on her as her own. from all these considerations it follows, that the image of the husband is formed in the wife; by virtue of which image the wife perceives, sees, and is sensible of, the things which are in her husband, in herself, and thence as it were herself in him. she perceives from communication, she sees from aspect, and she is made sensible from the touch. that she is made sensible of the reception of her love by the husband from the touch in the palms of the hands, on the cheeks, the shoulders, the hands, and the breasts, i learnt from the three wives in the hall, and the seven wives in the rose garden, spoken of in the memorable relations which follow. . xvi. there are duties proper to the husband and others proper to the wife; and the wife cannot enter into the duties proper to the husband, nor the husband into the duties proper to the wife, so as to perform them aright. that there are duties proper to the husband, and others proper to the wife, needs not to be illustrated by an enumeration of them; for they are many and various: and every one that chooses to do so can arrange them numerically according to their genera and species. the duties by which wives principally conjoin themselves with their husbands, are those which relate to the education of the children of each sex, and of the girls till they are marriageable. . the wife cannot enter into the duties proper to the husband, nor on the other hand the husband into the duties proper to the wife, because they differ like wisdom and the love thereof, or like thought and the affection thereof, or like understanding and the will thereof. in the duties proper to husbands, the primary agent is understanding, thought, and wisdom; whereas in the duties proper to wives, the primary agent is will, affection, and love; and the wife from the latter performs her duties, and the husband from the former performs his; wherefore their duties are naturally different, but still conjunctive in a successive series. many believe that women can perform the duties of men, if they are initiated therein at an early age, as boys are. they may indeed be initiated into the practice of such duties, but not into the judgement on which the propriety of duties interiorly depends; wherefore such women as have been initiated into the duties of men, are bound in matters of judgement to consult men, and then, if they are left to their own disposal, they select from the counsels of men that which suits their own inclination. some also suppose that women are equally capable with men of elevating their intellectual vision, and into the same sphere of light, and of viewing things with the same depth; and they have been led into this opinion by the writings of certain learned authoresses: but these writings, when examined in the spiritual world in the presence of the authoresses, were found to be the productions, not of judgement and wisdom, but of ingenuity and wit; and what proceeds from these on account of the elegance and neatness of the style in which it is written, has the appearance of sublimity and erudition; yet only in the eyes of those who dignify all ingenuity by the name of wisdom. in like manner men cannot enter into the duties proper to women, and perform them aright, because they are not in the affections of women, which are altogether distinct from the affections of men. as the affections and perceptions of the male (and of the female) sex are thus distinct by creation and consequently by nature, therefore among the statutes given to the sons of israel this also was ordained, "_a woman shall not put on the garment of a man, neither shall a man put on the garment of a woman; because this is an abomination_." deut. xxii. . this was, because, all in the spiritual world are clothed according to their affections; and the two affections, of the woman and of the man, cannot be united except (as subsisting) between two, and in no case (as subsisting) in one. . xvii. these duties also, according to mutual aid, conjoin the two into a one, and at the same time constitute one house. it is well known in the world that the duties of the husband in some way conjoin themselves with the duties of the wife, and that the duties of the wife adjoin themselves to the duties of the husband, and that these conjunctions and adjunctions are a mutual aid, and according thereto: but the primary duties, which confederate, consociate, and gather into one the souls and lives of two married partners, relate to the common care of educating their children; in relation to which care, the duties of the husband and of the wife are distinct, and yet join themselves together. they are distinct; for the care of suckling and nursing the infants of each sex, and also the care of instructing the girls till they become marriageable, is properly the duty of the wife; whereas the care of instructing the boys, from childhood to youth, and from youth till they become capable of governing themselves, is properly the duty of the husband: nevertheless the duties, of both the husband and the wife, are blended by means of counsel and support, and several other mutual aids. that these duties, both conjoined and distinct, or both common and peculiar, combine the minds of conjugial partners into one; and that this is effected by the love called _storge_, is well known. it is also well known, that these duties, regarded in their distinction and conjunction, constitute one house. . xviii. married partners, according to these conjunctions, become one man (homo) more and more. this coincides with what is contained in article vi.; where it was observed, that conjunction is effected successively from the first days of marriage and that with those who are principled in love truly conjugial, it is effected more and more thoroughly to eternity; see above. they become one man in proportion as conjugial love increases; and as this love in the heavens is genuine by virtue of the celestial and spiritual life of the angels, therefore two married partners are there called two, when they are regarded as husband and wife, but one, when they are regarded as angels. . xix. those who are principled in love truly conjugial, are sensible of their being a united man, and as it were one flesh. that this is the case, must be confirmed not from the testimony of any inhabitant of the earth, but from the testimony of the inhabitants of heaven; for there is no love truly conjugial at this day with men on earth; and moreover, men on earth are encompassed with a gross body, which deadens and absorbs the sensation that two married partners are a united man, and as it were one flesh; and besides, those in the world who love their married partners only exteriorly, and not interiorly, do not wish to hear of such a thing: they think also on the subject lasciviously under the influence of the flesh. it is otherwise with the angels of heaven, who are principled in spiritual and celestial conjugial love, and are not encompassed with so gross a body as men on earth. from those among them who have lived for ages with their conjugial partners in heaven, i have heard it testified, that they are sensible of their being so united, the husband with the wife, and the wife with the husband, and each in the other mutually and interchangeably, as also in the flesh, although they are separate. the reason why this phenomenon is so rare on earth, they have declared to be this; because the union of the souls and minds of married partners on earth is made sensible in their flesh; for the soul constitutes the inmost principles not only of the head, but also of the body: in like manner the mind, which is intermediate between the soul and the body, and which, although it appears to be in the head, is yet also actually in the whole body: and they have declared, that this is the reason why the acts, which the soul and mind intend, flow forth instantly from the body; and that hence also it is, that they themselves, after the rejection of the body in the former world, are perfect men. now, since the soul and the mind join themselves closely to the flesh of the body, in order that they may operate and produce their effects, it follows that the union of soul and mind with a married partner is made sensible also in the body as one flesh. as the angels made these declarations, i heard it asserted by the spirits who were present, that such subjects belong to angelic wisdom, being above ordinary apprehension; but these spirits were rational-natural, and not rational-spiritual. . xx. love truly conjugial, considered in itself, is a union of souls, a conjunction of minds, and an endeavour towards conjunction in the bosoms and thence in the body. that it is a union of souls and a conjunction of minds, may be seen above, n. . the reason why it is an endeavour towards conjunction in the bosoms is, because the bosom (or breast) is as it were a place of public assembly, and a royal council-chamber, while the body is as a populous city around it. the reason why the bosom is as it were a place of public assembly, is, because all things, which by derivation from the soul and mind have their determination in the body, first flow into the bosom; and the reason why it is as it were a royal council chamber, is, because in the bosom there is dominion over all things of the body; for in the bosom are contained the heart and lungs; and the heart rules by the blood, and the lungs by the respiration, in every part. that the body is as a populous city around it, is evident. when therefore the souls and minds of married partners are united, and love truly conjugial unites them, it follows that this lovely union flows into their bosoms, and through their bosoms into their bodies, and causes an endeavour towards conjunction; and so much the more, because conjugial love determines the endeavour to its ultimates, in order to complete its satisfactions; and as the bosom is intermediate between the body and the mind, it is evident on what account conjugial love has fixed therein the seat of its delicate sensation. . xxi. the states of this love are innocence, peace, tranquillity, inmost friendship, full confidence, and a mutual desire of mind and heart to do every good to each other; and the states derived from these are blessedness, satisfaction, delight and pleasure; and from the eternal enjoyment of these is derived heavenly felicity. all these things are in conjugial love, and thence are derived from it, because its origin is from the marriage of good and truth, and this marriage is from the lord; and because love is of such a nature, that it desires to communicate with another, whom it loves from the heart, yea, confer joys upon him, and thence to derive its own joys. this therefore is the case in an infinitely high degree with the divine love, which is in the lord, in regard to man, whom he created a receptacle of both love and wisdom proceeding from himself; and as he created man (_homo_) for the reception of those principles, the man (_vir_) for the reception of wisdom, and the woman for the reception of the love of the man's wisdom, therefore from inmost principles he infused into men (_homines_) conjugial love into which love he might insinuate all things blessed, satisfactory, delightful, and pleasant, which proceed solely from his divine love through his divine wisdom, together with life, and flow into their recipients; consequently, which flow into those who are principled in love truly conjugial; for these alone are recipients. mention is made of innocence, peace, tranquillity, inmost friendship, full confidence, and the mutual desire of doing every good to each other; for innocence and peace relate to the soul, tranquillity to the mind, inmost friendship to the breast, full confidence to the heart, and the mutual desire of doing every good to each other, to the body as derived from the former principles. . xxii. these things can only exist in the marriage of one man with one wife. this is a conclusion from all that has been said above, and also from all that remains to be said; therefore there is no need of any particular comment for its confirmation. * * * * * . to the above i will add two memorable relations. first. after some weeks, i heard a voice from heaven, saying, "lo! there is again an assembly on parnassus: come hither, and we will shew you the way." i accordingly came; and as i drew near, i saw a certain person on helicon with a trumpet, with which he announced and proclaimed the assembly. and i saw the inhabitants of athens and its suburbs ascending as before; and in the midst of them three novitiates from the world. they were of a christian community; one a priest, another a politician, and the third a philosopher. these they entertained on the way with conversation on various subjects, especially concerning the wise ancients, whom they named. they inquired whether they should see them, and were answered in the affirmative, and were told, that if they were desirous, they might pay their respects to them, as they were courteous and affable. the novitiates then inquired after demosthenes, diogenes, and epicurus; and were answered, "demosthenes is not here, but with plato; diogenes, with his scholars, resides under helicon, because of his little attention to worldly things, and his being engaged in heavenly contemplations; epicurus dwells in a border to the west, and has no intercourse with us; because we distinguish between good and evil affections, and say, that good affections are one with wisdom, and evil affections are contrary to it." when they had ascended the hill parnassus, some guards there brought water in crystal cups from a fountain in the mount, and said, "this is water from the fountain which, according to ancient fable, was broken open by the hoof of the horse pegasus, and was afterwards consecrated to nine virgins: but by the winged horse pegasus they meant the understanding of truth, by which comes wisdom; by the hoofs of his feet they understood experiences whereby comes natural intelligence; and by the nine virgins they understood knowledges and sciences of every kind. these things are now called fables; but they were correspondences, agreeable to the primeval method of speaking." then those who attended the three strangers said, "be not surprised; the guards are told thus to speak; but we know that to drink water from the fountain, means to be instructed concerning truths, and by truths concerning goods, and thereby to grow wise." after this, they entered the palladium, and with them the three novitiates, the priest, the politician, and the philosopher; and immediately the laureled sophi who were seated at the tables, asked, "what news from the earth?" they replied, "this is news; that a certain person declares that he converses with angels, and has his sight opened into the spiritual world, equally as into the natural world; and he brings thence much new information, and, among other particulars, asserts, that a man lives a man after death, as he lived before in the world; that he sees, hears, speaks, as before in the world; that he is clothed and decked with ornaments, as before in the world; that he hungers and thirsts, eats and drinks, as before in the world; that he enjoys conjugial delights, as before in the world; that he sleeps and wakes, as before in the world; that in the spiritual world there are land and water, mountains and hills, plains and valleys, fountains and rivers, paradises and groves; also that there are palaces and houses, cities and villages, as in the natural world; and further, that there are writings and books, employments and trades; also precious stones, gold and silver; in a word, that there are all such things there as there are on earth, and that those things in the heavens are infinitely more perfect; with this difference only, that all things in the spiritual world are from a spiritual origin, and therefore are spiritual, because they are from the sun of that world, which is pure love; whereas all things in the natural world are from a natural origin, and therefore are natural and material, because they are from the sun of that world, which is pure fire; in short, that a man after death is perfectly a man, yea more perfectly than before in the world; for before in the world he was in a material body, but in the spiritual world he is in a spiritual body." hereupon the ancient sages asked, "what do the people on the earth think of such information?" the three strangers replied, "we know that it is true, because we are here, and have viewed and examined everything; wherefore we will tell you what has been said and reasoned about it on earth." then the priest said, "those of our order, when they first heard such relations, called them visions, then fictions; afterwards they insisted that the man had seen spectres, and lastly they hesitated, and said, 'believe them who will; we have hitherto taught that a man will not be in a body after death until the day of the last judgement.'" then the sages asked, "are there no intelligent persons among those of your order, who can prove and evince the truth, that a man lives a man after death?" the priest said, "there are indeed some who prove it, but not to the conviction of others. those who prove it say, that it is contrary to sound reason to believe, that a man does not live a man till the day of the last judgement, and that in the mean while he is a soul without a body. what is the soul, or where is it in the interim? is it a vapor, or some wind floating in the atmosphere, or some thing hidden in the bowels of the earth? have the souls of adam and eve, and of all their posterity, now for six thousand years, or sixty ages, been flying about in the universe, or been shut up in the bowels of the earth, waiting for the last judgement? what can be more anxious and miserable than such an expectation? may not their lot in such a case be compared with that of prisoners bound hand and foot, and lying in a dungeon? if such be a man's lot after death, would it not be better to be born an ass than a man? is it not also contrary to reason to believe, that the soul can be re-clothed with its body? is not the body eaten up by worms, mice, and fish? and can a bony skeleton that has been parched in the sun, or mouldered into dust, be introduced into a new body? and how could the cadaverous and putrid materials be collected, and reunited to the souls? when such questions as these are urged, those of our order do not offer any answers grounded in reason, but adhere to their creed, saying, 'we keep reason under obedience to faith.' with respect to collecting all the parts of the human body from the grave at the last day, they say, 'this is a work of omnipotence;' and when they name omnipotence and faith, reason is banished; and i am free to assert, that in such case sound reason is not appreciated, and by some is regarded as a spectre; yea, they can say to sound reason, 'thou art unsound.'" on hearing these things, the grecian sages said, "surely such paradoxes vanish and disperse of themselves, as being full of contradiction; and yet in the world at this day they cannot be dispersed by sound reason. what can be believed more paradoxical than what is told respecting the last judgement; that the universe will then be destroyed, and that the stars of heaven will then fall down upon the earth, which is less than the stars; and that then the bodies of men, whether they be mouldering carcases, or mummies eaten by men, or reduced to mere dust, will meet and be united again with their souls? we, during our abode in the world, from the inductions of reason, believed the immortality of the souls of men; and we also assigned regions for the blessed, which we call the elysian fields; and we believed that the soul was a human image or appearance, but of a fine and delicate nature, because spiritual." after this, the assembly turned to the other stranger, who in the world had been a politician. he confessed that he did not believe in a life after death, and that respecting the new information which he had heard about it, he thought it all fable and fiction. "in my meditations on the subject," said he, "i used to say to myself, 'how can souls be bodies?--does not the whole man lie dead in the grave?--is not the eye there; how can he see?--is not the ear there, how can he hear?--whence must he have a mouth wherewith to speak? supposing anything of a man to live after death, must it not resemble a spectre? and how can a spectre eat and drink, or how can it enjoy conjugial delights? whence can it have clothes, houses, meats, &c.? besides, spectres, which are mere aerial images, appear as if they really existed; and yet they do not. these and similar sentiments i used to entertain in the world concerning the life of men after death; but now, since i have seen all things, and touched them with my hands, i am convinced by my very senses that i am a man as i was in the world; so that i know no other than that i live now as i lived formerly; with only this difference, that my reason now is sounder. at times i have been ashamed of my former thoughts." the philosopher gave much the same account of himself as the politician had done; only differing in this respect, that he considered the new relations which he had heard concerning a life after death, as having reference to opinions and hypotheses which he had collected from the ancients and moderns. when the three strangers had done speaking, the sophi were all in amazement; and those who were of the socratic school, said, that from the news they had heard from the earth, it was quite evident, that the interiors of human minds had been successively closed; and that in the world at this time a belief in what is false shines as truth, and an infatuated ingenuity as wisdom; and that the light of wisdom, since their times, has descended from the interiors of the brain into the mouth beneath the nose, where it appears to the eyes as a shining of the lip, while the speech of the mouth thence proceeding appears as wisdom. hereupon one of the young scholars said, "how stupid are the minds of the inhabitants of the earth at this day! i wish we had here the disciples of heraclitus, who weep at every thing, and of democritus, who laugh at every thing; for then we should hear much lamentation and much laughter." when the assembly broke up, they gave the three novitiates the insignia of their authority, which were copper plates, on which were engraved some hieroglyphic characters; with which they took their leave and departed. . the second memorable relation. i saw in the eastern quarter a grove of palm-trees and laurels, set in winding rows, which i approached and entered; and walking in the winding paths i saw at the end a garden, which formed the centre of the grove. there was a little bridge dividing the grove from the garden, and at the bridge two gates, one on the side next the grove, and the other on the side next the garden. and as i drew near, the keeper opened the gates, and i asked him the name of the garden. he said, "adramandoni; which is the delight of conjugial love." i entered, and lo! there were olive-trees; and among them ran pendulous vines, and underneath and among them were shrubs in flower. in the midst of the garden was a grassy circus, on which were seated husbands and wives, and youths and maidens, in pairs; and in the midst of the circus, on an elevated piece of ground, there was a little fountain, which, from the strength of its spring, threw its water to a considerable height. on approaching the circus i saw two angels clad in purple and scarlet, in conversation with those who were seated on the grass. they were conversing respecting the origin of conjugial love, and respecting its delights; and this being the object of their discourse, the attention was eager, and the reception full; and hence there was an exaltation in the speech of the angels as from the fire of love. i collected the following summary of what was said. they began with the difficulty of investigating and perceiving the origin of conjugial love; because its origin is divinely celestial, it being divine love, divine wisdom, and divine use, which three proceed as a one from the lord, and hence flow as a one into the souls of men, and through their souls into their minds, and there into the interior affections and thoughts, and through these into the desires next to the body, and from these through the breast into the genital region, where all principles derived from their first origin exist together, and, in union with successive principles, constitute conjugial love. after this the angels said, "let us communicate together by questions and answers; since the perception of a thing, imbibed by hearing only, flows in indeed, but does not remain unless the bearer also thinks of it from himself, and asks questions concerning it." then some of that conjugial assembly said to the angels, "we have heard that the origin of conjugial love is divinely celestial; because it is by virtue of influx from the lord into the souls of men; and, as it is from the lord, that it is love, wisdom, and use, which are three essentials, together constituting one divine essence, and that nothing but what is of the divine essence can proceed from him, and flow into the inmost principle of man (_homo_), which is called his soul; and that these three essentials are changed into analogous and corresponding principles in their descent into the body. we ask therefore now in the first place, what is meant by the third proceeding divine essential, which is called use?" the angels replied, "love and wisdom, without use, are only abstract ideas of thought; which also after some continuance in the mind pass away like the winds; but in use they are collected together, and therein become one principle, which is called real. love cannot rest unless it is as work; for love is the essential active principle of life; neither can wisdom exist and subsist unless when it is at work from and with love; and to work is use; therefore we define use to be the doing good from love by wisdom; use being essential good. as these three essentials, love, wisdom, and use, flow into the souls of men, it may appear from what ground it is said, that all good is from god; for every thing done from love by wisdom, is called good; and use also is something done. what is love without wisdom but a mere infatuation? and what is love with wisdom without use, but a puff of the mind? whereas love and wisdom with use not only constitute man (_homo_), but also are man; yea, what possibly you will be surprised at, they propagate man; for in the seed of a man (_vir_) is his soul in a perfect human form, covered with substances from the purest principles of nature; whereof a body is formed in the womb of the mother. this is the supreme and ultimate use of the divine love by the divine wisdom." finally the angels said, "we will hence come to this conclusion, that all fructification, propagation, and prolification, is originally derived from the influx of love, wisdom, and use from the lord, from an immediate influx into the souls of men, from a mediate influx into the souls of animals, and from an influx still more mediate into the inmost principles of vegetables; and all these effects are wrought in ultimates from first principles. that fructifications, propagations, and prolifications, are continuations of creation, is evident; for creation cannot be from any other source, than from divine love by divine wisdom in divine use; wherefore all things in the universe are procreated and formed from use, in use, and for use." afterwards those who were seated on the grassy couches, asked the angels "whence are the innumerable and ineffable delights of conjugial love?" the angels replied, "they are from the uses of love and wisdom, as may be plain from this consideration, that so far as any one loves to grow wise, for the sake of genuine use, so far he is in the vein and potency of conjugial love; and so far as he is in these two, so far he is in the delights thereof. use effects this; because love and wisdom are delighted with each other, and as it were sport together like little children; and as they grow up, they enter into genial conjunction, which is effected by a kind of betrothing, nuptial solemnity, marriage, and propagation, and this with continual variety to eternity. these operations take place between love and wisdom inwardly in use. those delights in their first principles are imperceptible; but they become more and more perceptible as they descend thence by degrees and enter the body. they enter by degrees from the soul into the interiors of a man's mind, from these into its exteriors, from these into the bosom, and from the bosom into the genital region. those celestial nuptial sports in the soul are not at all perceived by man; but they thence insinuate themselves into the interiors of the mind under a species of peace and innocence, and into the exteriors of the mind under a species of blessedness, satisfaction, and delight; in the bosom under a species of the delights of inmost friendship; and in the genital region, from continual influx even from the soul with the essential sense of conjugial love, as the delight of delights. these nuptial sports of love and wisdom in use in the soul, in proceeding towards the bosom, become permanent, and present themselves sensible therein under an infinite variety of delights; and from the wonderful communication of the bosom with the genital region, the delights therein become the delights of conjugial love, which are superior to all other delights in heaven and in the world; because the use of conjugial love is the most excellent of all uses, the procreation of the human race being thence derived, and from the human race the angelic heaven." to this the angels added, that those who are not principled in the love of wisdom for the sake of use from the lord, do not know anything concerning the variety of the innumerable delights of love truly conjugial; for with those who do not love to grow wise from genuine truths, but love to be insane from false principles, and by this insanity perform evil uses from some particular love, the way to the soul is closed: hence the heavenly nuptial sports of love and wisdom in the soul, being more and more intercepted, cease, and together with them conjugial love ceases with its vein, its potency, and its delights. on hearing these statements the audience said, "we now perceive that conjugial love is according to the love of growing wise for the sake of uses from the lord." the angels replied that it was so. and instantly upon the heads of some of the audience there appeared wreaths of flowers; and on their asking, "why is this?" the angels said, "because they have understood more profoundly:" and immediately they departed from the garden, and the latter in the midst of them. * * * * * on the change of the state of life which takes place with men and women by marriage. . what is meant by states of life, and their changes, is very well known to the learned and the wise, but unknown to the unlearned and the simple; wherefore it may be expedient to premise somewhat on the subject. the state of a man's life is its quality; and as there are in every man two faculties which constitute his life, and which are called the understanding and the will, the state of a man's life is its quality as to the understanding and the will. hence it is evident, that changes of the state of life mean changes of quality as to the things appertaining to the understanding and the will. that every man is continually changing as to those two principles, but with a distinction of variations before marriage and after it, is the point proposed to be proved in this section; which shall be done in the following propositions:--i. _the state of a man's (homo) life from infancy even to the end of his life, and afterwards to eternity, is continually changing._ ii. _in like manner a man's internal form which is that of his spirit, is continually changing._ iii. _these changes differ in the case of men and of women; since men from creation are forms of knowledge, intelligence, and wisdom, and women are forms of the love of those principles as existing with men._ iv. _with men there is an elevation of the mind into superior light, and with women an elevation of the mind into superior heat: and that the woman is made sensible of the delights of her heat in the man's light._ v. _with both men and women, the states of life before marriage are different from what they are afterwards._ vi. _with married partners the states of life after marriage are changed and succeed each other according to the conjunctions of their minds by conjugial love._ vii. _marriage also induces other forms in the souls and minds of married partners._ viii. _the woman is actually formed into a wife according to the description in the book of creation._ ix. _this formation is effected on the part of the wife by secret means; and this is meant by the woman's being created while the man slept._ x. _this formation on the part of the wife is affected by the conjunction of her own will with the internal will of the man._ xi. _the end herein is, that the will of both became one, and that thus both may become one man (homo)._ xii. _this formation on the part of the wife is affected by an appropriation of the affections of the husband._ xiii. _this formation on the part of the wife is effected by a reception of the propagations of the soul of the husband, with the delight arising from her desire to be the love of her husband's wisdom._ xiv. _thus a maiden is formed into a wife, and a youth into a husband._ xv. _in the marriage of one man with one wife, between whom there exists love truly conjugial, the wife becomes more and more a wife and the husband more and more a husband._ xvi. _thus also their forms are successively perfected and ennobled from within._ xvii. _children born of parents who are principled in love truly conjugial, derive from them the conjugial principle of good and truth; whence they have an inclination and faculty, if sons, to perceive the things relating to wisdom, and if daughters, to love those things which wisdom teaches._ xviii. _the reason of this is because the soul of the offspring is from the father and its clothing from the mother._ we proceed to the explanation of each article. . i. the state of a man's (_homo_) life, from infancy even to the end of his life, and afterwards to eternity, is continually changing. the common states of a man's life are called infancy, childhood, youth, manhood, and old age. that every man, whose life is continued in the world, successively passes from one state into another, thus from the first to the last, is well known. the transitions into those ages only become evident by the intervening spaces of time: that nevertheless they are progressive from one moment to another, thus continual, is obvious to reason; for the case is similar with a man as with a tree, which grows and increases every instant of time, even the most minute, from the casting of the seed into the earth. these momentaneous progressions are also changes of state; for the subsequent adds something to the antecedent, which perfects the state. the changes which take place in a man's internals, are more perfectly continuous than those which take place in his externals; because a man's internals, by which we mean the things appertaining to his mind or spirit, are elevated into a superior degree above his externals; and in those principles which are in a superior degree, a thousand effects take place in the same instant in which one effect is wrought in externals. the changes which take place in internals, are changes of the state of the will as to affections, and of the state of the understanding as to thoughts. the successive changes of state of the latter and of the former are specifically meant in the proposition. the changes of these two lives or faculties are perpetual with every man from infancy even to the end of his life, and afterwards to eternity; because there is no end to knowledge, still less to intelligence, and least of all to wisdom; for there is infinity and eternity in the extent of these principles, by virtue of the infinite and eternal one, from whom they are derived. hence comes the philosophical tenet of the ancients, that everything is divisible _in infinitum_; to which may be added, that it is multiplicable in like manner. the angels assert, that by wisdom from the lord they are being perfected to eternity; which also means to infinity; because eternity is the infinity of time. . ii. in like manner a man's (_homo_) internal form which is that of his spirit, is continually changing. the reason why this form is continually changing as the state of the man's life is changed, is, because there is nothing that exists but in a form, and state induces that form; wherefore it is the same whether we say that the state of a man's life is changed, or that its form is changed. all a man's affections and thoughts are in forms, and thence from forms; for forms are their subjects. if affections and thoughts were not in subjects, which are formed, they might exist also in skulls without a brain; which would be the same thing as to suppose sight without an eye, hearing without an ear, and taste without a tongue. it is well known that there are subjects of these senses, and that these subjects are forms. the state of life, and thence the form, with a man, is continually changing; because it is a truth which the wise have taught and still teach, that there does not exist a sameness, or absolute identity of two things, still less of several; as there are not two human faces the same, and still less several: the case is similar in things successive, in that no subsequent state of life is the same as a preceding one; whence it follows, that there is a perpetual change of the state of life with every man, consequently also a perpetual change of form, especially of his internals. but as these considerations do not teach anything respecting marriages, but only prepare the way for knowledges concerning them, and since also they are mere philosophical inquiries of the understanding, which, with some persons, are difficult of apprehension, we will pass them without further discussion. . iii. these changes differ in the case of men and of women; since men from creation are forms of knowledge, intelligence, and wisdom; and women are forms of the love of those principles as existing with men. that men were created forms of the understanding, and that women were created forms of the love of the understanding of men, may be explained above, n. . that the changes of state, which succeed both with men and women from infancy to mature age, are for the perfecting of forms, the intellectual form with men, and the voluntary with women, follows as a consequence: hence it is clear, that the changes with men differ from those with women; nevertheless with both, the external form which is of the body is perfected according to the perfecting of the internal form which is of the mind; for the mind acts upon the body, and not _vice versa_. this is the reason why infants in heaven become men of stature and comeliness according as they increase in intelligence; it is otherwise with infants on earth, because they are encompassed with a material body like the animals; nevertheless they agree in this, that they first grow in inclination to such things as allure their bodily senses, and afterwards by little and little to such things as affect the internal thinking sense, and by degrees to such things as tincture the will with affection; and when they arrive at an age which is midway between mature and immature, the conjugial inclination begins, which is that of a maiden to a youth, and of a youth to a maiden; and as maidens in the heavens, like those on earth from an innate prudence conceal their inclination to marriage, the youths there know no other than that they affect the maidens with love; and this also appears to them in consequence of their masculine eagerness; which they also derive from an influx of love from the fair sex; concerning which influx we shall speak particularly elsewhere. from these considerations the truth of the proposition is evident, that the changes of state with men differ from those with women; since men from creation are forms of knowledge, intelligence and wisdom, and women are forms of the love of those principles as existing with men. . iv. with men there is an elevation of the mind into superior light, and with women an elevation of the mind into superior heat; and the woman is made sensible of the delights of her heat in the man's light. by the light into which men are elevated, we mean intelligence and wisdom; because spiritual light, which proceeds from the sun of the spiritual world, which sun in its essence is love, acts in equality or unity with those two principles; and by the heat into which women are elevated, we mean conjugial love because spiritual heat, which proceeds from the sun of that world, in its essence is love, and with women it is love conjoining itself with intelligence and wisdom in men; which love in its complex is called conjugial love, and by determination becomes that love. it is called elevation into superior light and heat, because it is elevation into the light and heat which the angels of the superior heavens enjoy: it is also an actual elevation, as from a thick mist into pure air, and from an inferior region of the air into a superior, and from thence into ether; therefore elevation into superior light with men is elevation into superior intelligence, and thence into wisdom; in which also there are ascending degrees of elevation; but elevation into superior heat with women is an elevation into chaster and purer conjugial love, and continually towards the conjugial principle, which from creation lies concealed in their inmost principles. these elevations, considered in themselves, are openings of the mind; for the human mind is distinguished into regions, as the world is distinguished into regions as to the atmosphere; the lowest of which is the watery, the next above is the aerial, and still higher is the ethereal, above which there is also the highest: into similar regions the mind of man is elevated as it is opened, with men by wisdom, and with women by love truly conjugial. . we have said, that the woman is made sensible of the delights of her heat in the man's light; by which we mean that the woman is made sensible of the delights of her love in the man's wisdom, because wisdom is the receptacle; and wherever love finds such a receptacle corresponding to itself, it is in the enjoyment of its delights: but we do not mean, that heat with its light is delighted out of forms, but within them; and spiritual heat is delighted with spiritual light in their forms to a greater degree, because those forms by virtue of wisdom and love are vital, and thereby susceptible. this may be illustrated by what are called the sports of heat with light in the vegetable kingdom: out of the vegetable there is only a simple conjunction of heat and light, but within it there is a kind of sport of the one with the other; because there they are in forms or receptacles; for they pass through astonishing meandering ducts, and in the inmost principles therein they tend to use in bearing fruit, and also breathe forth their satisfactions far and wide into the atmosphere, which they fill with fragrance. the delight of spiritual heat with spiritual light is more vividly perceivable in human forms, in which spiritual heat is conjugial love, and spiritual light is wisdom. . v. with both men and women, the states of life before marriage are different from what they are afterwards. before marriage, each sex passes through two states, one previous and the other subsequent to the inclination for marriage. the changes of both these states, and the consequent formations of minds, proceed in successive order according to their continual increase; but we have not leisure now to describe these changes, which are various and different in their several subjects. the inclination to marriage, previous to marriage, are only imaginary in the mind, and become more and more sensible in the body; but the states thereof after marriage are states of conjunction and also of prolification, which, it is evident, differ from the forgoing states as effects differ from intentions. . vi. with married partners the states of life after marriage are changed and succeed each other according to the conjunctions of their minds by conjugial love. the reason why changes of the state and the successions thereof after marriage, with both the man and the wife, are according to conjugial love with each, and thus are either conjunctive or disjunctive of their minds, is, because conjugial love is not only various but also different with conjugial pairs: various, with those who love each other interiorly; for with such it has its intermissions, notwithstanding its being inwardly in its heat regular and permanent; but it is different with those who love each other only exteriorly; for with such its intermissions do not proceed from similar causes, but from alternate cold and heat. the true ground of these differences is, that with the latter the body is the principal agent, the ardour of which spreads itself around, and forcibly draws into communion with it the inferior principles of the mind; whereas, with the former, who love each other interiorly, the mind is the principal agent, and brings the body into communion with it. it appears as if love ascended from the body into the soul; because as soon as the body catches the allurement, it enters through the eyes, as through doors, into the mind, and thus through the sight, as through an outer court, into the thoughts, and instantly into the love: nevertheless it descends from the mind, and acts upon the inferior principles according to their orderly arrangement; therefore the lascivious mind acts lasciviously, and the chaste mind chastely; and the latter arranges the body, whereas the former is arranged by the body. . vii. marriage also induces other forms in the souls and minds of married partners. that marriage has this effect cannot be observed in the natural world; because in this world souls and minds are encompassed with a material body, through which the mind rarely shines: the men (_homines_) also of modern times, more than the ancients, are taught from their infancy to assume feigned countenances, whereby they deeply conceal the affections of their minds; and this is the reason why the forms of minds are not known and distinguished according to their different quality, as existing before marriage and after it: nevertheless that the forms of souls and minds differ after marriage from what they were before, is very manifest from their appearance in the spiritual world; for they are then spirits and angels, who are minds and souls in a human form, stripped of their outward coverings, which had been composed of watery and earthy elements, and of aerial vapors thence arising; and when these are cast off, the forms of the minds are plainly seen, such as they had been inwardly in their bodies; and then it is clearly perceived, that there is a difference in regard to those forms with those who live in marriage, and with those who do not. in general, married partners have an interior beauty of countenance, the man deriving from the wife the ruddy bloom of her love, and the wife from the man the fair splendor of his wisdom; for two married partners in the spiritual world are united as to their souls; and moreover there appears in each a human fulness. this is the case in heaven, because there are no marriages (_conjugia_) in any other place; beneath heaven there are only nuptial connections (_connubia_), which are alternately tied and loosed. . viii. the woman is actually formed into a wife, according to the description in the book of creation. in this book it is said, that the woman was created out of the man's rib, and that the man said, when she was brought to him, "this is bone of my bones, and flesh of my flesh; and she shall be called eve (_ischah_), because she was taken out of man (_isch_):" gen. chap. ii. - . a rib of the breast, in the word, signifies, in the spiritual sense, natural truth. this is signified by the ribs which the bear carried between his teeth, dan. vii. ; for bears signify those who read the word in the natural sense, and see truths therein without understanding: the man's breast signifies that essential and peculiar principle, which is distinguished from the breast of the woman: that this is wisdom, may be seen above, n. ; for truth supports wisdom as the ribs do the breast. these things are signified, because the breast is that part of a man in which all his principles are as in their centre. from these considerations, it is evident, that the woman was created out of the man by a transfer of his peculiar wisdom, which is the same thing as to be created out of natural truth; and that the love thereof was transferred from the man into the woman, to the end that conjugial love might exist; and that this was done in order that the love of the wife and not self-love might be in the man: for the wife, in consequence of her innate disposition, cannot do otherwise than convert self-love, as existing with the man, into his love to herself; and i have been informed, that this is effected by virtue of the wife's love itself, neither the man nor the wife being conscious of it: hence, no man can possibly love his wife with true conjugial love, who from a principle of self-love is vain and conceited of his own intelligence. when this arcanum relating to the creation of the woman from the man, is understood, it may then be seen, that the woman in like manner is as it were created or formed from the man in marriage; and that this is effected by the wife, or rather through her by the lord, who imparts inclinations to women whereby they produce such an effect: for the wife receives into herself the image of a man, and thereby appropriates to herself his affections, as may be seen above, n. ; and conjoins the man's internal will with her own, of which we shall treat presently; and also claims to herself the propagated forms (_propagines_) of his soul, of which also we shall speak elsewhere. from these considerations it is evident, that, according to the description in the book of genesis, interiorly understood, a woman is formed into a wife by such things as she takes out of the husband and his breast, and implants in herself. . ix. this formation is effected on the part of the wife by secret means; and this is meant by the woman's being created while the man slept. it is written in the book of genesis, that jehovah god caused a deep sleep to fall upon adam, so that he slept; and that then he took one of his ribs, and builded it into a woman: chap. ii. , . that by the man's sleep and sleeping is signified his entire ignorance that the wife is formed and as it were created from him, appears from what was shewn in the preceding chapter, and also from the innate prudence and circumspection of wives, not to divulge anything concerning their love, or their assumption of the affections of the man's life, and thereby of the transfer of his wisdom into themselves. that this is effected on the part of the wife without the husband's knowledge, and while he is as it were sleeping, thus by secret means, is evident from what was explained above, n. - ; where also it is clearly shewn, that the prudence with which women are influenced herein, was implanted in them from creation, and consequently from their birth, for reasons of necessity, so that conjugial love, friendship, and confidence, and thereby the blessedness of dwelling together and a happy life, may be secured: wherefore for the right accomplishing of this, the man is enjoined to _leave his father and mother and to cleave to his wife_, gen. ii. ; matt. xix. , . the father and mother, whom the man is to leave, in a spiritual sense signify his _proprium_ of will and _proprium_ of understanding; and the _proprium_ of a man's (_homo_) will is to love himself, and the _proprium_ of his understanding is to love his own wisdom; and to cleave to his wife signifies to devote himself to the love of his wife. those two _propriums_ are deadly evils to man, if they remain with him, and the love of those two _propriums_ is changed into conjugial love, so far as a man cleaves to his wife, that is, so far as he receives her love; see above, n. , and elsewhere. to sleep signifies to be in ignorance and unconcern; a father and a mother signify the two _propriums_ of a man (_homo_), the one of the will and the other of the understanding; and to cleave to, signifies to devote one's self to the love of any one, as might be abundantly confirmed from passages in other parts of the word; but this would be foreign to our present subject. . x. this formation on the part of the wife is effected by the conjunction of her own will with the internal will of the man. that the man possesses rational and moral wisdom, and that the wife conjoins herself with those things which relate to his moral wisdom, may be seen above, n. - . the things which relate to rational wisdom constitute the man's understanding, and those which relate to moral wisdom constitute his will. the wife conjoins herself with those things which constitute the man's will. it is the same, whether we say that the wife conjoins herself, or that she conjoins her will to the man's will; because she is born under the influence of the will, and consequently in all her actions acts from the will. the reason why it is said _with the man's internal will_, is, because the man's will resides in his understanding, and the man's intellectual principle is the inmost principle of the woman, according to what was observed above concerning the formation of the woman from the man, n. , and in other places. the man has also an external will; but this frequently takes its tincture from simulation and dissimulation. this will the wife notices; but she does not conjoin herself with it, except pretendedly or in the way of sport. . xi. the end herein is, that the will of both may become one, and that thus both may become one man (_homo_): for whoever conjoins to himself the will of another, also conjoins to himself his understanding; for the understanding regarded in itself is merely the minister and servant of the will. that this is the case, appears evidently from the affection of love, which moves the understanding to think as it directs. every affection of love belongs to the will; for what a man loves that he also wills. from these considerations it follows, that whoever conjoins to himself the will of a man conjoins to himself the whole man: hence it is implanted as a principle in the wife's love to unite the will of her husband to her own will; for hereby the wife becomes the husband's, and the husband the wife's; thus both become one man (_homo_). . xii. this formation (on the part of the wife) is effected by an appropriation of the affections of the husband. this article agrees with the two preceding, because affections are of the will; for affections which are merely derivations of the love, form the will, and make and compose it; but these affections with men are in the understanding, whereas with women they are in the will. . xiii. this formation (on the part of the wife) is effected by a reception of the propagations of the soul of the husband, with the delight arising from her desire to be the love of her husband's wisdom. this coincides with what was explained above, n. , , therefore any further explanation is needless. conjugial delights with wives arise solely from their desire to be one with their husbands, as good is one with truth in the spiritual marriage. that conjugial love descends from this spiritual marriage, has been proved above in the chapter which treats particularly on that subject; hence it may be seen, as in an image, that the wife conjoins the man to herself, as good conjoins truth to itself; and that the man reciprocally conjoins himself to the wife, according to the reception of her love in himself, as truth reciprocally conjoins itself to good, according to the reception of good in itself; and that thus the love of the wife forms itself by the wisdom of the husband, as good forms itself by truth; for truth is the form of good. from these considerations it is also evident, that conjugial delights with the wife originate principally in her desiring to be one with the husband, consequently to be the love of her husband's wisdom; for in such case she is made sensible of the delights of her own heat in the man's light, according to what was explained in article iv., n. . . xiv. thus a maiden is formed into a wife, and a youth into a husband. this flows as a consequence, from what has been said above in this and the foregoing chapter respecting the conjunction of married partners into one flesh. a maiden becomes or is made a wife, because in a wife there are principles taken out of the husband, and therefore supplemental, which were not previously in her as a maiden: a youth also becomes or is made a husband, because in a husband there are principles taken out of the wife, which exalt his receptibility of love and wisdom, and which were not previously in him as a youth: this is the case with those who are principled in love truly conjugial. that it is these who feel themselves a united man (_homo_), and as it were one flesh, may be seen in the preceding chapter, n. . from these considerations it is evident, that with females the maiden principle is changed into that of a wife, and with men the youthful principle is changed into that of a husband. that this is the case, was experimentally confirmed to me in the spiritual world, as follows: some men asserted, that conjunction with a female before marriage is like conjunction with a wife after marriage.--on hearing this, the wives were very indignant, and said: "there is no likeness at all in the two cases. the difference between them is like that between what is fancied and what is real." hereupon the men rejoined, "are you not females as before?" to this the wives replied more sharply, "we are not females, but wives; you are in fancied and not in real love; you therefore talk fancifully." then the men said, "if you are not females (_feminae_) still you are women (_mulieres_):" and they replied, "in the first states of marriage we were women (_mulieres_); but now we are wives." . xv. in the marriage of one man with one wife, between whom there exists love truly conjugial, the wife becomes more and more a wife, and the husband more and more a husband. that love truly conjugial more and more conjoins two into one man (_homo_), may be seen above n. , ; and as a wife becomes a wife from and according to conjunction with the husband, and in like manner the husband with the wife; and as love truly conjugial endures to eternity, it follows, that the wife becomes more and more a wife, and the husband more and more a husband. the true reason of this is, because in the marriage of love truly conjugial, each married partner becomes continually a more interior man; for that love opens the interiors of their minds; and as these are opened, a man becomes more and more a man (_homo_): and to become more a man (_homo_) in the case of the wife is to become more a wife, and in the case of the husband to become more a husband. i have heard from the angels, that the wife becomes more and more a wife as the husband becomes more and more a husband, but not _vice versa_; because it rarely, if ever, happens, that a chaste wife is wanting in love to her husband, but that the husband is wanting in a return of love to his wife; and that this return of love is wanting because he has no elevation of wisdom, which alone receives the love of the wife: respecting this wisdom see above n. , - . these things however they said in regard to marriages on earth. . xvi. thus also their forms are successively perfected and ennobled from within. the most perfect and noble human form results from the conjunction of two forms by marriage so as to become one form; thus from two fleshes becoming one flesh, according to creation. that in such case the man's mind is elevated into superior light, and the wife's into superior heat, and that then they germinate, and bear flowers and fruits, like trees in the spring, may be seen above, n. , . that from the nobleness of this form are produced noble fruits, which in the heavens are spiritual, and on earth natural, will be seen in the following article. . xvii. children born of parents who are principled in love truly conjugial, derive from them the conjugial principle of good and truth, whence they have an inclination and faculty, if sons, to perceive the things relating to wisdom, and if daughters, to love those things which wisdom teaches. that children derive from their parents inclination to such things as had been objects of the love and life of the parents, is a truth most perfectly agreeable to the testimony of history in general, and of experience in particular; but that they do not derive or inherit from their parents the affections themselves, and thence the lives of those affections, but only inclinations and faculties thereto, has been shewn me by the wise in the spiritual world; concerning whom, see the two memorable relations above adduced. that children to the latest posterity, from innate inclinations, if they are not modified, are led into affections, thoughts, speech, and life, similar to those of their parents, is clearly manifest from the jews, who at this day are like their fathers in egypt, in the wilderness, in the land of canaan, and in the lord's time; and this likeness is not confined to their minds only, but extends to their countenances; for who does not know a jew by his look? the case is the same with the descendants of others: from which considerations it may infallibly be concluded, that children are born with inclinations to such things as their parents were inclined to. but it is of the divine providence, lest thought and act should follow inclination, that perverse inclinations may be corrected; and also that a faculty has been implanted for this purpose, by virtue whereof parents and masters have the power of amending the morals of children, and children may afterwards, when they come to years of discretion, amend their own morals. . we have said that children derive from their parents the conjugial principle of good and truth, because this is implanted from creation in the soul of every one; for it is that which flows into every man from the lord, and constitutes his human life. but this conjugial principle passes into derivatives from the soul even to the ultimates of the body. in its passage through these ultimates and those derivatives, it is changed by the man himself in various ways, and sometimes into the opposite, which is called the conjugial or connubial principle of what is evil and false. when this is the case, the mind is closed from beneath, and is sometimes twisted as a spire into the contrary; but with some that principle is not closed, but remains half-open above, and with some open. the latter and the former conjugial principle is the source of those inclinations which children inherit from their parents, a son after one manner, and a daughter after another. the reason why such inclinations are derived from the conjugial principle, is, because, as was proved above, n. , conjugial love is the foundation of all loves. . the reason why children born of parents who are principled in love truly conjugial, derive inclinations and faculties, if a son, to perceive the things relating to wisdom, and if a daughter, to love the things which wisdom teaches, is, because the conjugial principle of good and truth is implanted from creation in every soul, and also in the principles derived from the soul; for it was shewn above, that this conjugial principle fills the universe from first principles to last, and from a man even to a worm; and also that the faculty to open the inferior principles of the mind even to conjunction with its superior principles, which are in the light and heat of heaven, is also implanted in every man from creation: hence it is evident, that a superior suitableness and facility to conjoin good to truth, and truth to good, and thus to grow wise, is inherited by those who are born from such a marriage; consequently they have a superior suitableness and facility also to embrace the things relating to the church and heaven; for that conjugial love is conjoined with these things, has been frequently shewn above. from these considerations, reason may clearly discover the end for which the lord the creator has provided, and still provides, marriages of love truly conjugial. . i have been informed by the angels, that those who lived in the most ancient times, live at this day in the heavens, in separate houses, families, and nations, as they had lived on earth, and that scarce any one of a house is wanting; and this because they were principled in love truly conjugial; and that hence their children inherited inclinations to the conjugial principle of good and truth, and were easily initiated into it more and more interiorly by education received from their parents, and afterwards as from themselves, when they become capable of judging for themselves, were introduced into it by the lord. . xviii. the reason of this is because the soul of the offspring is from the father and its clothing from the mother. no wise man entertains a doubt that the soul is from the father; it is also manifestly conspicuous from minds, and likewise from faces which are the types of minds, in descendants from fathers of families in a regular series; for the father returns as in an image, if not in his sons, yet in his grandsons and great grandsons; and this because the soul constitutes a man's (_homo_) inmost principle, which may be covered and concealed by the offspring nearest in descent, but nevertheless it comes forth and manifests itself in the more remote issue. that the soul is from the father, and its clothing from the mother, may be illustrated by analogies in the vegetable kingdom. in this kingdom the earth or ground is the common mother, which in itself, as in a womb, receives and clothes seeds; yea, as it were conceives, bears, brings forth, and educates them, as a mother her offspring from the father. . to the above i will add two memorable relations. first. after some time i was looking towards the city athens, of which mention was made in a former memorable relation, and i heard thence an unusual clamor. there was in it something of laughter, and in the laughter something of indignation, and in the indignation something of sadness: still however the clamor was not thereby dissonant, but consonant: because one tone was not together with the other, but one was within another. in the spiritual world a variety and commixture of affections is distinctly perceived in sound. i inquired from afar what was the matter. they said, "a messenger is arrived from the place where the new comers from the christian world first appear, bringing information of what he has heard there from three persons, that in the world whence they came they had believed with the generality, that the blessed and happy after death enjoy absolute rest from labor; and since administrations, offices, and employments, are labor, they enjoy rest from these: and as those three persons are now conducted hither by our emissary, and are at the gate waiting for admission, a clamor was made, and it was deliberately resolved they should not be introduced into the palladium on parnassus, as the former were, but into the great auditory, to communicate the news they brought from the christian world: accordingly some deputies have been sent to introduce them in form." being at that time myself in the spirit, and distances with spirits being according to the states of their affections, and having at that time a desire to see and hear them, i seemed to myself to be present there, and saw them introduced, and heard what they said. the seniors or wiser part of the audience sat at the sides of the auditory, and the rest in the midst; and before these was an elevated piece of ground. hither the three strangers, with the messenger, were formally conducted by attendants, through the middle of the auditory. when silence was obtained, they were addressed by a kind of president of the assembly, and asked, "what news from the earth?" they replied, "there is a variety of news: but pray tell us what information you want." the president answered, "what news is there from the earth concerning our world and heaven?" they replied, "when we first came into this world, we were informed, that here and in heaven there are administrations, offices, employments, trades, studies, relating to all sciences and professions, together with wonderful mechanical arts; and yet we believed that after our removal or translation from the natural world into the spiritual, we should enter upon an eternal rest from labor; and what are employments but labor?" to this the president replied, "by eternal rest from labor did you understand eternal inactivity, in which you should be continually sitting and laying down, with your bosoms and mouths open, attracting and inhaling delights and joys?" "we conceived something of this sort," said the three strangers smiling courteously. then they were asked, "what connection have joys and delights and the happiness thence resulting, with a state of inactivity? by inactivity the mind is enfeebled and contracted, instead of being strengthened and expanded; or in other words, the man is reduced to a state of death, instead of being quickened into life. suppose a person to sit still in the most complete inactivity, with his hands hanging down, his eyes fixed on the ground, and withdrawn from all other objects, and suppose him at the same time to be encompassed by an atmosphere of gladness, would not a lethargy seize both his head and body, and the vital expansion of his countenance would be contracted, and at length with relaxed fibres he would nod and totter, till he fell to the earth? what is it that keeps the whole bodily system in its due expansion and tension, but the tension of the mind? and whence comes the tension of the mind but from administrations and employments, while the discharge of them is attended with delight? i will therefore tell you some news from heaven: in that world there are administrations, offices, judicial proceedings both in greater and lesser cases, also mechanical arts and employments." the strangers on hearing of judicial proceedings in heaven, said, "to what purpose are such proceedings? are not all in heaven inspired and led by god, and in consequence thereof taught what is just and right? what need then is there of judges?" the president replied, "in this world we are instructed and learn what is good and true, also what is just and equitable, as in the natural world; and these things we learn, not immediately from god, but mediately through others; and every angel, like every man, thinks what is true, and does what is good, as from himself; and this, according to the state of the angel, is mixed and not pure: and moreover, there are among the angels some of a simple and some of a wise character; and it is the part of the wise to judge, when the simple, from their simplicity and ignorance, are doubtful about what is just, or through mistake wander from it. but as you are as yet strangers in this world, if it be agreeable to you to accompany me into our city, we will shew you all that is contained therein." then they quitted the auditory, and some of the elders also accompanied them. they were introduced into a large library, which was divided into classes arranged according to the sciences. the three strangers, on seeing so many books, were astonished, and said, "there are books also in this world! whence do you procure parchment and paper, pens and ink?" the elders replied, "we perceive that in the former world you believed that this world is empty and void, because it is spiritual; and you believed so because you had conceived an idea of what is spiritual abstracted from what is material; and that which is so abstracted appeared to you as nothingness, thus as empty and void; when nevertheless in this world there is a fulness of all things. here all things are substantial and not material: and material things derive their origin from things substantial. we who live here are spiritual men, because we are substantial and not material; hence in this world we have all things that are in the natural world, in their perfection, even books and writings, and many other things which are not in the natural world." the three strangers, when they heard talk of things substantial, conceived that it must be so, as well because they saw written books, as because they heard it asserted that material things originate in substantial. for their further confirmation in these particulars, they were conducted to the houses of the scribes, who were copying the writings of the wise ones of the city; and they inspected the writings, and wondered to see them so beautiful and elegant. after this they were conducted to the museums, schools, and colleges, and to the places where they had their literary sports. some of these were called the sports of the heliconides, some of the parnassides, some of the athæides, and some the sports of the maidens of the fountain. they were told that the latter were so called, because maidens signify affections of the sciences, and every one has intelligence according to his affection for the sciences: the sports so called were spiritual exercises and trials of skill. afterwards they were led about the city to see the rulers, administrators, and their officers, by whom they were conducted to see several wonderful works executed in a spiritual manner by the artificers. when they had taken a view of all these things, the president again conversed with them about the eternal rest from labor, into which the blessed and happy enter after death, and said, "eternal rest is not inactivity; for inactivity occasions a thorough languor, dulness, stupor, and drowsiness of the mind and thence of the body; and these things are death and not life, still less eternal life which the angels of heaven enjoy; therefore eternal rest is that which dispels such mischiefs, and causes a man to live; and it is this which elevates the mind; consequently it is by some employment and work that the mind is excited, vivified, and delighted; which is affected according to the use, from which, in which, and to which the mind is actuated. hence the universal heaven is regarded by the lord as containing uses; and every angel is an angel according to use; the delight of use carries him along, as a prosperous gale a ship, and causes him to be in eternal peace, and the rest of peace. this is the meaning of eternal rest from labor. that an angel is alive according as his mind is directed to use, is evident from the consideration, that every one has conjugial love with its energy, ability and delights, according as he devotes himself to the genuine use in which he is." when the three strangers were convinced that eternal rest is not inactivity, but the delight of some useful employment, there came some maidens with pieces of embroidery and net-work, wrought with their own hands, which they presented to them. when the novitiate spirits were gone, the maidens sang an ode, wherein they expressed with angelic melody the affection of useful works with the pleasures attending it. . the second memorable relation. while i was meditating on the arcana of conjugial love stored up with wives, there again appeared the golden shower described above; and i recollected that it fell over a hall in the east where there lived three conjugial loves, that is, three married pairs, who loved each other tenderly. on seeing it, and as if invited by the sweetness of meditating on that love, i hastened towards it, and as i approached, the shower from golden became purple, afterwards scarlet, and when i came near, it was sparkling like dew. i knocked at the door, and when it was opened, i said to the attendant, "tell the husbands that the person who before came with an angel, is come again, and begs the favor of being admitted into their company." presently the attendant returned with a message of assent from the husbands, and i entered. the three husbands with their wives were together in an open gallery, and as i paid my respects to them, they returned the compliment. i then asked the wives, whether the white dove in the window afterwards appeared? they said, "yes; and to-day also; and it likewise expanded its wings; from which we concluded that you were near at hand, and were desirous of information respecting one other arcanum concerning conjugial love." i inquired, "why do you say _one_ arcanum; when i came here to learn several?" they replied, "they are arcana, and some of them transcend your wisdom to such a degree, that the understanding of your thought cannot comprehend them. you glory over us on account of your wisdom; but we do not glory over you on account of ours; and yet ours is eminently distinguished above yours, because it enters your inclinations and affections, and sees, perceives, and is sensible of them. you know nothing at all of the inclinations and affections of your own love; and yet these are the principles from and according to which your understanding thinks, consequently from and according to which you are wise; and yet wives are so well acquainted with those principles in their husbands, that they see them in their faces, and hear them from the tone of their voices in conversation, yea, they feel them on their breasts, arms, and cheeks: but we, from the zeal of our love for your happiness, and at the same time for our own, pretend not to know them; and yet we govern them so prudently, that wherever the fancy, good pleasure, and will of our husbands lead, we follow by permitting and suffering it; only bending its direction when it is possible, but in no case forcing it." i asked, "whence have you this wisdom?" they replied, "it is implanted in us from creation and consequently from birth. our husbands compare it to instinct; but we say that it is of the divine providence, in order that the men may be rendered happy by their wives. we have heard from our husbands, that the lord wills that the husband (_homo masculus_) should act freely according to reason; and that on this account the lord himself from within governs his freedom, so far as respects the inclinations and affections, and governs it from without by means of his wife; and that thus he forms a man with his wife into an angel of heaven; and moreover love changes its essence, and does not become conjugial love, if it be compelled. but we will be more explicit on this subject: we are moved thereto, that is, to prudence in governing the inclinations and affections of our husbands, so that they may seem to themselves to act freely according to their reason, from this motive, because we are delighted with their love; and we love nothing more than that they should be delighted with our delights, which, in case of their being lightly esteemed by our husbands, become insipid also to us." having said this, one of the wives entered her chamber, and on her return said, "my dove still flutters its wings, which is a sign that we may make further disclosures." they then said, "we have observed various changes of the inclinations and affections of the men; as that they grow cold towards their wives, while the husbands entertain vain thoughts against the lord and the church; that they grow cold while they are conceited of their own intelligence; that they grow cold while they regard with desire the wives of others; that they grow cold while their love is adverted to by their wives; not to mention other occasions; and that there are various degrees of their coldness: this we discover from a withdrawal of the sense from their eyes, ears, and bodies, on the presence of our senses. from these few observations you may see, that we know better than the men whether it be well or ill with them; if they are cold towards their wives, it is ill with them, but if they are warm towards them, it is well; therefore wives are continually devising means whereby the men may become warm and not cold towards them; and these means they devise with a sagacity inscrutable to the men." as they said this, the dove was heard to make a sort of moaning; and immediately the wives said, "this is a token to us that we have a wish to communicate greater arcana, but that it is not allowable: probably you will reveal to the men what you have heard." i replied, "i intend to do so: what harm can come from it?" hereupon the wives talked together on the subject, and then said, "reveal it, if you like. we are well aware of the power of persuasion which wives possess. they will say to their husbands, 'the man is not in earnest; he tells idle tales: he is but joking from appearances, and from strange fancies usual with men. do not believe him, but believe us: we know that you are loves, and we obediences.' therefore you may reveal it if you like; but still the husbands will place no dependence on what comes from your lips, but on that which comes from the lips of their wives which they kiss." * * * * * universals respecting marriages. . there are so many things relating to marriages that, if particularly treated of, they would swell this little work into a large volume: for we might treat particularly of the similitude and dissimilitude subsisting among married partners; of the elevation of natural conjugial love into spiritual, and of their conjunction; of the increase of the one and the decrease of the other; of the varieties and diversities of each; of the intelligence of wives; of the universal conjugial sphere proceeding from heaven, and of its opposite from hell, and of their influx and reception; with many other particulars, which, if individually enlarged upon, would render this work so bulky as to tire the reader. for this reason, and to avoid useless prolixity, we will condense these particulars into universal respecting marriages. but these, like the foregoing subjects, must be considered distinctly as arranged under the following articles: i. _the sense proper to conjugial love is the sense of touch._ ii. _with those who are in love truly conjugial, the faculty of growing wise gradually increases; but with those who are not it decreases._ iii. _with those who are in love truly conjugial the happiness of dwelling together increases; but with those who are not it decreases._ iv. _with those who are in love truly conjugial, conjunction of minds increases, and therewith friendship; but with those who are not they both decrease._ v. _those who are in love truly conjugial continually desire to be one man (homo); but those who are not desire to be two._ vi. _those who are in love truly conjugial, in marriage have respect to what is eternal; but with those who are not the case is reversed._ vii. _conjugial love resides with chaste wives; but still their love depends on the husbands._ viii. _wives love the bonds of marriage if the men do._ ix. _the intelligence of women is in itself modest, elegant, pacific, yielding, soft, tender; but the intelligence of men is in itself grave, harsh, hard, daring, fond of licentiousness_. x. _wives are in no excitation as men are; but they have a state of preparation for reception._ xi. _men have abundant store according to the love of propagating the truths of their wisdom, and to the love of doing uses._ xii. _determination is in the good pleasure of the husband._ xiii. _the conjugial sphere flows from the lord through heaven into everything in the universe, even to its ultimates._ xiv. _this sphere is received by the female sex, and through that is transferred into the male sex; and not_ vice versa. xv. _where there is love truly conjugial, this sphere is received by the wife, and only through her by the husband._ xvi. _where there is love not conjugial, this sphere is received indeed by the wife, but not by the husband through her._ xvii. _love truly conjugial may exist with one of the married partners and not at the same time with the other._ xviii. _there are various similitudes and dissimilitudes, both internal and external, with married partners._ xix. _various similitudes can be conjoined, but not with dissimilitudes._ xx. _the lord provides similitudes for those who desire love truly conjugial; and if not on earth, he yet provides them in heaven._ xxi. _a man (homo) according to the deficiency and loss of conjugial love, approaches to the nature of a beast._ we proceed to the explanation of each article. . i. the sense proper to conjugial love is the sense of touch. every love has its own proper sense. the love of seeing, grounded in the love of understanding, has the sense of seeing; and the gratifications proper to it are the various kinds of symmetry and beauty. the love of hearing grounded in the love of hearkening to and obeying, has the sense of hearing; and the gratifications proper to it are the various kinds of harmony. the love of knowing these things which float about in the air, grounded in the love of perceiving, is the sense of smelling; and the gratifications proper to it are the various kinds of fragrance. the love of self-nourishment, grounded in the love of imbibing goods, is the sense of tasting; and the delights proper to it are the various kinds of delicate foods. the love of knowing objects, grounded in the love of circumspection and self-preservation, is the sense of touching, and the gratifications proper to it are the various kinds of titillation. the reason why the love of conjunction with a partner, grounded in the love of uniting good and truth, has the sense of touch proper to it, is, because this sense is common to all the senses, and hence borrows from them somewhat of support and nourishment. that this love brings all the above-mentioned senses into communion with it, and appropriates their gratification, is well known. that the sense of touch is devoted to conjugial love, and is proper to it, is evident from all its sports, and from the exaltation of its subtleties to the highest degree of what is exquisite. but the further consideration of this subject we leave to lovers. . ii. with those who are in love truly conjugial, the faculty of growing wise increases; but with those who are not it decreases. the faculty of growing wise increases with those who are in love truly conjugial, because this love appertains to married partners on account of wisdom, and according to it, as has been fully proved in the preceding sections; also, because the sense of that love is the touch, which is common to all the senses, and also is full of delights; in consequence of which it opens the interiors of the mind, as it opens the interiors of the senses, and therewith the organical principles of the whole body. hence it follows, that those who are principled in that love, prefer nothing to growing wise; for a man grows wise in proportion as the interiors of his mind are opened; because by such opening, the thoughts of the understanding are elevated into superior light, and the affections of the will into superior heat; and superior light is wisdom, and superior heat is the love thereof. spiritual delights conjoined to natural delights, which are the portion of those who are in love truly conjugial, constitute loveliness, and thence the faculty of growing wise. hence it is that the angels have conjugial love according to wisdom; and the increase of that love and at the same time of its delights is according to the increase of wisdom; and spiritual offspring, which are produced from their marriages, are such things as are of wisdom from the father, and of love from the mother, which they love from a spiritual _storge_; which love unites with their conjugial love, and continually elevates it, and joins them together. . the contrary happens with those who are not in any conjugial love, from not having any love of wisdom. these enter the marriage state with no other end in view than lasciviousness, in which is also the love of growing insane; for every end considered in itself is a love, and lasciviousness in its spiritual origin is insanity. by insanity we mean a delirium in the mind occasioned by false principles; and an eminent degree of delirium is occasioned by truths which are falsified until they are believed to be wisdom. that such persons are opposed to conjugial love, is confirmed or evinced by manifest proof in the spiritual world; where, on perceiving the first scent of conjugial love, they fly into caverns, and shut the doors; and if these are opened, they rave like madmen in the world. . iii. with those who are in love truly conjugial, the happiness of dwelling together increases; but with those who are not it decreases. the happiness of dwelling together increases with those who are in love truly conjugial, because they mutually love each other with every sense. the wife sees nothing more lovely than the husband, and the husband nothing more lovely than the wife; neither do they hear, smell, or touch any thing more lovely; hence the happiness they enjoy of living together in the same house, chamber, and bed. that this is the case, you that are husbands can assure yourselves from the first delights of marriage, which are in their fulness; because at that time the wife is the only one of the sex that is loved. that the reverse is the case with those who are not in conjugial love, is well known. . iv. with those who are in love truly conjugial conjunction of minds increases, and therewith friendship; but with those who are not, they both decrease. that conjunction of minds increases with those who are in love truly conjugial, was proved in the chapter on the conjunction of souls and minds by marriage, which is meant by the lord's words, that they are no longer two but one flesh, see n. *- . but that conjunction increases as friendship unites with love; because friendship is as it were the face and also the raiment of that love; for it not only joins itself to love as raiment, but also conjoins itself thereto as a face. love preceding friendship is like the love of the sex, which, after the marriage vow, takes its leave and departs; whereas love conjoined to friendship after the marriage vow, remains and is strengthened; it likewise outers more interiorly into the breast, friendship introducing it, and making it truly conjugial. in this case the love makes its friendship also conjugial, which differs greatly from the friendship of every other love; for it is full. that the case is reversed with those who are not principled in conjugial love, is well known. with these, the first friendship, which was insinuated during the time of courtship, and afterwards during the period immediately succeeding marriage, recedes more and more from the interiors of the mind, and thence successively at length retires to the cuticles; and with those who think of separation it entirely departs; but with those who do not think of separation, love remains in the externals, yet it is cold in the internals. . v. those who are in love truly conjugial, continually desire to be one man, but those who are not in conjugial love, desire to be two. conjugial love essentially consists in the desire of two to become one; that is, in their desire that two lives may become one life. this desire is the perpetual _conatus_ of that love, from which flow all its effects. that _conatus_ is the very essence of motion, and that desire is the living _conatus_ appertaining to man, is confirmed by the researches of philosophers, and is also evident to such as take a view of the subject from refined reason. hence it follows, that those who are in love truly conjugial, continually endeavour, that is, desire to be one man. that the contrary is the case with those who are not in conjugial love, they themselves very well know; for as they continually think themselves two from the disunion of their souls and minds, so they do not comprehend what is meant by the lord's words, "_they are no longer two, but one flesh_;" matt. xix. . . vi. those who are in love truly conjugial, in marriage have respect to what is eternal; but with those who are not the case is reversed. those who are in love truly conjugial have respect to what is eternal, because in that love there is eternity; and its eternity is grounded in this, that love with the wife, and wisdom with the husband, increases to eternity; and in the increase or progression the married partners enter more and more interiorly into the blessedness of heaven, which their wisdom and its love have stored up together in themselves: if therefore the idea of what is eternal were to be plucked away, or by any casualty to escape from their minds, it would be as if they were cast down from heaven. what is the state of conjugial partners in heaven, when the idea of what is eternal falls out of their minds, and the idea of what is temporal takes its place, was made evident to me from the following case. on a certain time, permission having been granted for the purpose, two married partners were present with me from heaven: and at that instant the idea of what is eternal respecting marriage was taken away from them by an idle disorderly spirit who was talking with craft and subtlety. hereupon they began to bewail themselves, saying, that they could not live any longer, and that they felt such misery as they had never felt before. when this was perceived by their co-angels in heaven, the disorderly spirit was removed and cast down; whereupon the idea of what is eternal instantly returned to them, and they were gladdened in heart, and most tenderly embraced each other. besides this, i have heard two married partners, who at one instant entertained an idea of what is eternal respecting their marriage, and the next an idea of what is temporal. this arose from their being internally dissimilar. when they were in the idea of what is eternal, they were mutually glad; but when in the idea of what is temporal, they said, "there is no longer any marriage between us;" and the wife, "i am no longer a wife, but a concubine;" and the husband, "i am no longer a husband, but an adulterer;" wherefore while their internal dissimilitude was open to them, the man left the woman, and the woman the man: afterwards, however, as each had an idea of what is eternal respecting marriage, they were consociated with suitable partners. from these instances it may be clearly seen, that those who are in love truly conjugial have respect to what is eternal; and if this idea escapes from their inmost thoughts, they are disunited as to conjugial love, though not at the same time as to friendship; for friendship dwells in externals, but conjugial love in internals. the case is similar with marriages on earth, where married partners who tenderly love each other, think of what is eternal respecting the marriage-covenant, and not at all of its termination by death; and if this should enter their thoughts, they are grieved; nevertheless they are cherished again by hope from the thought of its continuance after their decease. [transcriber's note: the out-of-order section number which follows is in the original text, as is the asterisk which does not seem to indicate a footnote.] .* vii. conjugial love resides with chaste wives; but still their love depends on the husbands. the reason of this is, because wives are born loves; and hence it is innate to them to desire to be one with their husbands and from this thought of their will they continually feed their love; wherefore to recede from the _conatus_ of uniting themselves to their husbands, would be to recede from themselves: it is otherwise with the husbands, who are not born loves, but recipients of that love from their wives; and on this account, so far as they receive it, so far the wives enter with their love; but so far as they do not receive it, so far the wives stand aloof with their love, and wait in expectation. this is the case with chaste wives; but it is otherwise with the unchaste. from these considerations it is evident, that conjugial love resides with the wives, but that their love depends on the husbands. . viii. wives love the bonds of marriage if the men do. this follows from what was said in the foregoing article: moreover, wives naturally desire to be, and to be called wives; this being to them a name of respect and honor; they therefore love the bonds of marriage. and as chaste wives desire, not in name only, but in reality, to be wives, and this is effected by a closer and closer binding with their husbands, therefore they love the bonds of marriage as establishing the marriage-covenant, and this so much the more as they are loved again by their husbands, or what is tantamount, as the men love those bonds. . ix. the intelligence of women is in itself modest, elegant, pacific, yielding, soft, tender; but the intelligence of men in itself is grave, harsh, hard, daring, fond of licentiousness. that such is the characteristic distinction of the woman and the man, is very evident from the body, the face, the tone of voice, the conversation, the gesture, and the manners of each: from the body, in that there is more hardness in the skin and flesh of men, and more softness in that of women; from the face, in that it is harder, more fixed, harsher, of darker complexion, also bearded, thus less beautiful in men; whereas in women it is softer, more yielding, more tender, of fairer complexion, and thence more beautiful; from the tone of voice, in that it is deeper with men, and sweeter with women; from the conversation in that with men it is given to licentiousness and daring, but with women it is modest and pacific; from the gesture, in that with men it is stronger and firmer, whereas with women it is more weak and feeble; from the manners, in that with men they are more unrestrained, but with women more elegant. how far from the very cradle the genius of men differs from that of women, was discovered to me clearly from seeing a number of boys and girls met together. i saw them at times through a window in the street of a great city, where more than twenty assembled every day. the boys, agreeably to the disposition born with them, in their pastimes were tumultuous, vociferous, apt to fight, to strike, and to throw stones at each other; whereas the girls sat peaceably at the doors of the houses, some playing with little children, some dressing dolls or working on bits of linen, some kissing each other; and to my surprise, they still looked with satisfaction at the boys whose pastimes were so different from their own. hence i could see plainly, that a man by birth is understanding, and a woman, love; and also the quality of understanding and of love in their principles; and thereby what would be the quality of a man's understanding without conjunction with female love, and afterwards with conjugial love. . x. wives are in no excitation as men are; but they have a state of preparation for reception. that men have semination and consequent excitation, and that women have not the latter because they have not the former, is evident, but that women have a state of preparation for reception, and thus for conception, i relate from what has been told me; but what the nature and quality of this state with the women is, i am not allowed to describe; besides, it is known to them alone: but whether their love, while they are in that state, is in the enjoyment of its delight, or in what is undelightful, as some say, they have not made known. this only is generally known, that it is not allowed the husband to say to the wife, that he is able and not willing: for thereby the state of reception is greatly hurt, which is prepared according to the state of the husband's ability. . xi. men have abundant store according to the love of propagating the truths of wisdom, and to the love of doing uses. this position is one of the arcana which were known to the ancients, and which are now lost. the ancients knew that everything which was done in the body is from a spiritual origin: as that from the will, which in itself is spiritual, actions flow; that from the thought, which also is spiritual, speech flows; also that natural sight is grounded in spiritual sight, which is that of the understanding; natural hearing in spiritual hearing, which is attention of the understanding and at the same time accommodation of the will; and natural smelling in spiritual smelling, which is perception; and so forth: in like manner they saw that semination with men is from a spiritual origin. that it is from the truths of which the understanding consists, they concluded from several deductions both of reason and of experience; and they asserted, that nothing is received by males from the spiritual marriage, which is that of good and truth, and which flows into everything in the universe, but truth, and whatever has relation to truth; and that this in its progress into the body is formed into seed; and that hence it is, that seeds spiritually understood are truths. as to formation, they asserted, that the masculine soul, as being intellectual, is thus truth; for the intellectual principle is nothing else; wherefore while the soul descends, truth also descends: that this is effected by this circumstance, that the soul, which is the inmost principle of every man (_homo_) and every animal, and which in its essence is spiritual, from an implanted tendency to self-propagation, follows in the descent, and is desirous to procreate itself; and that when this is the case, the entire soul forms itself, and clothes itself, and becomes seed: and that this may be done thousands of times, because the soul is a spiritual substance, which is not a subject of extension but of impletion, and from which no part can be taken away, but the whole may be produced, without any loss thereof: hence it is, that it is as fully present in the smallest receptacles, which are seeds, as in its greatest receptacle, the body. since therefore the principle of truth in the soul is the origin of seed, it follows, that men have abundant store according to their love of propagating the truths of their wisdom: it is also according to their love of doing uses; because uses are the goods which truths produce. in the world also it is well known to some, that the industrious have abundant store, but not the idle. i inquired, "how is a feminine principle produced from a male soul?" and i received for answer, that it was from intellectual good; because this in its essence is truth: for the intellect can think that this is good, thus that it is true that it is good. it is otherwise with the will: this does not think what is good and true, but loves and does it. therefore in the word sons signify truths, and daughters goods, as may be seen above, n. ; and seed signifies truth, as may be seen in the apocalypse revealed, n. . . xii. determination is in the good pleasure of the husband. this is, because with men there is the abundant store above mentioned; and this varies with them according to the states of their minds and bodies: for the understanding is not so constant in its thoughts as the will is in its affections; since it is sometimes carried upwards, sometimes downwards; at one time it is in a serene and clear state in another in a turbulent and obscure one; sometimes it is employed on agreeable objects, sometimes on disagreeable; and as the mind, while it acts, is also in the body, it follows, that the body has similar states: hence the husband at times recedes from conjugial love, and at times accedes to it, and the abundant store is removed in the one state, and restored in the other. these are the reasons why determination at all times is to be left to the good pleasure of the husband: hence also it is that wives, from a wisdom implanted in them, never offer any admonition on such subjects. . xiii. the conjugial sphere flows from the lord through heaven into everything in the universe, even to its ultimates. that love and wisdom, or, what is the same, good and truth, proceed from the lord, was shewn above in a chapter on the subject. those two principles in a marriage proceed continually from the lord, because they are himself, and from him are all things; and the things which proceed from him fill the universe, for unless this were the case, nothing which exists would subsist. there are several spheres which proceed from him; the sphere of the conservation of the created universe; the sphere of the defence of good and truth against evil and false, the sphere of reformation and regeneration, the sphere of innocence and peace, the sphere of mercy and grace, with several others; but the universal of all is the conjugial sphere, because this also is the sphere of propagation, and thus the supereminent sphere of the conservation of the created universe by successive generations. that this conjugial sphere fills the universe, and pervades all things from first to last, is evident from what has been shewn above, that there are marriages in the heavens, and the most perfect in the third or supreme heaven: and that besides taking place with men it takes place also with all the subjects of the animal kingdom in the earth, even down to worms; and moreover with all the subjects of the vegetable kingdom, from olives and palms even to the smallest grasses. that this sphere is more universal than the sphere of heat and light, which proceeds from the sun of our world, may appear reasonable from this consideration, that it operates also in the absence of the sun's heat, as in winter, and in the absence of its light, as in the night, especially with men (_homines_). the reason why it so operates is, because it was from the sun of the angelic heaven, and thence there is a constant equation of heat and light, that is, a conjunction of good and truth; for it is in a continual spring. the changes of good and truth, or of its heat and light, are not variations thereof, like the variations on earth arising from changes of the heat and light proceeding from the natural sun; but they arise from the recipient subjects. . xiv. this sphere is received by the female sex, and through that is transferred to the male sex. there is not any conjugial love appertaining to the male sex, but it appertains solely to the female sex, and from this sex is transferred to the male: this i have seen evidenced by experience; concerning which see above, n. . a further proof of it is supplied from this consideration, that the male form is the intellectual form, and the female the voluntary; and the intellectual form cannot grow warm with conjugial heat from itself, but from the conjunctive heat of some one, in whom it was implanted from creation; consequently it cannot receive that love except by the voluntary form of the woman adjoined to itself; because this also is a form of love. this same position might be further confirmed by the marriage of good and truth; and, to the natural man, by the marriage of the heart and lungs; for the heart corresponds to love, and the lungs to understanding; but as the generality of mankind are deficient in the knowledge of these subjects, confirmation thereby would tend rather to obscure than to illustrate. it is in consequence of the transference of this sphere from the female sex into the male, that the mind is also inflamed solely from thinking about the sex; that hence also comes propagative formation and thereby excitation, follows of course; for unless heat is united to light on earth, nothing flourishes and is excited to cause fructification there. . xv. where there is love truly conjugial, this sphere is received by the wife, and only through her by the husband. that this sphere, with those who are in love truly conjugial, is received by the husband only through the wife, is at this day an arcanum; and yet in itself it is not an arcanum, because the bridegroom and new-married husband may know this; is he not affected conjugially by whatever proceeds from the bride and new-married wife, but not at that time by what proceeds from others of the sex? the case is the same with those who live together in love truly conjugial. and since everyone, both man and woman, is encompassed by his own sphere of life, densely on the breast, and less densely on the back, it is manifest whence it is that husbands who are very fond of their wives, turn themselves to them, and in the day-time regard them with complacency; and on the other hand, why those who do not love their wives, turn themselves away from them, and in the day-time regard them with aversion. by the reception of the conjugial sphere by the husband only through the wife, love truly conjugial is known and distinguished from that which is spurious, false, and cold. . xvi. where there is love not conjugial, this sphere is received indeed by the wife, but not by the husband through her. this conjugial sphere flowing into the universe is in its origin divine; in its progress in heaven with the angels it is celestial and spiritual; with men it is natural, with beasts and birds animal, with worms merely corporeal, with vegetables it is void of life; and moreover in all its subjects it is varied according to their forms. now as this sphere is received immediately by the female sex, and mediately by the male, and as it is received according to forms, it follows, that this sphere, which in its origin is holy, may in the subjects be turned into what is not holy, yea may be even inverted into what is opposite. the sphere opposite to it is called meretricious with such women, and adulterous with such men; and as such men and women are in hell, this sphere is from thence: but of this sphere there is also much variety, and hence there are several species of it; and such a species is attracted and appropriated by a man (_vir_) as is agreeable to him, and as is conformable and correspondent with his peculiar temper and disposition. from these considerations it may appear, that the man who does not love his wife, receives that sphere from some other source than from his wife; nevertheless it is a fact, that it is also inspired by the wife, but without the husband's knowing it, and while he grows warm. . xvii. love truly conjugial may exist with one of the married partners, and not at the same time with the other. for one may from the heart devote himself to chaste marriage, while the other knows not what chaste marriage is; one may love the things which are of the church, but the other those which are of the world alone: as to their minds, one may be in heaven, the other in hell; hence there may be conjugial love with the one, and not with the other. the minds of such, since they are turned in a contrary direction, are inwardly in collision with each other; and if not outwardly, still, he that is not in conjugial love, regards his lawful consort as a tiresome old woman; and so in other cases. . xviii. there are various similitudes and dissimilitudes, both internal and external, with married partners. it is well known, that between married partners there are similitudes and dissimilitudes, and that the external appear, but not the internal, except after some time of living together, to the married partners themselves, and by indications to others; but it would be useless to mention each so that they might be known, since several pages might be filled with an account and description of their varieties. similitudes may in part be deduced and concluded from the dissimilitudes on account of which conjugial love is changed into cold; of which we shall speak in the following chapter. similitudes and dissimilitudes in general originate from connate inclinations, varied by education, connections, and persuasions that have been imbibed. . xix. various similitudes can be conjoined, but not with dissimilitudes. the varieties of similitudes are very numerous, and differ more or less from each other; but still those which differ may in time be conjoined by various things, especially by accommodations to desires, by mutual offices and civilities, by abstaining from what is unchaste, by the common love of infants and the care of children, but particularly by conformity in things relating to the church; for things relating to the church effect a conjunction of similitudes differing interiorly, other things only exteriorly. but with dissimilitudes no conjunction can be effected, because they are antipathetical. . xx. the lord provides similitudes for those who desire love truly conjugial, and if not on earth, he yet provides them in heaven. the reason of this is, because all marriages of love truly conjugial are provided by the lord. that they are from him, may be seen above, n. , ; but in what manner they are provided in heaven, i have heard thus described by the angels: the divine providence of the lord extends to everything, even to the minutest particulars, concerning marriages and in marriages, because all the delights of heaven spring from the delights of conjugial love, as sweet waters from the fountain-head; and on this account it is provided that conjugial pairs be born; and that they be continually educated to their several marriages under the lord's auspices, neither the boy nor the girl knowing anything of the matter; and after a stated time, when they both become marriageable, they meet in some place as by chance, and see each other, and in this case they instantly know, as by a kind of instinct, that they are a pair, and by a kind of inward dictate think within themselves, the youth, that she is mine, and the maiden, that he is mine; and when this thought has existed some time in the mind of each, they accost each other from a deliberate purpose, and betroth themselves. it is said, as by chance, by instinct, and by dictate; and the meaning is, by divine providence; since, while the divine providence is unknown, it has such an appearance; for the lord opens internal similitudes, so that they may see themselves. . xxi. a man (_homo_) according to the deficiency and loss of conjugial love, approaches to the nature of a beast. the reason of this is, because so far as a man (_homo_) is in conjugial love, so far he is spiritual, and so far as he is spiritual, so far he is a man (_homo_); for a man is born to a life after death, and attains the possession thereof in consequence of having in him a spiritual soul, and is capable of being elevated thereto by the faculty of his understanding; if in this case his will, from the faculty also granted to it, is elevated at the same time, he lives after death the life of heaven. the contrary comes to pass, if he is in a love opposite to conjugial love; for so far as he is in this opposite love, so far he is natural; and a merely natural man is like a beast as to lusts and appetites, and to their delights; with this difference only, that he has the faculty of elevating his understanding into the light of wisdom, and also of elevating his will into the heat of celestial love. these faculties are never taken away from airy man (_homo_); therefore the merely natural man, although as to concupiscences and appetites and their delights, he is like a beast, still lives after death, but in a state corresponding to his past life. from these considerations it may appear that a man, according to the deficiency of conjugial love, approaches to the nature of a beast. this position may seem to be contradicted by the consideration, that there are a deficiency and loss of conjugial love with some who yet are men (_homines_); but the position is meant to be confined to those who make light of conjugial love from a principle of adulterous love, and who therefore are in such deficiency and loss. * * * * * . to the above i shall add three memorable relations. first. i once heard loud exclamations, which issued from the hells, with a noise as if they bubbled up through water: one to the left hand, in these words, "o how just!" another to the right, "o how learned!" and a third from behind, "o how wise!" and as i was in doubt whether there are also in hell persons of justice, learning, and wisdom, i was impressed with a strong desire of seeing what was the real case; and a voice from heaven said to me, "you shall see and hear." i therefore in spirit went out of the house, and saw before me an opening, which i approached; and looked down; and lo! there was a ladder, by which i descended: and when i was down, i observed a level country set thick with shrubs, intermixed with thorns and nettles; and on my asking, whether this was hell, i was told it was the lower earth next above hell. i then continued my course in a direction according to the exclamations in order; first to those who exclaimed, "o how just!" where i saw a company consisting of such as in the world had been judges influenced by friendship and gifts; then to the second exclamation, "o how learned!" where i saw a company of such as in the world had been reasoners; and lastly to the third exclamation, "o how wise!" where i saw a company such as in the world had been confirmators. from these i returned to the first, where there were judges influenced by friendship and gifts, and who were proclaimed "just." on one side i saw as it were an amphitheatre built of brick, and covered with black slates; and i was told that they called it a tribunal. there were three entrances to it on the north, and three on the west, but none on the south and east; a proof that their decisions were not those of justice, but were arbitrary determinations. in the middle of the amphitheatre there was a fire, into which the servants who attended threw torches of sulphur and pitch; the light whereof, by its vibrations on the plastered walls, presented pictured images of birds of the evening and night; but both the fire and the vibrations of light thence issuing, together with the forms of the images thereby produced, were representations that in their decisions they could adorn the matter of any debate with colored dyes, and give it a form according to their own interest. in about half an hour i saw some old men and youths in robes and cloaks, enter the amphitheatre, who, laying aside their caps, took their seats at the tables, in order to sit in judgement. i heard and perceived with what cunning and ingenuity, under the impulse of prejudice in favor of their friends, they warped and inverted judgement so as to give it an appearance of justice, and this to such a degree, that they themselves saw what was unjust as just, and on the other hand what was just as unjust. such persuasions respecting the points to be decided upon, appeared from their countenances, and were heard from their manner of speaking. i then received illustration from heaven, from which i perceived how far each point was grounded in right or not; and i saw how industriously they concealed what was unjust, and gave it a semblance of what was just; and how they selected some particular statute which favored their own side of the question, and by cunning reasonings warped the rest to the same side. after judgement was given, the decrees were conveyed to their clients, friends and favorers, who, to recompense them for their services, continued to shout, "o how just, o how just!" after this i conversed respecting them with the angels of heaven, and related to them some of the things i had seen and heard. the angels said to me, "such judges appear to others to be endowed with a most extraordinary acuteness of intellect; when yet they do not at all see what is just and equitable. if you remove the prejudices of friendship in favor of particular persons, they sit mute in judgement like so many statues, and only say, 'i acquiesce, and am entirely of your opinion on this point.' this happens because all their judgements are prejudices; and prejudice with partiality influences the case in question from beginning to end. hence they see nothing but what is connected with their friend's interest; and whatever is contrary thereto, they set aside; or if they pay any attention to it, they involve it in intricate reasonings, as a spider wraps up its prey in a web, and make an end of it; hence, unless they follow the web of their prejudice, they see nothing of what is right. they were examined whether they were able to see it, and it was discovered that they were not. that this is the case, will seem wonderful to the inhabitants of your world; but tell them it is a truth that has been investigated by the angels of heaven. as they see nothing of what is just, we in heaven regard them not as men but as monsters, whose heads are constituted of things relating to friendship, their breasts of those relating to injustice, their feet of those which relate to confirmation, and the soles of the feet of those things which relate to justice, which they supplant and trample under foot, in case they are unfavorable to the interests of their friend. but of what quality they appear to us from heaven, you shall presently see; for their end is at hand." and lo! at that instant the ground was cleft asunder, and the tables fell one upon another, and they were swallowed up, together with the whole amphitheatre, and were cast into caverns, and imprisoned. it was then said to me, "do you wish to see them where they now are?" and lo! their faces appeared as of polished steel, their bodies from the neck to the loins as graven images of stone clothed with leopards' skins, and their feet like snakes: the law books too, which they had arranged in order on the tables, were changed into packs of cards: and now, instead of sitting in judgement, the office appointed to them is to prepare vermilion and mix it up into a paint, to bedaub the faces of harlots and thereby turn them into beauties. after seeing these things, i was desirous to visit the two other assemblies, one of which consisted of mere reasoners, and the other of mere confirmators; and it was said to me, "stop awhile, and you shall have attendant angels from the society next above them; by these you will receive light from the lord and will see what will surprise you." . the second memorable relation. after some time i heard again from the lower earth voices exclaiming as before, "o how learned! o how wise!" i looked round to see what angels were present; and lo! they were from the heaven immediately above those who cried out, "o how learned!" and i conversed with them respecting the cry, and they said, "those learned ones are such as only reason _whether a thing be so or not_, and seldom think _that it is so_; therefore, they are like winds which blow and pass away, like the bark about trees which are without sap, or like shells about almonds without a kernel, or like the outward rind about fruit without pulp; for their minds are void of interior judgement, and are united only with the bodily senses; therefore unless the senses themselves decide, they can conclude nothing; in a word, they are merely sensual, and we call them reasoners. we give them this name, because they never conclude anything, and make whatever they hear a matter of argument, and dispute whether it be so, with perpetual contradiction. they love nothing better than to attack essential truths, and so to pull them in pieces as to make them a subject of dispute. these are those who believe themselves learned above the rest of the world." on hearing this account, i entreated the angels to conduct me to them: so they led me to a cave, from which there was a flight of steps leading to the earth below. we descended and followed the shout, "o how learned!" and lo! there were some hundreds standing in one place, beating the ground with their feet. being at first surprised at this sight, i inquired the reason of their standing in that manner and beating the ground with the soles of their feet, and said, "they may thus by their feet make holes in the floor." at this the angel smiled and said, "they appear to stand in this manner, because they never think on any subject that it is so, but only whether it is so, and dispute about it; and when the thinking principle proceeds no further than this, they appear only to tread and trample on a single clod, and not to advance." upon this i approached the assembly, and lo! they appeared to me to be good-looking men and well dressed; but the angels said, "this is their appearance when viewed in their own light; but if light from heaven flows in, their faces are changed, and so is their dress;" and so it came to pass: they then appeared with dark faces, and dressed in black sackcloth; but when this light was withdrawn, they appeared as before. i presently entered into conversation with some of them, and said, "i heard the shout of a crowd about you, '_o how learned!_' may i be allowed therefore to have a little conversation with you on subjects of the highest learning?" they replied, "mention any subject, and we will give you satisfaction." i then asked, "what must be the nature of that religion by which a man is saved?" they said, "we will divide this subject into several parts; and we cannot answer it until we have concluded on its subdivisions. the first inquiry shall be, whether religion be anything? the second, whether there be such a thing as salvation or not? the third, whether one religion be more efficacious than another? the fourth, whether there be a heaven and a hell? the fifth, whether there be eternal life after death?" besides many more inquiries. then i desired to know their opinion concerning the first article of inquiry, whether religion be anything? they began to discuss the subject with abundance of arguments, whether there be any such thing as religion, and whether what is called religion be anything? i requested them to refer it to the assembly, and they did so; and the general answer was, that the proposition required so much investigation that it could not be finished within the evening. i then asked. "can you finish it within the year?" and one of them said, "not within a hundred years:" so i observed, "in the mean while you are without religion;" and he replied, "shall it not be first demonstrated whether there be such a thing as religion, and whether what is called religion be anything? if there be such a thing, it must be also for the wise; if there be no such thing, it must he only for the vulgar. it is well known that religion is called a bond; but it is asked, for whom? if it be only for the vulgar, it is not anything in itself; if it be likewise for the wise, it is something." on hearing these arguments, i said to them, "there is no character you deserve less than that of being learned; because all your thoughts are confined to the single inquiry, whether a thing be, and to canvass each side of the question. who can become learned, unless he know something for certain, and progressively advance into it, as a man in walking progressively advances from step to step, and thereby successively arrives at wisdom! if you follow any other rule, you make no approach to truths, but remove them more and more out of sight. to reason only whether a thing be, is it not like reasoning about a cap or a shoe, whether they fit or not, before they are put on? and what must be the consequence of such reasoning, but that you will not know whether anything exist, yea, whether there be any such thing as salvation, or eternal life after death; whether one religion be more efficacious than another, and whether there be a heaven and a hell? on these subjects you cannot possibly think at all, so long as you halt at the first step, and beat the sand at setting out, instead of setting one foot before another and going forward. take heed to yourselves, lest your minds, standing thus without in a state of indetermination, should inwardly harden and become statues of salt, and yourselves friends of lot's wife." with these words i took my leave, and they being indignant threw stones after me; and then they appeared to me like graven images of stone, without any human reason in them. on my asking the angels concerning their lot, they said, "their lot is, that they are cast down into the deep, into a wilderness, where they are forced to carry burdens; and in this case, as they are no longer capable of rational conversation, they give themselves up to idle prattle and talk, and appear at a distance like asses that are heavily laden." . the third memorable relation. after this one of the angels said, "follow me to the place where they exclaim, 'o how wise!' and you shall see prodigies of men; you shall see faces and bodies, which are the faces and bodies of a man, and yet they are not men." i said, "are they beasts then?" he replied, "they are not beasts, but beast-men; for they are such as cannot at all see whether truth be truth or not, and yet they can make whatever they will to be truth. such persons with us are called confirmators." we followed the vociferation, and came to the place; and lo! there was a company of men, and around them a crowd, and in the crowd some of noble blood, who, on hearing that they confirmed whatever they said, and favored themselves with such manifest consent, turned, and said, "o how wise!" but the angel said to me, "let us not go to them, but call one out of the company." we called him and went aside with him, and conversed on various subjects; and he confirmed every one of them, so that they appeared altogether as true; and we asked him, whether he could also confirm the contrary? he said, "as well as the former." then he spoke openly and from the heart, and said, "what is truth? is there anything true in the nature of things, but what a man makes true? advance any proposition you please, and i will make it to be true." hereupon i said, "make this true; that faith is the all of the church." this he did so dexterously and cunningly, that the learned who were standing by admired and applauded him. i afterwards requested him to make it true, that charity is the all of the church; and he did so: and afterwards, that charity is nothing of the church: and he dressed up each side of the question, and adorned it so with appearances, that the bystanders looked at each other, and said, "is not this a wise man?" but i said, "do not you know that to live well is charity, and that to believe well is faith? does not he that lives well also believe well? and consequently, is not faith of charity, and charity of faith? do you not see that this is true?" he replied, "i will make it true, and will then see." he did so, and said, "now i see it;" but presently he made the contrary to be true, and then said, "i also see that this is true." at this we smiled and said, "are they not contraries? how can two contraries appear true?" to this he replied with indignation, "you are mistaken; each is true; since truth is nothing but what a man makes true." there was a certain person standing near, who in the world had been a legate of the first rank. he was surprised at this assertion, and said, "i acknowledge that in the world something like this method of reasoning prevails; but still you are out of your senses. try if you can make it to be true, that light is darkness, and darkness light." he replied, "i will easily do this. what are light and darkness but a state of the eye? is not light changed into shade when the eye comes out of sunshine, and also when it is kept intensely fixed on the sun? who does not know, that the state of the eye in such a case is changed, and that in consequence light appears as shade; and on the other hand, when the state of the eye is restored, that shade appears as light? does not an owl see the darkness of night as the light of day, and the light of day as the darkness of night, and also the sun itself as an opaque and dusky globe? if any man had the eyes of an owl, which would he call light and which darkness? what then is light but the state of the eye? and if it be a state of the eye, is not light darkness, and darkness light? therefore each of the propositions is true." afterwards the legate asked him to make this true, that a raven is white and not black; and he replied, "i will do this also with ease;" and he said, "take a needle or razor, and lay open the feathers or quills of a raven; are they not white within? also remove the feathers and quills, and look at its skin; is it not white? what is the blackness then which envelops it but a shade, which ought not to determine the raven's color? that blackness is merely a shade. i appeal to the skilful in the science of optics, who will tell you, that if you pound a black stone or glass into fine powder, you will see that the powder is white." but the legate replied, "does not the raven appear black to the sight?" the confirmator answered, "will you, who are a man, think in any case from appearance? you may indeed say from appearance, that a crow is black, but you cannot think so; as for example, you may speak from the appearance and say that the sun rises, advances to its meridian altitude, and sets; but, as you are a man, you cannot think so; because the sun stands unmoved and the earth only changes its position. the case is the same with the raven; appearance is appearance; and say what you will, a raven is altogether and entirely white; it grows white also as it grows old; and this i have seen." we next requested him to tell us from his heart, whether he was in joke, or whether he really believed that nothing is true but what a man makes true? and he replied, "i swear that i believe it." afterwards the legate asked him, whether he could make it true that he was out of his senses; and he said, "i can; but i do not choose: who is not out of his senses?" when the conversation was thus ended, this universal confirmator was sent to the angels, to be examined as to his true quality; and the report they afterwards made was, that he did not possess even a single grain of understanding; because all that is above the rational principle was closed in him, and that alone which is below was open. above the rational principle is heavenly light, and below it is natural light; and this light is such that it can confirm whatever it pleases; but if heavenly light does not flow into natural light, a man does not see whether any thing true is true, and consequently neither does he see that any thing false is false. to see in either case is by virtue of heavenly light in natural light; and heavenly light is from the god of heaven, who is the lord; therefore this universal confirmator is not a man or a beast, but a beast-man. i questioned the angel concerning the lot of such persons, and whether they can be together with those who are alive, since every one has life from heavenly light, and from this light has understanding. he said, that such persons when they are alone, can neither think nor express their thoughts, but stand mute like machines, and as in a deep sleep; but that they awake as soon as any sound strikes their ears: and he added, that those become such, who are inmostly wicked; into these no heavenly light can flow from above, but only somewhat spiritual through the world, whence they derive the faculty of confirming. as he said this, i heard a voice from the angels who had examined the confirmation, saying to me, "from what you have now heard form a general conclusion." i accordingly formed the following: "that intelligence does not consist in being able to confirm whatever a man pleases, but in being able to see that what is true is true, and what is false is false." after this i looked towards the company where the confirmators stood, and where the crowd about them shouted, "_o how wise!_" and lo! a dusky cloud covered them, and in the cloud were owls and bats on the wing; and it was said to me, "the owls and bats flying in the dusky cloud, are correspondences and consequent appearances of their thoughts; because confirmations of falsities so as to make them appear like truths, are represented in this world under the forms of birds of night, whose eyes are inwardly illuminated by a false light, from which they see objects in the dark as if in the light. by such a false spiritual light are those influenced who confirm falses until they seem as truths, and afterwards are said and believed to be truths: all such see backwards, and not forwards." * * * * * * on the causes of coldness, separation, and divorce in marriages. . in treating here on the causes of coldness in marriages, we shall treat also at the same time on the causes of separation, and likewise of divorce, because they are connected; for separations come from no other source than from coldnesses, which are successively inborn after marriage, or from causes discovered after marriage, from which also coldness springs; but divorces come from adulteries; for these are altogether opposite to marriages; and opposites induce coldness, if not in both parties, at least in one. this is the reason why the causes of coldness, separations, and divorces, are brought together into one chapter. but the coherence of the causes will be more clearly discerned from viewing them in the following series:--i. _there are spiritual heat and spiritual cold; and spiritual heat is love, and spiritual cold the privation thereof._ ii. _spiritual cold in marriages is a disunion of souls and a disjunction of minds, whence come indifference, discord, contempt, disdain, and aversion; from which, in several cases, at length comes separation as to bed, chamber, and house._ iii. _there are several successive causes of cold, some internal, some external, and some accidental._ iv. _internal causes of cold are from religion._ v. _the first of these causes is the rejection of religion by each of the parties._ vi. _the second is, that one has religion and not the other._ vii. _the third is, that one is of one religion and the other of another._ viii. _the fourth is the falsity of the religion imbibed._ ix. _with many, these are causes of internal cold, but not at the same time of external._ x. _there are also several external causes of cold; the first of which is dissimilitude of minds and manners._ xi. _the second is, that conjugial love is believed to be the same as adulterous love, only that the latter is not allowed by law, but the former is._ xii. _the third is, a striving for pre-eminence between married partners._ xiii. _the fourth is, a want of determination to any employment or business, whence comes wandering passion._ xiv. _the fifth is, inequality of external rank and condition._ xv. _there are also causes of separation._ xvi. _the first of them is a vitiated state of mind._ xvii. _the second is a vitiated state of body._ xviii. _the third is impotence before marriage._ xix. _adultery is the cause of divorce._ xx. _there are also several accidental causes of cold; the first of which is, that enjoyment is common (or cheap), because continually allowed._ xxi. _the second is that living with a married partner, from a covenant and compact, seems to be forced and not free._ xxii. _the third is, affirmation on the part of the wife, and her talking incessantly about love._ xxiii. _the fourth is, the man's continually thinking that his wife is willing; and on the other hand, the wife's thinking that the man is not willing._ xxiv. _as cold is in the mind it is also in the body; and according to the increase of that cold, the externals also of the body are closed._ we proceed to an explanation of each article. . i. there are spiritual heat and spiritual cold; and spiritual heat is love, and spiritual cold is the privation thereof. spiritual heat is from no other source than the sun of the spiritual world; for there is in that world a sun proceeding from the lord, who is in the midst of it; and as it is from the lord, it is in its essence pure love. this sun appears fiery before the angels, just as the sun of our world appears before men. the reason of its appearing fiery is, because love is spiritual fire. from that sun proceed both heat and light; but as that sun is pure love, the heat thence derived in its essence is love, and the light thence derived in its essence is wisdom; hence it is manifest what is the source of spiritual heat, and that spiritual heat is love. but we will also briefly explain the source of spiritual cold. it is from the sun of the natural world, and its heat and light. the sun of the natural world was created that its heat and light might receive in them spiritual heat and light, and by means of the atmospheres might convey spiritual heat and light even to ultimates in the earth, in order to produce effects of ends, which are of the lord in his sun, and also to clothe spiritual principles with suitable garments, that is, with materials, to operate ultimate ends in nature. these effects are produced when spiritual heat is joined to natural heat; but the contrary comes to pass when natural heat is separated from spiritual heat, as is the case with those who love natural things, and reject spiritual: with such, spiritual heat becomes cold. the reason why these two loves, which from creation are in agreement, become thus opposite, is, because in such case the dominant heat becomes the servant, and _vice versa_; and to prevent this effect, spiritual heat, which from its lineage is lord, then recedes; and in those subjects, spiritual heat grows cold, because it becomes opposite. from these considerations it is manifest that spiritual cold is the privation of spiritual heat. in what is here said, by heat is meant love; because that heat living in subjects is felt as love. i have heard in the spiritual world, that spirits merely natural grow intensely cold while they apply themselves to the side of some angel who is in a state of love; and that the case is similar in regard to the infernal spirits, while heat flows into them out of heaven; and that nevertheless among themselves, when the heat of heaven is removed from them, they are inflamed with great heat. . ii. spiritual cold in marriages is a disunion of souls and a disjunction of minds, whence come indifference, discord, contempt, disdain, and aversion; from which, in several cases, at length comes separation as to bed, chamber, and house. that these effects take place with married partners, while their primitive love is on the decline, and becomes cold, is too well known to need any comment. the reason is, because conjugial cold above all others resides in human minds; for the essential conjugial principle is inscribed on the soul, to the end that a soul may be propagated from a soul, and the soul of the father into the offspring. hence it is that this cold originates there, and successively goes downward into the principles thence derived, and infects them; and thus changes the joys and delights of the primitive love into what is sad and undelightful. . iii. there are several successive causes of cold, some internal, some external, and some accidental. that there are several causes of cold in marriages, is known in the world; also that they arise from many external causes; but it is not known that the origins of the causes lie concealed in the inmost principles, and that from these they descend into the principles thence derived, until they appear in externals; in order therefore that it may be known that external causes are not causes in themselves, but derived from causes in themselves, which, as was said, are in inmost principles, we will first distribute the causes generally into internal and external, and afterwards will particularly examine them. . iv. internal causes of cold are from religion. that the very origin of conjugial love resides in the inmost principles of man, that is, in his soul, is demonstrable to every one from the following considerations alone; that the soul of the offspring is from the father, which is known from the similitude of inclinations and affections, and also from the general character of the countenance derived from the father and remaining with very remote posterity; also from the propagative faculty implanted in souls from creation; and moreover by what is analogous thereto in the subjects of the vegetable kingdom, in that there lies hid in the inmost principles of germination the propagation of the seed itself, and thence of the whole, whether it be a tree, a shrub, or a plant. this propagative or plastic force in seeds in the latter kingdom, and in souls in the other, is from no other source than the conjugial sphere, which is that of good and truth, and which perpetually emanates and flows in from the lord the creator and supporter of the universe; concerning which sphere, see above, n. - ; and from the endeavour of those two principles, good and truth, therein, to unite into a one. this conjugial endeavour remains implanted in souls, and conjugial love exists by derivation from it as its origin. that this same marriage, from which the above universal sphere is derived, constitutes the church with man, has been abundantly shewn above in the chapter on the marriage of good and truth, and frequently elsewhere. hence there is all the evidence of rational demonstration, that the origin of the church and of conjugial love are in one place of abode, and in a continual embrace; but on this subject see further particulars above, n. , where it was proved, that conjugial love is according to the state of the church with man; thus that it is grounded in religion, because religion constitutes this state. man also was created with a capacity of becoming more and more interior, and thereby of being introduced or elevated nearer and nearer to that marriage, and thus into love truly conjugial, and this even so far as to perceive a state of its blessedness. that religion is the only means of introduction and elevation, appears clearly from what was said above, namely, that the origin of the church and of conjugial love are in the same place of abode, and in mutual embrace there, and that hence they must needs be conjoined. . from what has been said above it follows, that where there is no religion, there is no conjugial love; and that where there is no conjugial love, there is cold. that conjugial cold is the privation of that love, maybe seen above, n. ; consequently that conjugial cold is also a privation of a state of the church, or of religion. sufficient evidence of the truth of this may be deduced from the general ignorance that now prevails concerning love truly conjugial. in these times, who knows, and who is willing to acknowledge, and who will not be surprised to hear, that the origin of conjugial love is deduced hence? but the only cause and source of this ignorance is, that, notwithstanding there is religion, still there are not the truths of religion; and what is religion without truths? that there is a want of the truths of religion, is fully shown in the apocalypse revealed; see also the memorable relation, n. of that work. . v. of internal causes of cold the first is the rejection of religion by each of the parties. those who reject the holy things of the church from the face to the hinder part of the head, or from the breast to the back, have not any good love; if any proceeds apparently from the body, still there is not any in the spirit. with such persons goods place themselves on the outside of evils, and cover them, as raiment glittering with gold covers a putrid body. the evils which reside within, and are covered, are in general hatreds, and thence intestine combats against everything spiritual; for all things of the church which they reject, are in themselves spiritual; and as love truly conjugial is the fundamental love of all spiritual loves, as was shewn above, it is evident that interior hatred is contrary to it, and that the interior or real love with such is in favor or the opposite, which is the love of adultery; therefore such persons, more than others, will be disposed to ridicule this truth, that every one has conjugial love according to the state of the church; yea, they will possibly laugh at the very mention of love truly conjugial; but be it so; nevertheless they are to be pardoned, because it is as impossible for them to distinguish in thought between the marriage embrace and the adulterous, as it is for a camel to go through the eye of a needle. such persons, as to conjugial love, are starved with cold more than others. if they keep to their married partners, it is only on account of some of the external causes mentioned above, n. , which withhold and bind them. their interiors of the soul and thence of the mind are more and more closed, and in the body are stopped up; and in this case even the love of the sex is thought little of, or becomes insanely lascivious in the interiors of the body, and thence in the lowest principles of their thought. it is these who are meant in the memorable relation, n. , which they may read if they please. . vi. of internal causes of cold the second is, that one of the parties has religion and not the other. the reason of this is, because the souls must of course disagree; for the soul of one is open to the reception of conjugial love, while the soul of the other is closed to it. it is closed with the party that has not religion, and it is open with the one that has; hence such persons cannot live together harmoniously; and when once conjugial love is banished, there ensues cold; but this is with the party that has no religion. this cold cannot be dissipated except by the reception of a religion agreeing with that of the other party, if it be true; otherwise, with the party that has no religion, there ensues cold, which descends from the soul into the body, even to the cuticles; in consequence of which he can no longer look his married partner directly in the face, or accost her in a communion of respirations, or speak to her except in a subdued tone of voice, or touch her with the hand, and scarcely with the back; not to mention the insanities which, proceeding from that cold, make their way into the thoughts, which they do not make known; and this is the reason why such marriages dissolve of themselves. moreover, it is well known, that an impious man thinks meanly of a married partner; and all who are without religion are impious. . vii. of internal causes of cold the third is, that one of the parties is of one religion and the other of another. the reason of this is, because with such persons good cannot be conjoined with its corresponding truth; for as was shewn above, the wife is the good of the husband's truth, and he is the truth of the wife's good. hence of two souls there cannot be made one soul; and hence the stream of that love is closed: and consequently a conjugial principle is entered upon, which has a lower place of abode, and which is that of good with another truth, or of truth with another good than its own, between which there cannot be any harmonious love: hence with the married partner that is in a false religion, there commences a cold, which grows more intense in proportion as he differs from the other party. on a certain time, as i was wandering through the streets of a great city inquiring for a lodging, i entered a house inhabited by married partners of a different religion; being ignorant of this circumstance, the angels instantly accosted me, and said, "we cannot remain with you in that house; for the married partners who dwell there differ in religion." this they perceived from the internal disunion of their souls. . viii. of internal causes of cold the fourth is, the falsity of the religion. this is, because falsity in spiritual things either takes away religion or defiles it. it takes it from those with whom genuine truths are falsified; it defiles it, where there are indeed falsities, but not genuine truths, which therefore could not be falsified. in the latter case there may be imputed goods with which those falses may be conjoined by applications from the lord; for these falses are like various discordant tones, which by artful arrangements and combinations are brought into harmony, and communicate to harmony its agreeableness: in this case some conjugial love is communicable; but with those who have falsified with themselves the genuine truths of the church, it is not communicable. the prevailing ignorance concerning love truly conjugial, or a negative doubting respecting the possibility of the existence of such love, is from persons of the latter description; and from the same source also comes the wild imagination, in the minds of the generality, that adulteries are not evils in a religious point of view. . ix. with many, the above-mentioned are causes of internal cold, but not at the same time of external. if the causes above pointed out and confirmed, which are the causes of internal cold, produced similar external cold, as many separations would ensue as there are cases of internal cold, which are as many as there are marriages of those who are in a false or a different religion, or in no religion; respecting whom we have already treated; and yet it is well-known, that many such live together as if they mutually loved and were friendly to each other: but whence this originates, with those who are in internal cold, will be shewn in the following chapter concerning the causes of apparent love, friendship, and favor in marriages. there are several causes which conjoin minds (_animos_) but still do not conjoin souls; among these are some of those mentioned above, n. ; but still cold lies interiorly concealed, and makes itself continually observed and felt. with such married partners the affections depart from each other; but the thoughts, while they come forth into speech and behaviour, for the sake of apparent friendship and favor, are present; therefore such persons know nothing of the pleasantness and delight, and still less of the satisfaction and blessedness of love truly conjugial, accounting them to be little else than fables. these are of the number of those who deduce the origin of conjugial love from the same causes with the nine companies of wise ones assembled from the several kingdoms of europe; concerning whom see the memorable relation above, n. - . . it may be urged as an objection to what has been proved above, that still the soul is propagated from the father although it is not conjoined to the soul of the mother, yea, although cold residing therein causes separation; but the reason why souls or offspring are nevertheless propagated is, because the understanding of the man is not closed, but is capable of being elevated into the light into which the soul is; but the love of his will is not elevated into the heat corresponding to the light there, except by the life, which makes him from natural become spiritual; hence it is, that the soul is still procreated, but, in the descent, while it becomes seed, it is veiled over by such things as belong to his natural love; from this springs hereditary evil. to these considerations i will add an arcanum from heaven, namely, that between the disjoined souls of two persons, especially of married partners, there is effected conjunction in a middle love; otherwise there would be no conception with men (_homines_). besides what is here said of conjugial cold, and its place of abode in the supreme region of the mind, see the last memorable relation of this chapter, n. . . x. there are also several external causes of cold, the first of which is dissimilitude of minds and manners. there are both internal and external similitudes and dissimilitudes. the internal arise from no other source than religion; for religion is implanted in souls, and by them is transmitted from parents to their offspring as the supreme inclination; for the soul of every man derives life from the marriage of good and truth, and from this marriage is the church; and as the church is various and different in the several parts of the world, therefore also the souls of all men are various and different; wherefore internal similitudes and dissimilitudes are from this source, and according to them the conjugial conjunctions of which we have been treating; but external similitudes and dissimilitudes are not of the souls but of minds; by minds (_animos_) we mean the affections and thence the external inclinations, which are principally insinuated after birth by education, social intercourse, and consequent habits of life; for it is usual to say, i have a mind to do this or that; which indicates an affection and inclination to it. persuasions conceived respecting this or that kind of life also form those minds; hence come inclinations to enter into marriage even with such as are unsuitable, and likewise to refuse consent to marriage with such as are suitable; but still these marriages, after a certain time of living together, vary according to the similitudes and dissimilitudes contracted hereditarily and also by education; and dissimilitudes induce cold. so likewise dissimilitudes of manners; as for example, an ill-mannered man or woman, joined with a well-bred one; a neat man or woman, joined with a slovenly one; a litigious man or woman, joined with one that is peaceably disposed; in a word, an immoral man or woman, joined with a moral one. marriages of such dissimilitudes are not unlike the conjunctions of different species of animals with each other, as of sheep and goats, of stags and mules, of turkeys and geese, of sparrows and the nobler kind of birds, yea, as of dogs and cats, which from their dissimilitudes do not consociate with each other, but in the human kind these dissimilitudes are indicated not by faces, but by habits of life; wherefore external colds are from this source. . xi. of external causes of cold the second is, that conjugial love is believed to be the same as adulterous love, only that the latter is not allowed by law, but the former is. that this is a source of cold, is obvious to reason, while it is considered that adulterous love is diametrically opposite to conjugial love; wherefore when it is believed that conjugial love is the same as adulterous, they both become alike in idea; and in such case a wife is regarded as a harlot, and marriage as uncleanness; the man himself also is an adulterer, if not in body, still in spirit. that hence ensue contempt, disdain, and aversion, between the man and his woman, and thereby intense cold, is an unavoidable consequence; for nothing stores up in itself conjugial cold more than adulterous love; and as adulterous love also passes into such cold, it may not undeservedly be called essential conjugial cold. . xii. of external causes of cold the third is, a striving for pre-eminence between married partners. this is, because conjugial love principally respects the union of wills, and the freedom of decision thence arising; both which are ejected from the married state by a striving for pre-eminence or superiority; for this divides and tears wills into pieces, and changes the freedom of decision into servitude. during the influence of such striving, the spirit of one of the parties meditates violence against the other; if in such case their minds were laid open and viewed by spiritual sight, they would appear like two boxers engaged in combat, and regarding each other with hatred and favor alternately; with hatred while in the vehemence of striving, and with favor while in the hope of dominion, and while under the influence of lust. after one has obtained the victory over the other, this contention is withdrawn from the externals, and betakes itself into the internals of the mind, and there abides with its restlessness stored up and concealed. hence cold ensues both to the subdued party or servant, and to the victor or dominant party. the reason why the latter also suffers cold is, because conjugial love no longer exists with them, and the privation of this love is cold; see n. . in the place of conjugial love succeeds heat derived from pre-eminence; but this heat is utterly discordant with conjugial heat, yet it can exteriorly resemble it by means of lust. after a tacit agreement between the parties, it appears as if conjugial love was made friendship; but the difference between conjugial and servile friendship in marriages, is like that between light and shade, between a living fire and an _ignis fatuus_, yea, like that between a well-conditioned man and one consisting only of bone and skin. . xiii. of external causes of cold the fourth is, a want of determination to any employment or business, whence comes wandering passion. man (_homo_) was created for use, because use is the continent of good and truth, from the marriage of which proceeds creation, and also conjugial love, as was shewn above. by employment and business we mean every application to uses; while therefore a man is in any employment and business, or in any use, in such case his mind is limited and circumscribed as in a circle, within which it is successively arranged into a form truly human, from which as from a house he sees various concupiscences out of himself, and by sound reason within exterminates them; consequently also he exterminates the wild insanities of adulterous lust; hence it is that conjugial heat remains better and longer with such than with others. the reverse happens with those who give themselves up to sloth and ease; in such case the mind is unlimited and undetermined, and hence the man (_homo_) admits into the whole of it everything vain and ludicrous which flows in from the world and the body, and leads to the love thereof; that in this case conjugial love also is driven into banishment, is evident; for in consequence of sloth and ease the mind grows stupid and the body torpid, and the whole man becomes insensible to every vital love, especially to conjugial love, from which as from a fountain issue the activities and alacrities of life. conjugial cold with such is different from what it is with others; it is indeed the privation of conjugial love, but arising from defect. . xiv. of external causes of cold the fifth is, inequality of external rank and condition. there are several inequalities of rank and condition, which while parties are living together put an end to the conjugial love which commenced before marriage; but they may all be referred to inequalities as to age, station, and wealth. that unequal ages induce cold in marriage, as in the case of a lad with an old woman, and of a young girl with a decrepit old man, needs no proof. that inequality of station has a similar effect, as in the marriage of a prince with a servant maid, or of an illustrious matron with a servant man, is also acknowledged without further proof. that the case is the same in regard to wealth, unless a similitude of minds and manners, and an application of one party to the inclinations and native desires of the other, consociate them, is evident. but in all such cases, the compliance of one party on account of the pre-eminence of station and condition of the other, effects only a servile and frigid conjunction; for the conjugial principle is not of the spirit and heart, but only nominal and of the countenance; in consequence of which the inferior party is given to boasting, and the superior blushes with shame. but in the heavens there is no inequality of age, station, or wealth; in regard to age, all there are in the flower of their youth, and continue so into eternity; in regard to station, they all respect others according to the uses which they perform. the more eminent in condition respect inferiors as brethren, neither do they prefer station to the excellence of use, but the excellence of use to station; also when maidens are given in marriage, they do not know from what ancestors they are descended; for no one in heaven knows his earthly father, but the lord is the father of all. the case is the same in regard to wealth, which in heaven is the faculty of growing wise, according to which a sufficiency of wealth is given. how marriages are there entered into, may be seen above, n. . . xv. there are also causes of separation. there are separations from the bed and also from the house. there are several causes of such separations; but we are here treating of legitimate causes. as the causes of separation coincide with the causes of concubinage, which are treated of in the latter part of this work in their own chapter, the reader is referred thereto that he may see the causes in their order. the legitimate causes of separation are the following. . xvi. the first cause of legitimate separation is a vitiated state of mind. the reason of this is, because conjugial love is a conjunction of minds; if therefore the mind of one of the parties takes a direction different from that of the other, such conjunction is dissolved, and with the conjunction the love vanishes. the states of vitiation of the mind which cause separation, may appear from an enumeration of them; they are for the most part, the following: madness, frenzy, furious wildness, actual foolishness and idiocy, loss of memory, violent hysterics, extreme silliness so as to admit of no perception of good and truth, excessive stubbornness in refusing to obey what is just and equitable; excessive pleasure in talkativeness and conversing only on insignificant and trifling subjects; an unbridled desire to publish family secrets, also to quarrel, to strike, to take revenge, to do evil, to steal, to tell lies, to deceive, to blaspheme; carelessness about the children, intemperance, luxury, excessive prodigality, drunkenness, uncleanness, immodesty, application to magic and witchcraft, impiety, with several other causes. by legitimate causes we do not here mean judicial causes, but such as are legitimate in regard to the other married partner; separation from the house also is seldom ordained in a court of justice. . xvii. the second cause of legitimate separation is a vitiated state of body. by vitiated states of body we do not mean accidental diseases, which happen to either of the married partners during their marriage, and from which they recover; but we mean inherent diseases, which are permanent. the science of pathology teaches what these are. they are manifold, such as diseases whereby the whole body is so far infected that the contagion may prove fatal; of this nature are malignant and pestilential fevers, leprosies, the venereal disease, gangrenes, cancers, and the like; also diseases whereby the whole body is so far weighed down, as to admit of no consociability, and from which exhale dangerous effluvia and noxious vapors, whether from the surface of the body, or from its inward parts, in particular from the stomach and lungs; from the surface of the body proceed malignant pocks, warts, pustules, scorbutic phthisic, virulent scab, especially if the face be defiled thereby: from the stomach proceed foul, stinking, rank and crude eructations: from the lungs, filthy and putrid exhalations, arising from imposthumes, ulcers, abcesses, or from vitiated blood or lymph therein. besides these there are also various other diseases, as lipothamia, which is a total faintness of body and defect of strength; paralysis, which is a loosing and relaxation of the membranes and ligaments which serve for motion; certain chronic diseases, arising from a loss of the sensibility and elasticity of the nerves, or from too great a thickness; tenacity, and acrimony of the humors; epilepsy; fixed weakness arising from apoplexy; certain phthisical complaints, whereby the body is wasted; the cholic, cæliac affection, rupture, and other like diseases. . xviii. the third cause of legitimate separation is impotence before marriage. the reason why this is a cause of separation is, because the end of marriage is the procreation of children, which cannot take place where this cause of separation operates; and as this is foreknown by the parties, they are deliberately deprived of the hope of it, which hope nevertheless nourishes and strengthens their conjugial love. . xix. adultery is the cause of divorce. there are several reasons for this, which are discernible in rational light, and yet at this day they are concealed. from rational light it may be seen that marriages are holy and adulteries profane; and thus that marriages and adulteries are diametrically opposite to each other; and that when opposites act upon each other, one destroys the other even to the last spark of its life. this is the case with conjugial love, when a married person commits adultery from a confirmed principle, and thus from a deliberate purpose. with those who know anything of heaven and hell, these things are more clearly discernible by the light of reason: for they know that marriages are in and from heaven, and that adulteries are in and from hell, and that these two cannot be conjoined, as heaven cannot be conjoined with hell, and that instantly, if they are conjoined with man (_homo_), heaven recedes, and hell enters. hence then it is, that adultery is the cause of divorce; wherefore the lord saith, that "_whosoever shall put away his wife, except for whoredom, and shall marry another, committeth adultery_," matt. xix. . he saith, if, except for whoredom, he shall put away his wife, and marry another, he committeth adultery; because putting away for this cause is a plenary separation of minds, which is called divorce; whereas other kinds of putting away, grounded in their particular causes are separations, of which we have just treated; after these, if another wife is married, adultery is committed; but not so after a divorce. . xx. there are also several accidental causes of cold; the first of which is, that enjoyment is common (or cheap), because continually allowed. the reason why this consideration is an accidental cause of cold is, because it exists with those who think lasciviously respecting marriage and a wife, but not with those who think holily respecting marriage, and securely respecting a wife. that from being common (or cheap) in consequence of being continually allowed, even joys become indifferent, and also tiresome, is evident from the case of pastimes and public shows, musical entertainments, dancing, feasting, and the like, which in themselves are agreeable, because vivifying. the case is the same with the intimacy and connection between married partners, especially between those who have not removed the unchaste love of the sex from the love which they bear to each other; and when they think of enjoyment's being common (or cheap) in consequence of being continually allowed, they think vainly in the absence of the faculty of enjoyment. that this consideration is to such persons a cause of cold is self-evident. it is called accidental, because it joins inward cold as a cause, and ranks on its side as a reason. to remove the cold arising from this circumstance, it is usual with wives, from the prudence implanted in them, to offer resistance to what is allowable. but the case is altogether otherwise with those who think chastely respecting wives; wherefore with the angels the consideration of enjoyment's being common in consequence of being continually allowed, is the very delight of their souls, and contains their conjugial love; for they are continually in the delight of that love, and in its ultimates according to the presence of their minds uninterrupted by cares, thus from the decisions of the judgement of the husbands. . xxi. of accidental causes of cold the second is, that living with a married partner, from a covenant and contract, seems forced and not free. this cause operates only with those with whom conjugial love in the inmost principles is cold; and since it unites with internal cold, it becomes an additional or accidental cause. with such persons, extra-conjugial love, arising from consent and the favor thereof, is interiorly in heat; for the cold of the one is the heat of the other; which, if it is not sensibly felt, is still within, yea, in the midst of cold; and unless it was thus also within, there would be no reparation. this heat is what constitutes the force or compulsion, which is increased in proportion as, by one of the parties, the covenant grounded in agreement and the contract grounded in what is just, are regarded as bonds not to be violated; it is otherwise if those bonds are loosed by each of the parties. the case is reversed with those who have rejected extra-conjugial love as detestable, and think of conjugial love as of what is heavenly and heaven; and the more so if they perceive it to be so: with such that covenant with its articles of agreement, and that contract with its sanctions, are inscribed on their hearts, and are continually being inscribed thereon more and more. in this case the bond of that love is neither secured by a covenant agreed upon, nor by a law enacted; but both covenant and law are from creation implanted in the love itself, which influences the parties; from the latter (namely, the covenant and the law implanted from creation in the love itself) are derived the former (namely, the covenant and law) in the world, but not _vice versa_. hence, whatever relates to that love is felt as free; neither is there any freedom but what is of love: and i have heard from the angels, that love truly conjugial is most free, because it is the love of loves. . xxii. of accidental causes of cold the third is, affirmation on the part of the wife, and her talking incessantly about love. with the angels in heaven there is no refusal and repugnance on the part of the wives, as there is with some wives on earth: with the angels in heaven also the wives converse about love, and are not silent as some wives on earth; but the causes of these differences i am not allowed to declare, because it would be unbecoming; nevertheless they are declared in four memorable relations at the close of the chapters, by the angels' wives, who freely speak of them to their husbands, by the three in the hall over which there was a golden shower, and by the seven who were sitting in a rosary. these memorable relations are adduced, to the end that every thing may be explained that relates to conjugial love, which is the subject here treated of both in general and in particular. . xxiii. of accidental causes of cold the fourth is, the man's continually thinking that his wife is willing; and on the other hand the wife's thinking that the man is not willing. that the latter circumstance is a cause of love's ceasing with wives, and the former a cause of cold with men, is too obvious to need any comment. for that the man who thinks that his wife, when in his sight by day, and when lying at his side by night, is desirous or willing, should grow cold to the extremities, and on the other hand that the wife, who thinks that the man is able and not willing, should lose her love, are circumstances among many others well known to husbands who have considered the arcana relating to conjugial love. these circumstances are adduced also, to the end that this work may be perfected, and the conjugial love and its chaste delights may be completed. . xxiv. as cold is in the mind it is also in the body; and according to the increase of that cold, the externals also of the body are closed. it is believed at the present day that the mind of man (_homo_) is in the head, and nothing of it in the body, when yet the soul and the mind are both in the head and in the body; for the soul and the mind are the man (_homo_), since both constitute the spirit which lives after death; and that this spirit is in a perfect human form, has been fully shewn in the treatises we have published. hence, as soon as a man thinks anything, he can in an instant utter it by means of his bodily mouth, and at the same time represent it by gesture; and as soon as he wills anything, he can in an instant bring it into act and effect by his bodily members: which could not be the case unless the soul and the mind were together in the body, and constituted his spiritual man. from these considerations it may be seen, that while conjugial love is in the mind, it is similar to itself in the body; and since love is heat, that it opens the externals of the body from the interiors; but on the other hand, that the privation thereof, which is cold, closes the externals of the body from the interiors: hence it is manifest what is the cause of the faculty (of conjugial love) with the angels enduring for ever, and what is the cause of its failing with men who are cold. * * * * * . to the above i shall add three memorable relations. first. in the superior northern quarter near the east in the spiritual world, there are places of instruction for boys, for youths, for men, and also for old men: into these places all who die infants are sent and are educated in heaven; so also all who arrive fresh from the world, and desire information about heaven and hell, are sent to the same places. this tract is near the east, that all may be instructed by influx from the lord; for the lord is the east, because he is in the sun there, which from him is pure love; hence the heat from that sun in its essence is love, and the light from it in its essence is wisdom. these are inspired into them from the lord out of that sun; and they are inspired according to reception, and reception is according to the love of growing wise. after periods of instruction, those who are made intelligent are sent forth thence, and are called disciples of the lord. they are sent forth first into the west, and those who do not remain there, into the south, and some through the south into the east, and are introduced into the societies where they are to reside. on a time, while i was meditating respecting heaven and hell, i began to desire a universal knowledge of the state of each, being aware, that whoever knows universals, may afterwards comprehend particulars, because the latter are contained in the former, as parts in a whole. in this desire i looked to the above tract in the northern quarter near the east, where were the places of instruction, and went there by a way then open to me. i entered one of the colleges, where there were some young men, and addressed the chief teachers there who gave instruction, and asked them whether they were acquainted with the universals respecting heaven and hell. they replied, that they knew some little; "but if we look," said they, "towards the east to the lord, we shall receive illustration and knowledge." they did so, and said, "there are three universals of hell, which are diametrically opposite to the universals of heaven. the universals of hell are these three loves; the love of dominion grounded in self-love, the love of possessing the goods of others grounded in the love of the world, and adulterous love. the universals of heaven opposite to these are the three following loves; the love of dominion grounded in the love of use, the love of possessing worldly goods grounded in the love of performing uses therewith, and love truly conjugial." hereupon, after expressing my good wishes towards them, i took my leave, and returned home. when i was come home, it was said to me from heaven, "examine those three universals above and beneath, and afterwards we shall see them in your hand." it was said _in the hand_, because whatever a man examines intellectually, appears to the angels as if inscribed on his hands. . after this i examined the first universal love of hell, which is the love of dominion grounded in self-love, and afterwards the universal love of heaven corresponding to it, which is the love of dominion grounded in the love of uses; for i was not allowed to examine one love without the other, because, being opposites, the understanding does not perceive the one without the other; wherefore that each may be perceived, they must be set in opposition to each other; for a beautiful and handsome face is rendered conspicuous by contrasting it with an ugly and deformed one. while i was considering the love of dominion grounded in self-love, i perceived that this love was in the highest degree infernal, and consequently prevailed with those who are in the deepest hell; and that the love of dominion grounded in the love of uses was in the highest degree heavenly, and consequently prevailed with those who are in the highest heaven. the love of dominion grounded in self-love is in the highest degree infernal, because to exercise dominion from self-love, is to exercise it from _proprium_, and a man's _proprium_ from his birth is essential evil, which is diametrically opposite to the lord; wherefore the more persons who are under the influence of such evil, advance therein, the more they deny god and the holy things of the church, and worship themselves and nature. let such persons, i entreat them, examine that evil in themselves, and they will see this to be the case. this love also is of such a nature, that in proportion as it is left unrestrained, which is the case so long as it is not checked by impossibilities, in the same proportion it rushes impetuously from step to step, even to the highest, and there also finds no bounds, but is sad and sorrowful because there is no higher step for it to ascend. this love with statesmen is so intense that they wish to be kings and emperors, and if it were possible, to have dominion over all things of the world, and to be called kings of kings and emperors of emperors; while the same love with the clergy is so intense that they wish to be gods and, as far as is possible, to have dominion over all things of heaven, and to be called gods of gods. that neither of these acknowledge any god, will be seen in what follows. on the other hand, those who desire to exercise dominion from the love of uses, do not desire it from themselves, but from the lord; since the love of uses is from the lord, and is the lord himself: these regard dignities only as means to the performance of uses, setting uses far above dignities; whereas the former set dignities far above uses. . while i was meditating on these things, an angel from the lord said to me, "you shall presently see, and be convinced by ocular demonstration, what is the nature and quality of that infernal love." then suddenly the earth opened on the left, and i saw a devil ascending from hell, with a square cap on his head let down over his forehead even to his eyes: his face was full of pimples as of a burning fever, his eyes fierce and firy, his breast swelling immensely; from his mouth he belched smoke like a furnace, his loins seemed all in a blaze, instead of feet he had bony ankles without flesh, and from his body exhaled a stinking and filthy heat. on seeing him i was alarmed, and cried out, "approach no nearer; tell me, whence are you?" he replied in a hoarse tone of voice, "i am from below, where i am with two hundred in the most supereminent of all societies. we are all emperors of emperors, king of kings, dukes of dukes, and princes of princes; no one in our society is barely an emperor, a king, a duke, or a prince. we sit there on thrones of thrones, and despatch thence mandates through the whole world and beyond it." i then said to him, "do you not see that you are insane from the phantasy of super-eminence?" and he replied, "how can you say so, when we absolutely seem to ourselves, and are also acknowledged by each other, to have such distinction?" on hearing this, i was unwilling to repeat my charge of insanity, as he was insane from phantasy; and i was informed that this devil, during his abode in the world, had been only a house-steward, and at that time he was so lifted up in spirit, that he despised all mankind in comparison with himself, and indulged in the phantasy that he was more worthy than a king, and even than an emperor; in consequence of which proud conceit, he had denied god, and had regarded all the holy things of the church as of no concern to himself, but of some to the stupid multitude. at length i asked him, "how long do you two hundred thus glory among yourselves?" he replied "to eternity; but such of us as torture others for denying our super-eminence, sink under ground; for we are allowed to glory, but not to do mischief to any one." i asked him again, "do you know what befalls those who sink under ground?" he said, "they sink down into a certain prison, where they are called viler than the vile, or the vilest, and are set to work." i then said to him. "take heed therefore, lest you also should sink down." . after this the earth again opened, but now on the right; and i saw another devil rising thence, who had on his head a kind of turban, wrapped about with spires as of a snake, the head of which stood out from the crown; his face was leprous from the forehead to the chin, and so were his hands; his loins were naked and as black as soot, through which was discernible in dusky transparence the fire as of a furnace; and the ankles of his feet were like two vipers. the former devil, on seeing him, fell on his knees, and adored him. on my asking why he did so, he said, "he is the god of heaven and earth, and is omnipotent." i then asked the other, "what do you say to this?" he replied, "what shall i say? i have all power over heaven and hell; the lot of all souls is in my hand." again i enquired, "how can he, who is emperor of emperors, so submit himself, and how can you receive adoration?" he answered, "he is still my servant; what is an emperor before god? the thunder of excommunication is in my right hand." i then said to him, "how can you be so insane? in the world you were only a canon; and because you were infected with the phantasy that you also had the keys of heaven, and thence the power of binding and loosing, you have inflamed your spirit to such a degree of madness, that you now believe yourself to be very god." upon this he swore with indignation that it was so, and said, "the lord has not any power in heaven, because he has transferred it all to us. we have only to give the word of command, and heaven and hell reverently obey us. if we send any one to hell, the devils immediately receive him; and so do the angels receive those whom we send to heaven." i asked further, "how many are there in your society?" he said, "three hundred; and we are all gods there; but i am god of gods." after this the earth opened beneath the feet of each, and they sank down into their respective hells; and i saw that beneath their hells were workhouses, into which those who injure others would fall; for every one in hell is left to his phantasy, and is also permitted to glory in it; but he is not allowed to injure another. the reason why such are there, is, because a man is then in his spirit; and the spirit, after it is separated from the body, comes into the full liberty of acting according to its affections and consequent thoughts. i was afterwards permitted to look into their hells: that which contained the emperors of emperors and kings of kings, was full of all uncleanness; and the inhabitants appeared like various kinds of wild beasts, with fierce eyes; and so it was in the other, which contained the gods and the god of gods: in it there appeared the direful birds of night, which are called _ochim_ and _ijim_, flying about them. the images of their phantasies were presented to me under this appearance. from these circumstances it was manifest, what is the nature and quality of political and ecclesiastical self-love; that the latter would make its votaries desirous of being gods, while the former would make them desirous of being emperors; and that under the influence of such loves men wish and strive to attain the objects of their desires, so far as they are left without restraint. . afterwards a hell was opened, where i saw two men, one sitting on a bench, holding his feet in a basket full of serpents which seemed to be creeping upwards by his breast even to his neck; and the other sitting on a blazing ass, at whose sides red serpents were creeping, raising their heads and necks, and pursuing the rider. i was told that they had been popes who had compelled emperors to resign their dominions, and had ill-treated them both in word and deed at rome, whither they went to supplicate and adore them; and that the basket in which were the serpents, and the blazing ass with snakes at his sides, were representations of their love of dominion grounded on self-love, and that such appearances are seen only by those who look at them from a distance. there were some canons present, whom i asked whether those had really been popes? they said, that they were acquainted with them, and knew that they had been such. . after beholding these sad and hideous spectacles, i looked around, and saw two angels in conversation standing near me. one wore a woollen robe that shone bright with flaming purple, and under it a vest of fine bright linen; the other had on similar garments of scarlet, together with a turban studded on the right side with carbuncles. i approached them, and, greeting them with a salutation of peace, respectfully asked them, "for what purpose are you here below?" they replied, "we have let ourselves down from heaven by the lord's command, to speak with you respecting the blessed lot of those who are desirous to have dominion from the love of uses. we are worshipers of the lord. i am prince of a society; my companion is chief priest of the same." the prince moreover said, "i am the servant of my society, because i serve it by doing uses:" the other said, "i am minister of the church there, because in serving them i minister holy things to the uses of their souls. we both are in perpetual joys grounded in the eternal happiness which is in them from the lord. all things in our society are splendid and magnificent; they are splendid from gold and precious stones, and magnificent from palaces and paradises. the reason of this is, because our love of dominion is not grounded in self-love, but in the love of uses: and as the love of uses is from the lord, therefore all good uses in the heavens are splendid and refulgent; and as all in our society are in this love, therefore the atmosphere appears golden from the light which partakes of the sun's flame-principle, and the sun's flame-principle corresponds to that love." as they said this, they appeared to me to be encompassed with such a sphere, from which an aromatic odor issued that was perceivable by the senses. i mentioned this circumstance to them, and intreated them to continue their discourse respecting the love of uses; and they proceeded thus: "the dignities which we enjoy, we indeed sought after and solicited for no other end than that we might be enabled more fully to perform uses, and to extend them more widely. we are also encompassed with honor, and we accept it, not for ourselves, but for the good of the society; for the brethren and consociates, who form the commonalty of the society, scarcely know but that the honors of our dignities are in ourselves, and consequently that the uses which we perform are from ourselves; but we feel otherwise, being sensible that the honors of the dignities are out of ourselves, and that they are as the garments with which we are clothed; but that the uses which we perform, from the love of them, are within us from the lord: and this love receives its blessedness from communication by uses with others; and we know from experience, that so far as we do uses from the love thereof, so far that love increases, and with it wisdom, whereby communication is effected; but so far as we retain uses in ourselves, and do not communicate them, so far blessedness perishes: and in such case use becomes like food stored up in the stomach, which, not being dispersed, affords no nourishment to the body and its parts, but remains undigested, and thereby causes loathing: in a word, the whole heaven is nothing but a continent of use, from first principles to last. what is use but the actual love of our neighbor? and what holds the heavens together with this love?" on hearing this i asked, "how can any one know whether he performs uses from self-love, or from the love of uses? every man, both good and bad, performs uses, and that from some love. suppose that in the world there be a society composed of mere devils, and another composed of mere angels; i am of opinion that the devils in their society, from the fire of self-love, and the splendor of their own glory, would do as many uses as the angels in their society; who then can know from what love, and from what origin uses flow?" to this the two angels replied, "devils do uses for the sake of themselves and of reputation, that they may be raised to honors or may gain wealth; but angels do not do uses from such motives, but for the sake of uses from the love thereof. a man cannot discern the true quality of those uses; but the lord discerns it. every one who believes in the lord, and shuns evils as sins, performs uses from the lord; but every one who neither believes in the lord, nor shuns evils as sins, does uses from self and for the sake of self. this is the difference between the uses done by devils and those done by angels." having said this, the two angels departed; and i saw them from afar carried in a firy chariot like elias, and conveyed into their respective heavens. . the second memorable relation. not long after this interview with the angels, i entered a certain grove, and while i was walking there, i meditated on those who are in the concupiscence and consequent phantasy of possessing the things of the world; and then at some distance from me i saw two angels in conversation, and by turns looking at me; i therefore went nearer to them, and as i approached they thus accosted me: "we have perceived in ourselves that you are meditating on what we are conversing about, or that we are conversing on what you are meditating about, which is a consequence of the reciprocal communication of affections." i asked therefore what they were conversing about? they replied, "about phantasy, concupiscence, and intelligence; and just now about those who delight themselves in the vision and imagination of possessing whatever the world contains." i then entreated them to favor me with their sentiments on those three subjects,--concupiscence, phantasy, and intelligence. they began by saying, "every one is by birth interiorly in concupiscence, but by education exteriorly in intelligence; and no one is in intelligence, still less in wisdom, interiorly, thus as to his spirit, but from the lord: for every one is withheld from the concupiscence of evil, and held in intelligence, according as he looks to the lord, and is at the same time in conjunction with him; without this, a man is mere concupiscence; yet still in externals, or as to the body, he is in intelligence arising from education; for a man lusts after honors and wealth, or eminence and opulence, and in order to attain them, it is necessary that he appear moral and spiritual, thus intelligent and wise; and he learns so to appear from infancy. this the reason why, as soon as he comes among men, or into company, he inverts his spirit, and removes it from concupiscence, and speaks and acts from the fair and honorable maxims which he has learnt from infancy, and retains in the bodily memory: and he is particularly cautious, lest anything of the wild concupiscence prevalent in his spirit should discover itself. hence every man who is not interiorly led by the lord, is a pretender, a sycophant, a hypocrite, and thereby an apparent man, and yet not a man; of whom it may be said, that his shell or body is wise, and his kernel or spirit insane; also that his external is human, and his internal bestial. such persons, with the hinder part of the head look upwards, and with the fore part downwards; thus they walk as if oppressed with heaviness, with the head hanging down and the countenance prone to the earth; and when they put off the body, and become spirits, and are thereby set at liberty from external restraints, they become the madnesses of their respective concupiscences. those who are in self-love desire to domineer over the universe, yea, to extend its limits in order to enlarge their dominion, of which they see no end: those who are in the love of the world desire to possess whatever the world contains, and are full of grief and envy in case any of its treasures are hid and concealed from them by others: therefore to prevent such persons from becoming mere concupiscences, and thereby no longer men, they are permitted in the spiritual world to think from a fear of the loss of reputation, and thereby of honor and gain, and also from a fear of the law and its penalties, and also to give their mind to some study or work whereby they are kept in externals and thus in a state of intelligence, however wild and insane they may be interiorly." after this i asked them, whether all who are in any concupiscence, are also in the phantasy thereof; they replied, that those are in the phantasy of their respective concupiscences, who think interiorly in themselves, and too much indulge their imagination by talking with themselves; for these almost separate their spirit from connection with the body, and by vision overflow the understanding, and take a foolish delight as if they were possessed of the universe and all that it contains: into this delirium every man comes after death, who has abstracted his spirit from the body, and has not wished to recede from the delight of the delirium by thinking at all religiously respecting evils and falses, and least of all respecting the inordinate love of self as being destructive of love to the lord, and respecting the inordinate love of the world, as being destructive of neighborly love. . after this the two angels and also myself were seized with a desire of seeing those who from worldly love are in the visionary concupiscence or phantasy of possessing all wealth; and we perceived that we were inspired with this desire to the end that such visionaries might be known. their dwellings were under the earth of our feet, but above hell: we therefore looked at each other and said, "let us go." there was an opening, and in it a ladder by which we descended; and we were told that we must approach them from the east, lest we should enter into the mist of their phantasy, whereby our understanding and at the same time our sight would be obscured; and lo! there appeared a house built of reeds, and consequently full of chinks, standing in a mist, which continually issued like smoke through the chinks of three of the walls. we entered, and saw perhaps fifty here and fifty there sitting on benches, with their faces turned from the east and south, and looking towards the west and north. before each person there was a table, on which were large purses, and by the purses a great quantity of gold coin: so we asked them, "is that the wealth of all the persons in the world?" they replied, "not of all in the world, but of all in the kingdom." the sound of their voice was hissing; and they had round faces, which glistened like the shell of a snail, and the pupils of their eyes in a green plane as it were shot forth lightning, which was an effect of the light of phantasy. we stood in the midst of them, and said, "you believe that you possess all the wealth of the kingdom;" they replied, "we do possess it." we then asked, "which of you?" they said, "every one;" and we asked, "how every one? there are many of you:" they said, "every one of us knows that all which another has is his own. no one is allowed to think, and still less to say, 'mine are not thine;' but every one may think and say, 'thine are mine.'" the coin on the tables appeared, even to us, to be pure gold; but when we let in light from the east, we saw that they were little grains of gold, which they had magnified to such a degree by a union of their common phantasy. they said, that every one that enters ought to bring with him some gold, which they cut into small pieces, and these again into little grains, and by the unanimous force of their phantasy they increase them into larger coin. we then said, "were you not born men of reason; whence then have you this visionary infatuation?" they said, "we know that it is an imaginary vanity; but as it delights the interiors of our minds, we enter here and are delighted as with the possession of all things: we continue in this place, however, only a few hours, at the end of which we depart; and as often as we do so we again become of sound mind; yet still our visionary delight alternately succeeds and occasions our alternate entrance into and departure from these habitations: thus we are alternately wise and foolish; we also know that a hard lot awaits those who by cunning rob others of their goods." we inquired, "what lot?" they said, "they are swallowed up and are thrust naked into some infernal prison, where they are kept to hard labor for clothes and food, and afterwards for some pieces of coin of trifling value, which they collect, and in which they place the joy of their hearts; but if they do any harm to their companions, they are fined a part of their coin." . afterwards we ascended from these hells to the south, where we had been before, and the angels related there several interesting particulars respecting concupiscence not visionary or phantastic, in which all men are born; namely, that while they are in it, they are like persons infatuated, and yet seem to themselves to be most eminently wise; and that from this infatuation they are alternately let into the rational principle which is in their externals; in which state they see, acknowledge, and confess their insanity; but still they are very desirous to quit their rational and enter their insane state; and also do let themselves into it, as into a free and delightful state succeeding a forced and undelightful one; thus it is concupiscence and not intelligence that interiorly pleases them. there are three universal loves which form the constituent principles of every man by creation: neighbourly love, which also is the love of doing uses; the love of the world, which also is the love of possessing wealth; and the love of self, which also is the love of bearing rule over others. neighbourly love, or the love of doing uses, is a spiritual love; but the love of the world, or the love of possessing wealth, is a material love; whereas the love of self, or the love of bearing rule over others, is a corporeal love. a man is a man while neighbourly love, or the love of doing uses, constitutes the head, the love of the world the body, and the love of self the feet; whereas if the love of the world constitutes the head, the man is as it were hunched-backed; but when the love of self constitutes the head, he is like a man standing not on his feet, but on the palms of his hands with his head downwards and his haunches upwards. when neighbourly love constitutes the head, and the two other loves in order constitute the body and feet, the man appears from heaven of an angelic countenance, with a beautiful rainbow about his head; whereas if the love of the world constitutes the head, he appears from heaven of a pale countenance like a corpse, with a yellow circle about his head; but if the love of self constitutes the head, he appears from heaven of a dusky countenance, with a white circle about his head. hereupon i asked, "what do the circles about the head represent?" they replied, "they represent intelligence; the white circle about the head of the dusky countenance represents, that his intelligence is in externals, or about him, but insanity is in his internals, or in him. a man also who is of such a quality and character, is wise while in the body, but insane while in the spirit; and no man is wise in spirit but from the lord, as is the case when he is regenerated and created again or anew by him." as they said this, the earth opened to the left, and through the opening i saw a devil rising with a white lucid circle around his head, and i asked him, who he was? he said, "i am lucifer, the son of the morning: and because i made myself like the most high, i was cast down." nevertheless he was not lucifer, but believed himself to be so. i then said, "since you were cast down, how can you rise again out of hell?" he replied, "there i am a devil, but here i am an angel of light: do you not see that my head is surrounded by a lucid sphere? you shall also see, if you wish, that i am super-moral among the moral, super-rational among the rational, yea, super-spiritual among the spiritual: i can also preach; yea, i have preached." i asked him, "what have you preached?" he said, "against fraudulent dealers and adulterers, and against all infernal loves; on this occasion too i, lucifer, called myself a devil, and denounced vengeance against myself as a devil; and therefore i was extolled to the skies with praises. hence it is that i am called the son of the morning; and, what i myself was surprised at, while i was in the pulpit, i thought no other than that i was speaking rightly and properly; but i discovered that this arose from my being in externals, which at that time were separated from my internals: but although i discovered this, still i could not change myself, because through my haughtiness i did not look to god." i next asked him, "how could you so speak, when you are yourself a fraudulent dealer, an adulterer, and a devil?" he answered, "i am one character when i am in externals or in the body, and another when in internals or in the spirit; in the body i am an angel, but in the spirit a devil; for in the body i am in the understanding, but in the spirit i am in the will; and the understanding carries me upwards, whereas the will carries me downwards. when i am in the understanding my head is surrounded by a white belt, but when the understanding submits itself entirely to the will, and becomes subservient to it, which is our last lot, the belt grows black and disappears; and when this is the case, we cannot again ascend into this light." afterwards he spoke of his twofold state, the external and the internal, more rationally than any other person; but on a sudden when he saw the angels attendant on me, his face and voice were inflamed, and he became black, even as to the belt round his head, and he sunk down into hell through the opening from which he arose. the bystanders, from what they had seen, came to this conclusion, that a man is such as his love, and not such as his understanding is; since the love easily draws over the understanding to its side, and enslaves it. i then asked the angels, "whence have devils such rationality?" they said, "it is from the glory of self-love; for self-love is surrounded by glory, and glory elevates the understanding even into the light of heaven; for with every man the understanding is capable of being elevated according to knowledges, but the will only by a life according to the truths of the church and of reason: hence even atheists, who are in the glory of reputation arising from self-love, and thence in a high conceit of their own intelligence, enjoy a more sublime rationality than many others; this, however, is only when they are in the thought of the understanding, and not when they are in the affection of the will. the affection of the will possesses a man's internal, whereas the thought of the understanding possesses his external." the angel further declared the reason why every man is constituted of the three loves above mentioned; namely, the love of use, the love of the world, and the love of self; which is, that he may think from god, although as from himself. he also said, that the supreme principles in a man are turned upwards to god, the middle outwards to the world, and the lowest downwards to self; and since the latter are turned downwards, a man thinks as from himself, when yet it is from god. . the third memorable relation. one morning on awaking from sleep my thoughts were deeply engaged on some arcana of conjugial love, and at length on this, "_in what region of the human mind does love truly conjugial reside, and thence in what region does conjugial cold reside_?" i knew that there are three regions of the human mind, one above the other, and that in the lowest region dwells natural love; in the superior, spiritual love; and in the supreme, celestial love; and that in each region there is a marriage of good and truth; and good is of love, and truth is of wisdom; that in each region there is a marriage of love and wisdom; and that this marriage is the same as the marriage of the will and the understanding, since the will is the receptacle of love, and the understanding the receptacle of wisdom. while i was thus deeply engaged in thought, lo! i saw two swans flying towards the north, and presently two birds of paradise flying towards the south, and also two turtle doves flying in the east: as i was watching their flight, i saw that the two swans bent their course from the north to the east, and the two birds of paradise from the south, also that they united with the two doves in the east, and flew together to a certain lofty palace there, about which there were olives, palms, and beeches. the palace had three rows of windows, one above the other; and while i was making my observations, i saw the swans fly into the palace through open windows in the lowest row, the birds of paradise through others in the middle row, and the doves through others in the highest. when i had observed this, an angel presented himself, and said, "do you understand what you have seen?" i replied, "in a small degree." he said, "that palace represents the habitations of conjugial love, such as are in human minds. its highest part, into which the doves flew, represents the highest region of the mind, where conjugial love dwells in the love of good with its wisdom; the middle part, into which the birds of paradise flew, represents the middle region, where conjugial love dwells in the love of truth with its intelligence: and the lowest part, into which the swans flew, represents the lowest region of the mind, where conjugial love dwells in the love of what is just and right with its knowledge. the three pairs of birds also signify these things; the pair of turtle doves signifies conjugial love of the highest region, the pair of birds of paradise conjugial love of the middle region, and the pair of swans conjugial love of the lowest region. similar things are signified by the three kinds of trees about the palace, the olives, palms, and beeches. we in heaven call the highest region of the mind celestial, the middle spiritual, and the lowest natural; and we perceive them as stories in a house, one above another, and an ascent from one to the other by steps as by stairs; and in each part as it were two apartments, one for love, the other for wisdom, and in front as it were a chamber, where love with its wisdom, or good with its truth, or, what is the same, the will with its understanding, consociate in bed. in that palace are presented as in an image all the arcana of conjugial love." on hearing this, being inflamed with a desire of seeing it, i asked whether anyone was permitted to enter and see it, as it was a representative palace? he replied, "none but those who are in the third heaven, because to them every representative of love and wisdom becomes real: from them i have heard what i have related to you, and also this particular, that love truly conjugial dwells in the highest region in the midst of mutual love, in the marriage-chamber or apartment of the will, and also in the midst of the perceptions of wisdom in the marriage-chamber or apartment of the understanding, and that they consociate in bed in the chamber which is in front, in the east." i also asked, "why are there two marriage-chambers?" he said, "the husband is in the marriage-chamber of the understanding, and the wife in that of the will." i then asked, "since conjugial love dwells there, where then does conjugial cold dwell?" he replied, "it dwells also in the supreme region, but only in the marriage-chamber of the understanding, that of the will being closed there: for the understanding with its truths, as often as it pleases, can ascend by a winding staircase into the highest region into its marriage-chamber; but if the will with the good of its love does not ascend at the same time into the consociate marriage-chamber, the latter is closed, and cold ensues in the other: this is _conjugial cold_. the understanding, while such cold prevails towards the wife, looks downwards to the lowest region, and also, if not prevented by fear, descends to warm itself there at an illicit fire." having thus spoken, he was about to recount further particulars respecting conjugial love from its images in that palace; but he said, "enough at this time; inquire first whether what has been already said is above the level of ordinary understandings; if it is, what need of saying more? but if not, more will be discovered." * * * * * on the causes of apparent love, friendship, and favor in marriages. . having treated of the causes of cold and separation, it follows from order that the causes of apparent love, friendship, and favor in marriages, should also be treated of; for it is well known, that although cold separates the minds (_animos_) of married partners at the present day, still they live together, and have children; which would not be the case, unless there were also apparent loves, alternately similar to or emulous of the warmth of genuine love. that these appearances are necessary and useful, and that without them there would be no houses, and consequently no societies, will be seen in what follows. moreover, some conscientious persons may be distressed with the idea, that the disagreement of mind subsisting between them and their married partners, and the internal alienation thence arising, may be their own fault, and may be imputed to them as such, and on this account they are grieved at the heart; but as it is out of their power to prevent internal disagreements, it is enough for them, by apparent love and favor, from conscientious motives to subdue the inconveniences which might arise: hence also friendship may possibly return, in which conjugial love lies concealed on the part of such, although not on the part of the other. but this subject, like the foregoing, from the great variety of its matter, shall be treated of in the following distinct articles: i. _in the natural world almost all are capable of being joined together as to external, but not as to internal affections, if these disagree and are apparent._ ii. _in the spiritual world all are joined together according to internal, but not according to external affections, unless these act in unity with the internal._ iii. _it is the external affections, according to which matrimony is generally contracted in the world._ iv. _but in case they are not influenced by internal affections, which conjoin minds, the bonds of matrimony are loosed in the house._ v. _nevertheless those bonds must continue in the world till the decease of one of the parties._ vi. _in cases of matrimony, in which the internal affections do not conjoin, there are external affections, which assume a semblance of the internal and tend to consociate._ vii. _hence come apparent love, friendship, and favor between married partners._ viii. _these appearances are assumed conjugial semblances, and they are commendable, because useful and necessary._ ix. _these assumed conjugial semblances, in the case of a spiritual man (homo) conjoined to a natural, are founded in justice and judgement._ x. _for various reasons these assumed conjugial semblances with natural men are founded in prudence._ xi. _they are for the sake of amendment and accommodation._ xii. _they are for the sake of preserving order in domestic affairs, and for the sake of mutual aid._ xiii. _they are for the sake of unanimity in the care of infants and the education of children._ xiv. _they are for the sake of peace in the house._ xv. _they are for the sake of reputation out of the house._ xvi. _they are for the sake of various favors expected from the married partner, or from his or her relations; and thus from the fear of losing such favors._ xvii. _they are for the sake of having blemishes excused, and thereby of avoiding disgrace._ xviii. _they are for the sake of reconciliation._ xix. _in case favor does not cease with the wife, when faculty ceases with the man, there may exist a friendship resembling conjugial friendship, when the parties grow old._ xx. _there are various kinds of apparent love and friendship between married partners, one of whom is brought under the yoke, and therefore is subject to the other._ xxi. _in the world there are infernal marriages between persons who interiorly are the most inveterate enemies, and exteriorly are as the closest friends._ we proceed to an explanation of each article. . i. in the natural world almost all are capable of being joined together as to external, but not as to internal affections, if these disagree and are apparent. the reason of this is, because in the world every one is clothed with a material body, and this is overcharged with lusts, which are in it as dregs that fall to the bottom, when the must of the wine is clarified. such are the constituent substances of which the bodies of men in the world are composed. hence it is that the internal affections, which are of the mind, do not appear; and in many cases, scarce a grain of them transpires; for the body either absorbs them, and involves them in its dregs, or by simulation which has been learned from infancy conceals them deeply from the sight of others; and by these means the man puts himself into the state of every affection which he observes in another, and allures his affection to himself, and thus they unite. the reason why they unite is, because every affection has its delight, and delights tie minds together. but it would be otherwise if the internal affections, like the external, appeared visibly in the face and gesture, and were made manifest to the hearing by the tone of the speech; or if their delights were sensible to the nostrils or smell, as they are in the spiritual world: in such case, if they disagreed so as to be discordant, they would separate minds from each other, and according to the perception of antipathy, the minds would remove to a distance. from these considerations it is evident, that in the natural world almost all are capable of being joined together as to external, but not as to internal affections, if these disagree and are apparent. . ii. in the spiritual world all are conjoined according to internal, but not according to external affections, unless these act in unity with the internal. this is, because in the spiritual world the material body is rejected, which could receive and bring forth the forms of all affections, as we have said just above; and a man (_homo_) when stripped of that body is in his internal affections, which his body had before concealed: hence it is, that in the spiritual world similarities and dissimilarities, or sympathies and antipathies, are not only felt, but also appear in the face, the speech, and the gesture; wherefore in that world similitudes are conjoined, and dissimilitudes separated. this is the reason why the universal heaven is arranged by the lord according to all the varieties of the affections of the love of good and truth, and, on the contrary, hell according to all the varieties of the love of what is evil and false. as angels and spirits, like men in the world, have internal and external affections, and as, in the spiritual world, the internal affections cannot be concealed by the external, they therefore transpire and manifest themselves: hence with angels and spirits both the internal and external affections are reduced to similitude and correspondence; after which their internal affections are, by the external, imaged in their faces, and perceived in the tone of their speech; they also appear in their behaviour and manners. angels and spirits have internal and external affections, because they have minds and bodies; and affections with the thoughts thence derived belong to the mind, and sensations with the pleasures thence derived to the body. it frequently happens in the world of spirits, that friends meet after death, and recollect their friendships in the former world, and on such occasions believe that they shall live on terms of friendship as formerly; but when their consociation, which is only of the external affections, is perceived in heaven, a separation ensues according to their internal; and in this case some are removed from the place of their meeting into the north, some into the west, and each to such a distance from the other, that they can no longer see or know each other; for in the places appointed for them to remain at, their faces are changed so as to become the image of their internal affections. from these considerations it is manifest, that in the spiritual world all are conjoined according to internal affections, and not according to external, unless these act in unity with the internal. . iii. it is the external affections according to which matrimony is generally contracted in the world. the reason of this is, because the internal affections are seldom consulted; and even if they are, still their similitude is not seen in the woman; for she, by a peculiar property with which she is gifted from her birth, withdraws the internal affections into the inner recesses of her mind. there are various external affections which induce men to engage in matrimony. the first affection of this age is an increase of property by wealth, as well with a view to becoming rich as for a plentiful supply of the comforts of life; the second is a thirst after honors, with a view either of being held in high estimation or of an increase of fortune: besides these, there are various allurements and concupiscences which do not afford an opportunity of ascertaining the agreement of the internal affections. from these few considerations it is manifest, that matrimony is generally contracted in the world according to external affections. . iv. but in case they are not influenced by internal affections, which conjoin minds, the bonds of matrimony are loosed in the house. it is said _in the house_, because it is done privately between the parties; as is the case when the first warmth, excited during courtship and breaking out into a flame as the nuptials approach, successively abates from the discordance of the internal affections, and at length passes off into cold. it is well known that in this case the external affections, which had induced and allured the parties to matrimony, disappear, so that they no longer effect conjunction. that cold arises from various causes, internal, external, and accidental, all which originate in a dissimilitude of internal inclinations, was proved in the foregoing chapter. from these considerations the truth of what was asserted is manifest, that unless the external affections are influenced by internal, which conjoin minds, the bonds of matrimony are loosed in the house. . v. nevertheless those bonds must continue in the world till the decease of one of the parties. this proposition is adduced to the intent that to the eye of reason it may more evidently appear how necessary, useful, and true it is, that where there is not genuine conjugial love, it ought still to be assumed, that it may appear as if there were. the case would be otherwise if the marriage contract was not to continue to the end of life, but might be dissolved at pleasure as was the case with the israelitish nation, who claimed to themselves the liberty of putting away their wives for every cause. this is evident from the following passage in matthew: "_the pharisees came, and said unto jesus, is it lawful for a man to put away his wife for every cause? and when jesus answered, that it is not lawful to put away a wife and to marry another, except on account of whoredom, they replied that nevertheless moses commanded to give a bill of divorce and to put her away; and the disciples said, if the case of a man with his wife be so it is not expedient to marry_," xix. - . since therefore the covenant of marriage is for life, it follows that the appearances of love and friendship between married partners are necessary. that matrimony, when contracted, must continue till the decease of one of the parties, is grounded in the divine law, consequently also in rational law, and thence in civil law: in the divine law, because, as said above, it is not lawful to put away a wife and marry another, except for whoredom; in rational law, because it is founded upon spiritual, for divine law and rational are one law; from both these together, or by the latter from the former, it may be abundantly seen what enormities and destructions of societies would result from the dissolving of marriage, or the putting away of wives, at the good pleasure of the husbands, before death. those enormities and destructions of societies may in some measure be seen in the memorable relation respecting the origin of conjugial love, discussed by the spirits assembled from the nine kingdoms, n. - ; to which there is no need of adding further reasons. but these causes do not operate to prevent the permission of separations grounded in their proper causes, respecting which see above, n. - ; and also of concubinage, respecting which see the second part of this work. . vi. in case of matrimony in which the internal affections do not conjoin, there are external affections which assume a semblance of the internal and tend to consolidate. by internal affections we mean the mutual inclinations which influence the mind of each of the parties from heaven; whereas by external affections we mean the inclinations which influence the mind of each of the parties from the world. the latter affections or inclinations indeed equally belong to the mind, but they occupy its inferior regions, whereas the former occupy the superior: but since both have their allotted seat in the mind, it may possibly be believed that they are alike and agree; yet although they are not alike, still they can appear so: in some cases they exist as agreements, and in some as insinuating semblances. there is a certain communion implanted in each of the parties from the earliest time of the marriage-covenant, which, notwithstanding their disagreement in minds (_animis_) still remains implanted; as a communion of possessions, and in many cases a communion of uses, and of the various necessities of the house, and thence also a communion of thoughts and of certain secrets; there is also a communion of bed, and of the love of children: not to mention several others, which, as they are inscribed on the conjugial covenant, are also inscribed on their minds. hence originate especially those external affections which resemble the internal; whereas those which only counterfeit them are partly from the same origin and partly from another; but on the subject of each more will be said in what follows. . vii. hence come apparent love, friendship, and favor between married partners. apparent loves, friendships, and favors between married partners, are a consequence of the conjugial covenant being ratified for the term of life, and of the conjugial communion thence inscribed on those who ratify it; whence spring external affections resembling the internal, as was just now indicated: they are moreover a consequence of their causes, which are usefulness and necessity: from which in part exist conjunctive external affections, or their counterfeit, whereby external love and friendship appear as internal. . viii. these appearances are assumed conjugial semblances; and they are commendable, because useful and necessary. they are called assumed semblances, because they exist with those who disagree in mind, and who from such disagreement are interiorly in cold: in this case, when they still appear to live united, as duty and decency require, their kind offices to each other may be called assumed conjugial semblances; which, as being commendable for the sake of uses, are altogether to be distinguished from hypocritical semblances; for hereby all those good things are provided for, which are commemorated in order below, from article xi-xx. they are commendable for the sake of necessity, because otherwise those good things would be unattained; and yet the parties are enjoined by a covenant and compact to live together, and hence it behoves each of them to consider it a duty to do so. . ix. these assumed conjugial semblances, in the case of a spiritual man (_homo_) conjoined to a natural, are founded in justice and judgement. the reason of this is, because the spiritual man, in all he does, acts from justice and judgement; wherefore he does not regard these assumed semblances as alienated from their internal affections, but as connected with them; for he is in earnest, and respects amendment as an end; and if he does not obtain this, he respects accommodation for the sake of domestic order, mutual aid, the care of children, and peace and tranquillity. to these things he is led from a principle of justice; and from a principle of judgement he gives them effect. the reason why a spiritual man so lives with a natural one is, because a spiritual man acts spiritually, even with a natural man. . x. for various reasons, these assumed conjugial semblances with natural men are founded in prudence. in the case of two married partners of whom one is spiritual and the other natural, (by the spiritual we mean the one that loves spiritual things, and thereby is wise from the lord, and by the natural, the one that loves only natural things, and thereby is wise from himself,) when they are united in marriage, conjugial love with the spiritual partner is heat, and with the natural is cold. it is evident that heat and cold cannot remain together, also that heat cannot inflame him that is in cold, unless the cold be first dispersed, and that cold cannot flow into him that is in heat, unless the heat be first removed: hence it is that inward love cannot exist between married partners, one of whom is spiritual and the other natural; but that a love resembling inward love may exist on the part of the spiritual partner, as was said in the foregoing article; whereas between two natural married partners no inward love can exist, since each is cold; and if they have any heat, it is from something unchaste; nevertheless such persons may live together in the same house, with separate minds (_animis_), and also assume looks of love and friendship towards each other, notwithstanding the disagreement of their minds (_mentes_): in such case, the external affections, which for the most part relate to wealth and possessions, or to honor and dignities, may as it were be kindled into a flame; and as such enkindling induces fear for their loss, therefore assumed conjugial semblances are in such cases necessities, which are principally those adduced below in articles xv.-xvii. the rest of the causes adduced with these may have somewhat in common with those relating to the spiritual man; concerning which see above, n. ; but only in case the prudence with the natural man is founded in intelligence. . xi. they are for the sake of amendment and accommodation. the reason why assumed conjugial semblances, which are appearances of love and friendship subsisting between married partners who disagree in mind, are for the sake of amendment, is because a spiritual man (_homo_) connected with a natural one by the matrimonial covenant, intends nothing else but amendment of life; which he effects by judicious and elegant conversation, and by favors which soothe and flatter the temper of the other; but in case these things prove ineffectual, he intends accommodation, for the preservation of order in domestic affairs, for mutual aid, and for the sake of the infants and children, and other similar things; for, as was shown above, n. , whatever is said and done by a spiritual man (_homo_) is founded in justice and judgement. but with married partners, neither of whom is spiritual, but both natural, similar conduct may exist, but for other ends; if for the sake of amendment and accommodation, the end is, either that the other party may be reduced to a similitude of manners, and be made subordinate to his desires, or that some service may be made subservient to his own, or for the sake of peace within the house, of reputation out of it, or of favors hoped for by the married partner or his relations; not to mention other ends: but with some these ends are grounded in the prudence of their reason, with some in natural civility, with some in the delights of certain cupidities which have been familiar from the cradle, the loss of which is dreaded; besides several ends, which render the assumed kindnesses as of conjugial love more or less counterfeit. there may also be kindnesses as of conjugial love out of the house, and none within; those however respect as an end the reputation of both parties; and if they do not respect this, they are merely deceptive. . xii. they are for the sake of preserving order in domestic affairs, and for the sake of mutual aid. every house in which there are children, their instructors, and other domestics, is a small society resembling a large one. the latter also consists of the former, as a whole consists of its parts, and thereby it exists; and further, as the security of a large society depends on order, so does the security of this small society; wherefore as it behoves public magistrates to see and provide that order may exist and be preserved in a compound society, so it concerns married partners in their single society. but there cannot be this order if the husband and wife disagree in their minds (_animis_); for thereby mutual counsels and aids are drawn different ways, and are divided like their minds, and thus the form of the small society is rent asunder; wherefore to preserve order, and thereby to take care of themselves and at the same time of the house, or of the house and at the same time of themselves, lest they should come to hurt and fall to ruin, necessity requires that the master and mistress agree, and act in unity; and if, from the difference of their minds (_mentium_) this cannot be done so well as it might, both duty and propriety require that it be done by representative conjugial friendship. that hereby concord is established in houses for the sake of necessity and consequent utility, is well known. . xiii. they are for the sake of unanimity in the care of infants and the education of children. it is very well known that assumed conjugial semblances, which are appearances of love and friendship resembling such as are truly conjugial, exist with married partners for the sake of infants and children. the common love of the latter causes each married partner to regard the other with kindness and favor. the love of infants and children with the mother and the father unite as the heart and lungs in the breast. the love of them with the mother is as the heart, and the love towards them with the father is as the lungs. the reason of this comparison is, because the heart corresponds to love, and the lungs to the understanding; and love grounded in the will belongs to the mother, and love grounded in the understanding to the father. with spiritual men (_homines_) there is conjugial conjunction by means of that love grounded in justice and judgement; in justice, because the mother had carried them in her womb, had brought them forth with pain, and afterwards with unwearied care suckles, nourishes, washes, dresses, and educates them, (and in judgement, because the father provides for their instruction in knowledge, intelligence, and wisdom). . xiv. they are for the sake of peace in the house. assumed conjugial semblances, or external friendships for the sake of domestic peace and tranquillity, relate principally to the men, who, from their natural characteristic, act from the understanding in whatever they do; and the understanding, being exercised in thought, is engaged in a variety of objects which disquiet, disturb, and distract the mind; wherefore if there were not tranquillity at home, it would come to pass that the vital spirits of the parties would grow faint, and their interior life would as it were expire, and thereby the health of both mind and body would be destroyed. the dreadful apprehension of these and several other dangers would possess the minds of the men, unless they had an asylum with their wives at home for appeasing the disturbances arising in their understandings. moreover peace and tranquillity give serenity to their minds, and dispose them to receive agreeably the kind attentions of their wives, who spare no pains to disperse the mental clouds which they are very quick-sighted to observe in their husbands: moreover, the same peace and tranquillity make the presence of their wives agreeable. hence it is evident, that an assumed semblance of love, as if it was truly conjugial, for the sake of peace and tranquillity at home, is both necessary and useful. it is further to be observed, that with the wives such semblances are not assumed as with the men; but if they appear to resemble them, they are the effect of real love, because wives are born loves of the understanding of the men; wherefore they accept kindly the favors of their husbands, and if they do not confess it with their lips, still they acknowledge it in heart. . xv. they are for the sake of reputation out of the house. the fortunes of men in general depend on their reputation for justice, sincerity, and uprightness; and this reputation also depends on the wife, who is acquainted with the most familiar circumstances of her husband's life; therefore if the disagreements of their minds should break out into open enmity, quarrels, and threats of hatred, and these should be noised abroad by the wife and her friends, and by the domestics, they would easily be turned into tales of scandal, which would bring disgrace and infamy upon the husband's name. to avoid such mischiefs, he has no other alternative than either to counterfeit affection for his wife, or that they be separated as to house. . xvi. they are for the sake of various favors expected from the married partner, or from his or her relations, and thus from the fear of losing such favors. this is the case more especially in marriages where the rank and condition of the parties are dissimilar, concerning which, see above, n. ; as when a man marries a wealthy wife who stores up her money in purses, or her treasures in coffers; and the more so if she boldly insists that the husband is bound to support the house out of his own estate and income: that hence come forced likenesses of conjugial love, is generally known. the case is similar where a man marries a wife, whose parents, relations, and friends, are in offices of dignity, in lucrative business, and in employments with large salaries, who have it in their power to better her condition: that this also is a ground of counterfeit love, as if it were conjugial, is generally known. it is evident that in both cases it is the fear of the loss of the above favors that is operative. . xvii. they are for the sake of having blemishes excused, and thereby of avoiding disgrace. there are several blemishes for which conjugial partners fear disgrace, some criminal, some not. there are blemishes of the mind and of the body slighter than those mentioned in the foregoing chapter n. and , which are causes of separation; wherefore those blemishes are here meant, which, to avoid disgrace, are buried in silence by the other married partner. besides these, in some cases there are contingent crimes, which, if made public, are subject to heavy penalties; not to mention a deficiency of that ability which the men usually boast of. that excuses of such blemishes, in order to avoid disgrace, are the causes of counterfeit love and friendship with a married partner, is too evident to need farther confirmation. . xviii. they are for the sake of reconciliation. that between married partners who have mental disagreements from various causes, there subsist alternate distrust and confidence, alienation and conjunction, yea, dispute and compromise, thus reconciliation; and also that apparent friendships promote reconciliation, is well known in the world. there are also reconciliations which take place after partings, which are not so alternate and transitory. . xix. in case favor does not cease with the wife, when faculty ceases with the man, there may exist a friendship resembling conjugial friendship when the parties grow old. the primary cause of the separation of minds (_animorum_) between married partners is a falling off of favor on the wife's part in consequence of the cessation of ability on the husband's part, and thence a falling off of love; for just as heats communicate with each other, so also do colds. that from a falling off of love on the part of each, there ensues a cessation of friendship, and also of favor, if not prevented by the fear of domestic ruin, is evident both from reason and experience. in case therefore the man tacitly imputes the causes to himself, and still the wife perseveres in chaste favor towards him, there may thence result a friendship, which, since it subsists between married partners, appears to resemble conjugial love. that a friendship resembling the friendship of that love, may subsist between married partners, when old, experience testifies from the tranquillity, security, loveliness, and abundant courtesy with which they live, communicate, and associate together. . xx. there are various kinds of apparent love and friendship between married partners, one of whom is brought under the yoke, and therefore is subject to the other. it is no secret in the world at this day, that as the first fervor of marriage begins to abate, there arises a rivalship between the parties respecting right and power; respecting right, in that according to the statutes of the covenant entered into, there is an equality, and each has dignity in the offices of his or her function; and respecting power, in that it is insisted on by the men, that in all things relating to the house, superiority belongs to them, because they are men, and inferiority to the women because they are women. such rivalships, at this day familiar, arise from no other source than a want of conscience respecting love truly conjugial, and of sensible perception respecting the blessedness of that love; in consequence of which want, lust takes the place of that love, and counterfeits it; and, on the removal of genuine love, there flows from this lust a grasping for power, in which some are influenced by the delight of the love of domineering, which in some is implanted by artful women before marriage, and which to some is unknown. where such grasping prevails with the men, and the various turns of rivalship terminate in the establishment of their sway, they reduce their wives either to become their rightful property, or to comply with their arbitrary will, or into a state of slavery, every one according to the degree and qualified state of that grasping implanted and concealed in himself; but where such grasping prevails with the wives, and the various turns of rivalship terminate in establishing their sway, they reduce their husbands either into a state of equality of right with themselves, or of compliance with their arbitrary will, or into a state of slavery: but as when the wives have obtained the sceptre of sway, there remains with them a desire which is a counterfeit of conjugial love, and is restrained both by law and by the fear of legitimate separation, in case they extend their power beyond the rule of right into what is contrary thereto, therefore they lead a life in consociation with their husbands. but what is the nature and quality of the love and friendship between a ruling wife and a serving husband, and also between a ruling husband and a serving wife, cannot be briefly described; indeed, if their differences were to be specifically pointed out and enumerated, it would occupy several pages; for they are various and diverse--various according to the nature of the grasping for power prevalent with the men, and in like manner with the wives; and diverse in regard to the differences subsisting in the men and the women; for such men have no friendship of love but what is infatuated, and such wives are in the friendship of spurious love grounded in lust. but by what arts wives procure to themselves power over the men, will be shewn in the following article. . xxi. in the world there are infernal marriages between persons who interiorly are the most inveterate enemies, and exteriorly are as the closest friends. i am indeed forbidden by the wives of this sort, in the spiritual world, to present such marriages to public view; for they are afraid lest their art of obtaining power over the men should at the same time be divulged, which yet they are exceedingly desirous to have concealed: but as i am urged by the men in that world to expose the causes of the intestine hatred and as it were fury excited in their hearts against their wives, in consequence of their clandestine arts, i shall be content with adducing the following particulars. the men said, that unwittingly they contracted a terrible dread of their wives, in consequence of which they were constrained to obey their decisions in the most abject manner, and be at their beck more than the vilest servants, so that they lost all life and spirit; and that this was the case not only with those who were in inferior stations of life, but also with those who were advanced in high dignities, yea with brave and famous generals: they also said, that after they had contracted this dread, they could not help on every occasion expressing themselves to their wives in a friendly manner, and doing what was agreeable to their humors, although they cherished in their hearts a deadly hatred against them; and further, that their wives still behaved courteously to them both in word and deed, and complaisantly attended to some of their requests. now as the men themselves greatly wondered, whence such an antipathy could arise in their internals, and such an apparent sympathy in their externals, they examined into the causes thereof from some women who were acquainted with the above secret art. from this source of information they learned, that women (_mulieres_) are skilled in a knowledge which they conceal deeply in their own minds, whereby, if they be so disposed, they can subject the men to the yoke of their authority; and that this is effected in the case of ignorant wives, sometimes by alternate quarrel and kindness, sometimes by harsh and unpleasant looks, and sometimes by other means; but in the case of polite wives, by urgent and persevering petitions, and by obstinate resistance to their husbands in case they suffer hardships from them, insisting on their right of equality by law, in consequence of which they are firm and resolute in their purpose; yea, insisting that if they should be turned out of the house, they would return at their pleasure, and would be urgent as before; for they know that the men by their nature cannot resist the positive tempers of their wives but that after compliance they submit themselves to their disposal; and that in this case the wives make a show of all kinds of civility and tenderness to their husbands subjected to their sway. the genuine cause of the dominion which the wives obtain by this cunning is, that the man acts from the understanding and the woman from the will, and that the will can persist, but not so the understanding. i have been told, that the worst of this sort of women, who are altogether a prey to the desire of dominion, can remain firm in their positive humors even to the last struggle for life. i have also heard the excuses pleaded by such women (_mulieres_) for entering upon the exercise of this art; in which they urged that they would not have done so unless they had foreseen supreme contempt and future rejection, and consequent ruin on their part, if they should be subdued by their husbands: and that thus they had taken up these their arms from necessity. to this excuse they add this admonition for the men; to leave their wives their own rights, and while they are in alternations of cold, not to consider them as beneath their maid-servants: they said also that several of their sex, from their natural timidity, are not in a state of exercising the above art; but i added, from their natural modesty. from the above considerations it may now be known what is meant by infernal marriages in the world between persons who interiorly are the most inveterate enemies, and exteriorly are like the most attached friends. * * * * * . to the above i will add two memorable relations. first. some time ago as i was looking through a window to the east, i saw seven women sitting in a garden of roses at a certain fountain, and drinking the water. i strained my eye-sight greatly to see what they were doing, and this effort of mine affected them; wherefore one of them beckoned me, and i immediately quitted the house and came to them. when i joined them, i courteously inquired whence they were. they said, "we are wives, and are here conversing respecting the delights of conjugial love, and from much consideration we conclude, that they are also the delights of wisdom." this answer so delighted my mind (_animum_), that i seemed to be in the spirit, and thence in perception more interior and more enlightened than on any former occasion; wherefore i said to them, "give me leave to propose a few questions respecting those satisfactions." on their consenting, i asked, "how do you wives know that the delights of conjugial love are the same as the delights of wisdom?" they replied, "we know it from the correspondence of our husbands' wisdom with our own delights of conjugial love; for the delights of this love with ourselves are exalted and diminished and altogether qualified, according to the wisdom of our husbands." on hearing this, i said, "i know that you are affected by the agreeable conversation of your husbands and their cheerfulness of mind, and that you derive thence a bosom delight; but i am surprised to hear you say, that their wisdom produces this effect; but tell me what is wisdom, and what wisdom (produces this effect)?" to this the wives indignantly replied, "do you suppose that we do not know what wisdom is, and what wisdom (produces that effect), when yet we are continually reflecting upon it as in our husbands, and learn it daily from their mouths? for we wives think of the state of our husbands from morning to evening; there is scarcely an hour in the day, in which our intuitive thought is altogether withdrawn from them, or is absent; on the other hand, our husbands think very little in the day respecting our state; hence we know what wisdom of theirs it is that gives us delight. our husbands call that wisdom spiritual rational, and spiritual moral. spiritual rational wisdom, they say, is of the understanding and knowledges, and spiritual moral wisdom of the will and life; but these they join together and make a one, and insist that the satisfactions of this wisdom are transferred from their minds into the delights in our bosoms, and from our bosoms into theirs, and thus return to wisdom their origin." i then asked, "do you know anything more respecting the wisdom of your husbands which gives you delight?" they said, "we do. there is spiritual wisdom, and thence rational and moral wisdom. spiritual wisdom is to acknowledge the lord the saviour as the god of heaven and earth, and from him to procure the truths of the church, which is effected by means of the word and of preachings derived therefrom, whence comes spiritual rationality; and from him to live according to those truths, whence comes spiritual morality. these two our husbands call the wisdom which in general operates to produce love truly conjugial. we have heard from them also that the reason of this is, because, by means of that wisdom, the interiors of their minds and thence of their bodies are opened, whence there exists a free passage from first principles even to last for the stream of love; on the flow, sufficiency, and virtue of which conjugial love depends and lives. the spiritual rational and moral wisdom of our husbands, specifically in regard to marriage, has for its end and object to love the wife alone, and to put away all concupiscence for other women; and so far as this is effected, so far that love is exalted as to degree, and perfected as to quality; and also so far we feel more distinctly and exquisitely the delights in ourselves corresponding to the delights of the affections and the satisfactions of the thoughts of our husbands." i inquired afterwards, whether they knew how communication is effected. they said, "in all conjunction by love there must be action, reception, and reaction. the delicious state of our love is acting or action, the state of the wisdom of our husbands is recipient or reception, and also is reacting or reaction according to perception; and this reaction we perceive with delights in the breast according to the state continually expanded and prepared to receive those things which in any manner agree with the virtue belonging to our husbands, thus also with the extreme state of love belonging to ourselves, and which thence proceed." they said further, "take heed lest by the delights which we have mentioned, you understand the ultimated delights of that love: of these we never speak, but of our bosom delights, which always correspond with the state of the wisdom of our husbands." after this there appeared at a distance as it were a dove flying with the leaf of a tree in its mouth: but as it approached, instead of a dove i saw it was a little boy with a paper in his hand: on coming to us he held it out to me, and said, "read it before these maidens of the fountain." i then read as follows, "tell the inhabitants of your earth, that there is a love truly conjugial having myriads of delights, scarce any of which are as yet known to the world; but they will be known, when the church betroths herself to her lord, and is married." i then asked, "why did the little boy call you maidens of the fountain?" they replied, "we are called maidens when we sit at this fountain; because we are affections of the truths of the wisdom of our husbands, and the affection of truth is called a maiden; a fountain also signifies the true of wisdom, and the bed of roses, on which we sir, the delights thereof." then one of the seven wove a garland of roses, and sprinkled it with water of the fountain, and placed it on the boy's cap round his little head, and said, "receive the delights of intelligence; know that a cap signifies intelligence; and a garland from this rose-bed delights." the boy thus decorated then departed, and again appeared a distance like a flying dove, but now with a coronet on his head. . the second memorable relation. after some days i again saw the seven wives in a garden of roses, but not in the same as before. its magnificence was such as i had never before seen: it was round, and the roses in it formed as it were a rainbow. the roses or flowers of a purple color formed its outermost circle, others of a yellow golden color formed the next interior circle, within this were others of a bright blue, and the inmost of a shining green; and within this rainbow rose-bed was a small lake of limpid water. these seven wives, who were called the maidens of the fountain, as they were sitting there seeing me again at the window, called me to them; and when i was come they said, "did you ever see anything more beautiful upon the earth?" i replied, "never." they then said, "such scenery is created instantaneously by the lord, and represents something new on the earth; for every thing created by the lord is representative: but what is this? tell, if you can: we say it is the delights of conjugial love." on hearing this, i said, "what! the delights of conjugial love, respecting which you before conversed with so much wisdom and eloquence! after i had left you, i related your conversation to some wives in our country, and said, 'i now know from instruction that you have bosom delights arising from your conjugial love, which you can communicate to your husbands according to their wisdom, and that on this account you look at your husbands with the eyes of your spirit from morning to evening, and study to bend and draw their minds (_animos_) to become wise, to the end that you may secure those delights.' i mentioned also that by wisdom you understand spiritual rational and moral wisdom, and in regard to marriage, the wisdom to love the wife alone, and to put away all concupiscence for other women: but to these things the wives of our country answered with laughter, saying, 'what is all this but mere idle talk? we do not know what conjugial love is. if our husbands possess any portion of it, still we do not; whence then come its delights to us? yea, in regard to what you call ultimate delights, we at times refuse them with violence, for they are unpleasant to us, almost like violations: and you will see, if you attend to it, no sign of such love in our faces: wherefore you are trifling or jesting, if you also assert, with those seven wives, that we think of our husbands from morning to evening, and continually attend to their will and pleasure in order to catch from them such delights.' i have retained thus much of what they said, that i might relate it to you; since it is repugnant, and also in manifest contradiction, to what i heard from you near the fountain, and which i so greedily imbibed and believed." to this the wives sitting in the rose garden replied, "friend, you know not the wisdom and prudence of wives; for they totally hide it from the men, and for no other end than that they may be loved: for every man who is not spiritually but only naturally rational and moral, is cold towards his wife; and the cold lies concealed in his inmost principles. this is exquisitely and acutely observed by a wise and prudent wife; who so far conceals her conjugial love, and withdraws it into her bosom, and there hides it so deeply that it does not at all appear in her face, in the tone of her voice, or in her behaviour. the reason of this is, because so far as it appears, so far the conjugial cold of the man diffuses itself from the inmost principles of his mind, where it resides, into its ultimates, and occasions in the body a total coldness, and a consequent endeavour to separate from bed and chamber." i then asked, "whence arises that which you call conjugial cold?" they replied, "from the insanity of the men in regard to spiritual things; and every one who is insane in regard to spiritual things; in his inmost principles is cold towards his wife, and warm towards harlots; and since conjugial love and adulterous love are opposite to each other, it follows that conjugial love becomes cold when illicit love is warm; and when cold prevails with the man, he cannot endure any sense of love, and thus not any allusion thereto, from his wife; therefore the wife so wisely and prudently conceals that love; and so far as she conceals it by denying and refusing it, so far the man is cherished and recruited by the influent meretricious sphere. hence it is, that the wife of such a man has no bosom delights such as we have, but only pleasures, which, on the part of the man, ought to be called the pleasures of insanity, because they are the pleasures of illicit love. every chaste wife loves her husband, even if he be unchaste; but since wisdom is alone recipient of that love, therefore she exerts all her endeavours to turn his insanity into wisdom, that is, to prevent his lusting after other women besides herself. this she does by a thousand methods, being particularly cautious lest any of them should be discovered by the man; for she is well aware that love cannot be forced, but that it is insinuated in freedom; wherefore it is given to women to know from the sight, the hearing, and the touch, every state of the mind of their husbands; but on the other hand it is not given to the men to know any state of the mind of their wives. a chaste wife can look at her husband with an austere countenance, accost him with a harsh voice, and also be angry and quarrel, and yet in her heart cherish a soft and tender love towards him; but such anger and dissimulation have for their end wisdom, and thereby the reception of love with the husband: as is manifest from the consideration, that she can be reconciled in an instant. besides, wives use such means of concealing the love implanted in their inmost heart, with a view to prevent conjugial cold bursting forth with the man, and extinguishing the fire of his adulterous heat, and thus converting him from green wood into a dry stick." when the seven wives had expressed these and many more similar sentiments, their husbands came with clusters of grapes in their hands, some of which were of a delicate, and some of a disagreeable flavor; upon which the wives said, "why have you also brought bad or wild grapes?" the husbands replied, "because we perceived in our souls, with which yours are united, that you were conversing with that man respecting love truly conjugial, that its delights are the delights of wisdom, and also respecting adulterous love, that its delights are the pleasures of insanity. the latter are the disagreeable or wild grapes; the former are those of delicate flavor." they confirmed what their wives had said, and added that, "in externals, the pleasures of insanity appear like the delights of wisdom, but not so in internals; just like the good and bad grapes which we have brought; for both the chaste and the unchaste have similar wisdom in externals, but altogether dissimilar in internals." after this the little boy came again with a piece of paper in his hand, and held it out to me, saying, "read this;" and i read as follows: "know that the delights of conjugial love ascend to the highest heaven, and both in the way thither and also there, unite with the delights of all heavenly loves, and thereby enter into their happiness, which endures for ever; because the delights of that love are also the delights of wisdom: and know also, that the pleasures of illicit love descend even to the lowest hell, and, both in the way thither and also there, unite with the pleasures of all infernal loves, and thereby enter into their unhappiness, which consists in the wretchedness of all heart-delights; because the pleasures of that love are the pleasures of insanity." after this the husbands departed with their wives, and accompanied the little boy as far as to the way of his ascent into heaven; and they knew that the society from which he was sent was a society of the new heaven, with which the new church in the world will be conjoined. * * * * * on betrothings and nuptials. . the subject of betrothings and nuptials, and also of the rites and ceremonies attending them, is here treated of principally from the reason of the understanding; for the object of this book is that the reader may see truths rationally, and thereby give his consent, for thus his spirit is convinced; and those things in which the spirit is convinced, obtain a place above those which, without consulting reason, enter from authority and the faith of authority; for the latter enter the head no further than into the memory, and there mix themselves with fallacies and falses; thus they are beneath the rational things of the understanding. from these any one may seem to converse rationally, but he will converse preposterously; for in such case he thinks as a crab walks, the sight following the tail: it is otherwise if he thinks from the understanding; for then the rational sight selects from the memory whatever is suitable, whereby it confirms truth viewed in itself. this is the reason why in this chapter several particulars are adduced which are established customs, as that the right of choice belongs to the men, that parents ought to be consulted, that pledges are to be given, that the conjugial covenant is to be settled previous to the nuptials, that it ought to be performed by a priest, also that the nuptials ought to be celebrated; besides several other particulars, which are here mentioned in order that every one may rationally see that such things are assigned to conjugial love, as requisite to promote and complete it. the articles into which this section is divided are the following; i. _the right of choice belongs to the man, and not to the woman._ ii. _the man ought to court and intreat the woman respecting marriage with him, and not the woman the man._ iii. _the woman ought to consult her parents, or those who are in the place of parents, and then deliberate with herself, before she consents._ iv. _after a declaration of consent, pledges are to be given._ v. _consent is to be secure and established by solemn betrothing._ vi. _by betrothing, each party is prepared for conjugial love._ vii. _by betrothing, the mind of the one is united to the mind of the other, so as to effect a marriage of the spirit previous to a marriage of the body._ viii. _this is the case with those who think chastely of marriages: but it is otherwise with those who think unchastely of them._ ix. _within the time of betrothing, it is not allowable to be connected corporeally._ x. _when the time of betrothing is completed, the nuptials ought to take place._ xi. _previous to the celebration of the nuptials, the conjugial covenant is to be ratified in the presence of witnesses._ xii. _the marriage is to be consecrated by a priest._ xiii. _the nuptials are to be celebrated with festivity._ xiv. _after the nuptials, the marriage of the spirit is made also the marriage of the body, and thereby a full marriage._ xv. _such is the order of conjugial love with its modes from its first heat to its first torch._ xvi. _conjugial love precipitated without order and the modes thereof, burns up the marrows and is consumed._ xvii. _the states of the minds of each of the parties proceeding in successive order, flow into the state of marriage; nevertheless in one manner with the spiritual and in another with the natural._ xviii. _there are successive and simultaneous orders, and the latter is from the former and according to it._ we proceed to an explanation of each article. . i. the right of choice belongs to the man, and not to the woman. this is because the man is born to be understanding, but the woman to be love; also because with the men there generally prevails a love of the sex, but with the women a love of one of the sex; and likewise because it is not unbecoming for men to speak openly about love, as it is for women; nevertheless women have the right of selecting one of their suitors. in regard to the first reason, that the right of choice belongs to the men, because they are born to understanding, it is grounded in the consideration that the understanding can examine agreements and disagreements, and distinguish them, and from judgement choose that which is suitable: it is otherwise with the women, because they are born to love, and therefore have no such discrimination; and consequently their determinations to marriage would proceed only from the inclinations of their love; if they have the skill of distinguishing between men and men, still their love is influenced by appearances. in regard to the other reason, that the right of choice belongs to the men, and not to the women, because with men there generally prevails a love of the sex, and with women a love of one of the sex, it is grounded in the consideration, that those in whom a love of the sex prevails, can freely look around and also determine: it is otherwise with women, in whom is implanted a love for one of the sex. if you wish for a proof of this, ask, if you please, the men you meet, what their sentiments are respecting monogamical and polygamical unions; and you will seldom meet one who will not reply in favor of the polygamical; and this also is a love of the sex: but ask the women their sentiments on the subject, and almost all, except the vilest of the sex, will reject polygamical unions; from which consideration it follows, that with the women there prevails a love of one of the sex, thus conjugial love. in regard to the third reason, that it is not unbecoming for men to speak openly about love, whereas it is for women, it is self-evident; hence also it follows, that declaration belongs to the men, and therefore so does choice. that women have the right of selecting in regard to their suitors, is well known; but this species of selection is confined and limited, whereas that of the men is extended and unlimited. . ii. the man ought to court and intreat the woman respecting marriage with him, and not the woman the man. this naturally follows the right of choice; and besides, to court and intreat women respecting marriage is in itself honorable and becoming for men, but not for women. if women were to court and entreat the men, they would not only be blamed, but, after intreaty, they would be reputed as vile, or after marriage as libidinous, with whom there would be no association but what was cold and fastidious; wherefore marriages would thereby be converted into tragic scenes. wives also take it as a compliment to have it said of them, that being conquered as it were, they yielded to the pressing intreaties of the men. who does not foresee, that if the women courted the men, they would seldom be accepted? they would either be indignantly rejected, or be enticed to lasciviousness, and also would dishonor their modesty. moreover, as was shewn above, the men have not any innate love of the sex; and without love there is no interior pleasantness of life: wherefore to exalt their life by that love, it is incumbent on the men to compliment the women; courting and intreating them with civility, courtesy, and humility, respecting this sweet addition to their life. the superior comeliness of the female countenance, person, and manners, above that of the men, adds itself as a proper object of desire. . iii. the woman ought to consult her parents, or those who are in the place of parents, and then deliberate with herself, before she consents. the reason why parents are to be consulted is, because they deliberate from judgement, knowledge, and love; from _judgement_, because they are in an advanced age, which excels in judgement, and discerns what is suitable and unsuitable: from _knowledge_, in respect to both the suitor and their daughter; in respect to the suitor they procure information, and in respect to their daughter they already know; wherefore they conclude respecting both with united discernment: from _love_, because to consult the good of their daughter, and to provide for her establishment, is also to consult and provide for their own and for themselves. . the case would be altogether different, if the daughter consents of herself to her urgent suitor, without consulting her parents, or those who are in their place; for she cannot from judgement, knowledge, and love, make a right estimate of the matter which so deeply concerns her future welfare: she cannot from _judgement_, because she is as yet in ignorance as to conjugial life, and not in a state of comparing reasons, and discovering the morals of men from their particular tempers; nor from _knowledge_, because she knows few things beyond the domestic concerns of her parents and of some of her companions; and is unqualified to examine into such things as relate to the family and property of her suitor: nor from _love_, because with daughters in their first marriageable age, and also afterwards, this is led by the concupiscences originating in the senses, and not as yet by the desires originating in a refined mind. the daughter ought nevertheless to deliberate on the matter with herself, before she consents, lest she should be led against her will to form a connection with a man whom she does not love; for by so doing, consent on her part would be wanting; and yet it is consent that constitutes marriage, and initiates the spirit into conjugial love; and consent against the will, or extorted, does not initiate the spirit, although it may the body; and thus it converts chastity, which resides in the spirit, into lust; whereby conjugial love in its first warmth is vitiated. . iv. after a declaration of consent, pledges are to be given. by pledges we mean presents, which, after consent, are confirmations, testifications, first favors, and gladnesses. those presents are _confirmations_, because they are certificates of consent on each side; wherefore, when two parties consent to anything, it is customary to say, "give me a token;" and of two, who have entered into a marriage engagement, and have secured it by presents, that they are pledged, thus confirmed. they are _testifications_, because those pledges are continual visible witnesses of mutual love; hence also they are memorials thereof; especially if they be rings, perfume-bottles or boxes, and ribbons, which are worn in sight. in such things there is a sort of representative image of the minds (_animorum_) of the bridegroom and the bride. those pledges are _first favors_, because conjugial love engages for itself everlasting favor; whereof those gifts are the first fruits. that they are the _gladnesses_ of love, is well known, for the mind is exhilarated at the sight of them; and because love is in them, those favors are dearer and more precious than any other gifts, it being as if their hearts were in them. as those pledges are securities of conjugial love, therefore presents after consent were in use with the ancients; and after accepting such presents the parties were declared to be bridegroom and bride. but it is to be observed that it is at the pleasure of the parties to bestow those presents either before or after the act of betrothing; if before, they are confirmations and testifications of consent to betrothing; if after it, they are also confirmations and testifications of consent to the nuptial tie. . v. consent is to be secured and established by solemn betrothing. the reasons for betrothings are these: . that after betrothing the souls of the two parties may mutually incline towards each other. . that the universal love for the sex may be determined to one of the sex. . that the interior affections may be mutually known, and by applications in the internal cheerfulness of love, may be conjoined. . that the spirits of both parties may enter into marriage, and be more and more consociated. . that thereby conjugial love may advance regularly from its first warmth even to the nuptial flame. consequently: . that conjugial love may advance and grow up in just order from its spiritual origin. the state of betrothing may be compared to the state of spring before summer; and the internal pleasantness of that state to the flowering of trees before fructification. as the beginning and progressions of conjugial love proceed in order for the sake of their influx into the effective love, which commences at the nuptials, therefore, there are also betrothings in the heavens. . vi. by betrothing each party is prepared for conjugial love. that the mind or spirit of one of the parties is by betrothing prepared for union with the mind or spirit of the other, or what is the same, that the love of the one is prepared for union with the love of the other, appears from the arguments just adduced. besides which it is to be noted, that on love truly conjugial is inscribed this order, that it ascends and descends; it ascends from its first heat progressively upwards towards the souls of the parties, with an endeavour to effect their conjunction, and this by continual interior openings of their minds; and there is no love which strives more intensely to effect such openings, or which is more powerful and expert in opening the interiors of minds, than conjugial love; for the soul of each of the parties intends this: but at the same moments in which that love ascends towards the soul, it descends also towards the body, and thereby clothes itself. it is however to be observed, that conjugial love is such in its descent as it is in the height to which it ascends: if it ascends high, it descends chaste; but if not, it descends unchaste: the reason of this is, because the lower principles of the mind are unchaste, but its higher are chaste; for the lower principles of the mind adhere to the body, but the higher separate themselves from them: but on this subject see further particulars below, n. . from these few considerations it may appear, that, by betrothing, the mind of each of the parties is prepared for conjugial love, although in a different manner according to the affections. . vii. by betrothing the mind of one is united to the mind of the other, so as to effect a marriage of the spirit, previous to a marriage of the body. as this follows of consequence from what was said above, n. , , we shall pass it by, without adducing any further confirmations from reason. . viii. this is the case with those who think chastely of marriages; but it is otherwise with those who think unchastely of them. with the chaste, that is, with those who think religiously of marriages, the marriage of the spirit precedes, and that of the body is subsequent; and these are those with whom love ascends towards the soul, and from its height thence descends; concerning whom see above, n. . the souls of such separate themselves from the unlimited love for the sex, and devote themselves to one, with whom they look for an everlasting and eternal union and its increasing blessednesses, as the cherishers of the hope which continually recreates their mind; but it is quite otherwise with the unchaste, that is, with those who do not think religiously of marriages and their holiness. with these there is a marriage of the body, but not of the spirit: if, during the state of betrothment, there be any appearance of a marriage of the spirit, still, if it ascends by an elevation of the thoughts concerning it, it nevertheless falls back again to the concupiscences which arise from the flesh in the will; and thus from the unchaste principles therein it precipitates itself into the body, and defiles the ultimates of its love with an alluring ardor; and as, in consequence of this ardor, it was in the beginning all on fire, so its fire suddenly goes out, and passes off into the cold of winter; whence the failing (of power) is accelerated. the state of betrothing with such scarcely answers any other purpose, than that they may fill their concupiscences with lasciviousness, and thereby contaminate the conjugial principle of love. . ix. within the time of betrothing it is not allowable to be connected corporeally. for thus the order which is inscribed on conjugial love, perishes. for in human minds there are three regions, of which the highest is called the celestial, the middle the spiritual, and the lowest the natural. in this lowest man is born; but he ascends into the next above it, the spiritual, by a life according to the truths of religion, and into the highest by the marriage of love and wisdom. in the lowest or natural region, reside all the concupiscences of evil and lasciviousness; but in the superior or spiritual region, there are no concupiscences of evil and lasciviousness; for man is introduced into this region by the lord, when he is re-born; but in the supreme or celestial region, there is conjugial chastity in its love: into this region a man is elevated by the love of uses; and as the most excellent uses are from marriages, he is elevated into it by love truly conjugial. from these few considerations, it may be seen that conjugial love, from the first beginnings of its warmth, is to be elevated out of the lowest region into a superior region, that it may become chaste, and that thereby from a chaste principle it may be let down through the middle and lowest regions into the body; and when this is the case, this lowest region is purified from all that is unchaste by this descending chaste principle: hence the ultimate of that love becomes also chaste. now if the successive order of this love is precipitated by connections of the body before their time, it follows, that the man acts from the lowest region, which is by birth unchaste; and it is well known, that hence commences and arises cold in regard to marriage, and disdainful neglect in regard to a married partner. nevertheless events of various kinds take place in consequence of hasty connections; also in consequence of too long a delay, and too quick a hastening, of the time of betrothing; but these, from their number and variety, can hardly be adduced. . x. when the time of betrothing is completed, the nuptials ought to take place. there are some customary rites which are merely formal, and others which at the same time are also essential: among the latter are nuptials; and that they are to be reckoned among essentials, which are to be manifested in the customary way, and to be formally celebrated, is confirmed by the following reasons: . that nuptials constitute the end of the foregoing state, into which the parties were introduced by betrothing, which principally was a state of the spirit, and the beginning of the following state, into which they are to be introduced by marriage, which is a state of the spirit and body together; for the spirit then enters into the body, and there becomes active: wherefore on that day the parties put off the state and also the name of bridegroom and bride, and put on the state and name of married partners and consorts. . that nuptials are an introduction and entrance into a new state, which is that a maiden becomes a wife, and a young man a husband, and both one flesh; and this is effected while love by ultimates unites them. that marriage actually changes a maiden into a wife, and a young man into a husband, was proved in the former part of this work; also that marriage unites two into one human form, so that they are no longer two but one flesh. . that nuptials are the commencement of an entire separation of the love of the sex from conjugial love, which is effected while, by a full liberty of connection, the knot is tied by which the love of the one is devoted to the love of the other. . it appears as if nuptials were merely an interval between those two states, and thus that they are mere formalities which may be omitted: but still there is also in them this essential, that the new state above-mentioned is then to be entered upon from covenant, and that the consent of the parties is to be declared in the presence of witnesses, and also to be consecrated by a priest; besides other particulars which establish it. as nuptials contain in them essentials, and as marriage is not legitimate till after their celebration, therefore also nuptials are celebrated in the heavens; see above, n. , and also, n. - . . xi. previous to the celebration of the nuptials, the conjugial covenant is to be ratified in the presence of witnesses. it is expedient that the conjugial covenant be ratified before the nuptials are celebrated, in order that the statutes and laws of love truly conjugial may be known, and that they may be remembered after the nuptials; also that the minds of the parties may be bound to just marriage: for after some introductory circumstances of marriage, the state which preceded betrothing returns at times, in which state remembrance fails and forgetfulness of the ratified covenant ensues; yea, it may be altogether effaced by the allurements of the unchaste to criminality; and if it is then recalled into the memory, it is reviled: but to prevent these transgressions, society has taken upon itself the protection of that covenant, and has denounced penalties on the breakers of it. in a word, the ante-nuptial covenant manifests and establishes the sacred decrees of love truly conjugial, and binds libertines to the observance of them. moreover, by this covenant, the right of propagating children, and also the right of the children to inherit the goods of their parents, become legitimate. . xii. marriage is to be consecrated by a priest. the reason of this is, because marriages, considered in themselves, are spiritual, and thence holy; for they descend from the heavenly marriage of good and truth, and things conjugial correspond to the divine marriage of the lord and the church; and hence they are from the lord himself, and according to the state of the church with the contracting parties. now, as the ecclesiastical order on the earth administer the things which relate to the lord's priestly character, that is, to his love, and thus also those which relate to blessing, it is expedient that marriages be consecrated by his ministers; and as they are then the chief witnesses, it is expedient that the consent of the parties to the covenant be also heard, accepted, confirmed, and thereby established by them. . xiii. the nuptials are to be celbrated with festivity. the reasons are, because ante-nuptial love, which was that of the bridegroom and the bride, on this occasion descends into their hearts, and spreading itself thence in every direction into all parts of the body, the delights of marriage are made sensible, whereby the minds of the parties are led to festive thoughts and also let loose to festivities so far as is allowable and becoming; to favor which, it is expedient that the festivities of their minds be indulged in company, and they themselves be thereby introduced into the joys of conjugial love. . xiv. after the nuptials, the marriage of the spirit is made also the marriage of the body, and thereby a full marriage. all things which a man does in the body, flow in from his spirit; for it is well known that the mouth does not speak of itself, but that it is the thinking principle of the mind which speaks by it; also that the hands do not act and the feet walk of themselves, but that it is the will of the mind which performs those operations by them; consequently, that the mind speaks and acts by its organs in the body: hence it is evident, that such as the mind is, such are the speech of the mouth and the actions of the body. from these premises it follows as a conclusion that the mind, by a continual influx, arranges the body so that it may act similarly and simultaneously with itself; wherefore the bodies of men viewed interiorly are merely forms of their minds exteriorly organized to effect the purposes of the soul. these things are premised, in order that it may be perceived why the minds or spirits are first to be united as by marriage, before they are also further united in the body; namely, that while the marriages become of the body, they may also be marriages of the spirit; consequently, that married partners may mutually love each other from the spirit, and thence from the body. from this ground let us now take a view of marriage. when conjugial love unites the minds of two persons, and forms them into a marriage, in such case it also unites and forms their bodies into a marriage; for, as we have said, the form of the mind is also interiorly the form of the body; only with this difference, that the latter form is outwardly organized to effect that to which the interior form of the body is determined by the mind. but the mind formed from conjugial love is not only interiorly in the whole body, round about in every part, but moreover is interiorly in the organs appropriated to generation, which in their region are situated beneath the other regions of the body, and in which are terminated the forms of the mind with those who are united in conjugial love: consequently the affections and thoughts of their minds are determined thither; and the activities of such minds differ in this respect from the activities of minds arising from other loves, that the latter loves do not reach thither. the conclusion resulting from these considerations is, that such as conjugial love is in the minds or spirits of two persons, such is it interiorly in those its organs. but it is self-evident that a marriage of the spirit after the nuptials becomes also a marriage of the body, thus a full marriage, consequently, if a marriage in the spirit is chaste, and partakes of the sanctity of marriage, it is chaste also, and partakes of its sanctity, when it is in its fulness in the body; and the case is reversed if a marriage in the spirit is unchaste. . xv. such is the order of conjugial love with its modes from its first heat to its first torch. it is said from its first heat to its first torch, because vital heat is love, and conjugial heat or love successively increases, and at length as it were into a flame or torch. we have said "to its first torch," because we mean the first state after the nuptials, when that love burns; but what its quality becomes after this torch, in the marriage itself, has been described in the preceding chapters; but in this part we are explaining its order from the beginning of its career to this its first goal. that all order proceeds from first principles to last, and that the last become the first of some following order, also that all things of the middle order are the last of a prior and the first of a following order, and that thus ends proceed continually through causes into effects, may be sufficiently confirmed and illustrated to the eye of reason from what is known and visible in the world; but as at present we are treating only of the order in which love proceeds from its first starting-place to its goal, we shall pass by such confirmation and illustration, and only observe on this subject, that such as the order of this love is from its first heat to its first torch, such it is in general, and such is its influence in its progression afterwards; for in this progression it unfolds itself, according to the quality of its first heat: if this heat was chaste, its chasteness is strengthened as it proceeds; but if it was unchaste, its unchasteness increases as it advances, until it is deprived of all that chasteness which, from the time of betrothing, belonged to it from without, but not from within. . xvi. conjugial love precipitated without order and the modes thereof, burns up the marrows and is consumed. so it is said by some in the heavens; and by the marrows they mean the interiors of the mind and body. the reason why these are burnt up, that is, consumed, by precipitated conjugial love is, because that love in such case begins from a flame which eats up and corrupts those interiors, in which as in its principles conjugial love should reside, and from which it should commence. this comes to pass if the man and woman without regard to order precipitate marriage, and do not look to the lord, and consult their reason, but reject betrothing and comply merely with the flesh: from the ardor of which, if that love commences, it becomes external and not internal, thus not conjugial; and such love may be said to partake of the shell, not of the kernel; or may be called fleshly, lean, and dry, because emptied of its genuine essence. see more on this subject above n. . . xvii. the states of the minds of each of the parties proceeding in successive order, flow into the state of marriage; nevertheless in one manner with the spiritual and in another with the natural. that the last state is such as that of the successive order from which it is formed and exists, is a rule, which from its truth must be acknowledged by the learned; for thereby we discover what influx is, and what it effects. by influx we mean all that which precedes, and constitutes what follows, and by things following in order constitutes what is last; as all that which precedes with a man, and constitutes his wisdom; or all that which precedes with a statesman, and constitutes his political skill; or all that which precedes with a theologian, and constitutes his erudition; in like manner all that which proceeds from infancy, and constitutes a man; also what proceeds in order from a seed and a twig, and makes a tree, and afterwards what proceeds from a blossom, and makes its fruit; in like manner all that which precedes and proceeds with a bridegroom and bride, and constitutes their marriage: this is the meaning of influx. that all those things which precede in minds form series, which collect together, one next to another, and one after another, and that these together compose a last or ultimate, is as yet unknown in the world; but as it is a truth from heaven, it is here adduced for it explains what influx effects, and what is the quality of the last or ultimate, in which the above-mentioned series successively formed co-exist. from these considerations it may be seen that the states of the minds of each of the parties proceeding in successive order flow into the state of marriage. but married partners after marriage are altogether ignorant of the successive things which are insinuated into, and exist in their minds (_animis_) from things antecedent; nevertheless it is those things which give form to conjugial love, and constitute the state of their minds; from which state they act the one with the other. the reason why one state is formed from one order with such as are spiritual, and from another with such as are natural, is, because the spiritual proceed in a just order, and the natural in an unjust order; for the spiritual look to the lord, and the lord provides and leads the order; whereas the natural look to themselves, and thence proceed in an inverted order; wherefore with the latter the state of marriage is inwardly full of unchasteness; and as that unchasteness abounds, so does cold; and as cold abounds so do the obstructions of the inmost life, whereby its vein is closed and its fountain dried. . xviii. there are successive and simultaneous order, and the latter is from the former and according to it. this is adduced as a reason tending to confirm what goes before. it is well known that there exist what is successive and what is simultaneous; but it is unknown that simultaneous order is grounded in successive, and is according to it; yet how things successive enter into things simultaneous, and what order they form therein, it is very difficult to present to the perception, since the learned are not in possession of any ideas that can elucidate the subject; and as the first idea respecting this arcanum cannot be suggested in few words, and to treat this subject at large would withdraw the mind from a more comprehensive view of the subject of conjugial love, it may suffice for illustration to quote what we have adduced in a compendium respecting those two orders, the successive and the simultaneous, and respecting the influx of the former into the latter, in the doctrine of the new jerusalem respecting the sacred scripture, where are these words: "there are in heaven and in the world successive order and simultaneous order. in successive order one thing follows after another from the highest to the lowest; but in simultaneous order one thing is next to another from the inmost to the outermost. successive order is like a column with steps from the highest to the lowest; but simultaneous order is like a work cohering from the centre to the surface. successive order becomes in the ultimate simultaneous in this manner; the highest things of successive order become the inmost of simultaneous, and the lowest things of successive order become the outermost of simultaneous; comparatively as when a column of steps subsides, it becomes a body cohering in a plane. thus what is simultaneous is formed from what is successive; and this in all things both of the spiritual and of the natural world." see n. , , of that work; and several further observations on this subject in the angelic wisdom respecting the divine love and divine wisdom, n. - . the case is similar with successive order leading to marriage, and with simultaneous order in marriage; namely, that the latter is from the former, and according to it. he that is acquainted with the influx of successive order into simultaneous, may comprehend the reason why the angels can see in a man's hand all the thoughts and intentions of his mind, and also why wives, from their husbands' hands on their bosoms, are made sensible of their affections; which circumstance has been occasionally mentioned in the memorable relations. the reason of this is, because the hands are the ultimates of man, wherein the deliberations and conclusions of his mind terminate, and there constitute what is simultaneous: therefore also in the word, mention is made of a thing's being inscribed on the hands. * * * * * . to the above i shall add two memorable relations. first. on a certain time i saw not far from me a meteor--a cloud divided into smaller clouds, some of which were of an azure color, some opaque, and as it were in collision together. they were streaked with translucent irradiations of light, which at one time appeared sharp like the points of swords, at another, blunt like broken swords. the streaks sometimes darted out forwards, at others they drew themselves in again, exactly like combatants; thus those different colored lesser clouds appeared to be at war together; but it was only their manner of sporting with each other. and as this meteor appeared at no great distance from me, i raised my eyes, and looking attentively, i saw boys, youths, and old men, entering a house which was built of marble, on a foundation of porphyry; and it was over this house that the phenomenon appeared. then addressing myself to one that was entering, i asked, "what house is this?" he answered, "it is a gymnasium, where young persons are initiated into various things relating to wisdom." on hearing this, i went in with them, being then in the spirit, that is, in a similar state with men of the spiritual world, who are called spirits and angels; and lo! in the gymnasium there were in front a desk, in the middle, benches, at the sides round about, chairs, and over the entrance, an orchestra. the desk was for the young men that were to give answers to the problem at that time to be proposed, the benches were for the audience, the chairs at the sides were for those who on former occasions had given wise answers, and the orchestra was for the seniors, who were arbitrators and judges: in the middle of the orchestra was a pulpit, where there sat a wise man, whom they called the head master, who proposed the problems to which the young men gave their answers from the desk. when all were assembled, this man arose from the pulpit and said, "give an answer now to this problem, and solve it if you can, what is the soul, and what is its quality?" on hearing this problem all were amazed, and made a muttering noise; and some of the company on the benches exclaimed, "what mortal man, from the age of saturn to the present time, has been able by any rational thought to see and ascertain what the soul is, still less what is its quality? is not this subject above the sphere of all human understanding?" but it was replied from the orchestra, "it is not above the understanding, but within it and in its view; only let the problem be answered." then the young men, who were chosen on that day to ascend the desk, and give an answer to the problem, arose. they were five in number, who had been examined by the seniors, and found to excel in sagacity, and were then sitting on couches at the sides of the desk. they afterwards ascended in the order in which they were seated; and every one, when he ascended, put on a silken tunic of an opaline color, and over it a robe of soft wool interwoven with flowers, and on his head a cap, on the crown of which was a bunch of roses encircled with small sapphires. the first youth thus clad ascended the desk, and thus began: "what the soul is, and what is its quality, has never been revealed to any one since the day of creation, being an arcanum in the treasuries of god alone; but this has been discovered, that the soul resides in a man as a queen; yet where her palace is, has been a matter of conjecture among the learned. some have supposed it to be in a small tubercle between the cerebrum and the cerebellum, which is called the pineal gland: in this they have fixed the soul's habitation, because the whole man is ruled from those two brains, and they are regulated by that tubercle; therefore whatever regulates the brains, regulates also the whole man from the head to the heel." he also added, "hence this conjecture appeared as true or probable to many in the world; but in the succeeding age it was rejected as groundless." when he had thus spoken, he put off the robe, the tunic, and the cap, which the second of the selected speakers put on, and ascended the desk. his sentiments concerning the soul are as follows: "in the whole heaven and the whole world it is unknown what the soul is, and what is its quality; it is however known that there is a soul, and that it is in man; but in what part of him is a matter of conjecture. this is certain, that it is in the head, since the head is the seat where the understanding thinks, and the will intends; and in front in the face of the head are man's five sensories, receiving life from the soul alone which resides in the head; but in what particular part of the head the soul has its more immediate residence, i dare not take upon me to say; yet i agree with those who fix its abode in the three ventricles of the brain, sometimes inclining to the opinion of those who fix it in the _corpora striata_ therein, sometimes to theirs who fix it in the medullary substance of each brain, sometimes to theirs who fix it in the cortical substance, and sometimes to theirs who fix it in the _dura mater_; for arguments, and those too of weight, have not been wanting in the support of each of these opinions. the arguments in favor of the three ventricles of the brain have been, that those ventricles are the recipients of the animal spirits and of all the lymphs of the brain: the arguments in favor of the _corpora striata_ have been, that these bodies constitute the marrow, through which the nerves are emitted, and by which each brain is continued into the spine; and from the spine and the marrow there is an emanation of fibres serving for the contexture of the whole body: the arguments in favor of the medullary substance of each brain have been, that this substance is a collection and congeries of all the fibres, which are the rudiments or beginnings of the whole man: the arguments in favor of the cortical substance have been, that in that substance are contained the prime and ultimate ends, and consequently the principles of all the fibres, and thereby of all the senses and motions: the arguments in favor of the _dura mater_ have been, that it is the common covering of each brain, and hence by some kind of continuous principle extends itself over the heart and the viscera of the body. as to myself, i am undetermined which of these opinions is the most probable, and therefore i leave the matter to your determination and decision." having thus concluded he descended from the desk, and delivered the tunic, the robe, and the cap, to the third, who mounting into the desk began as follows: "how little qualified is a youth like myself for the investigation of so sublime a theorem! i appeal to the learned who are here seated at the sides of the gymnasium; i appeal to you wise ones in the orchestra; yea, i appeal to the angels of the highest heaven, whether any person, from his own rational light, is able to form any idea concerning the soul; nevertheless i, like others, can guess about the place of its abode in man; and my conjecture is, that it is in the heart and thence in the blood; and i ground my conjecture on this circumstance, that the heart by its blood rules both the body and the head; for it sends forth a large vessel called the _aorta_ into the whole body, and vessels called the carotids into the whole head; hence it is universally agreed, that the soul from the heart by means of the blood supports, nourishes, and vivifies the universal organical system both of the body and the head. as a further proof of this position it may be urged, that in the sacred scripture frequent mention is made of the soul and the heart; as where it is said, thou shalt love god from the whole soul and the whole heart; and that god creates in man a new soul and a new heart, deut. vi. ; chap. x. ; chap. xi. ; chap. xxvi. ; jerem. xxxii. ; matt, xxii. ; mark xii. , ; luke x. ; and in other places: it is also expressly said, that the blood is the soul of the flesh, levit. xvii. , ." at these words, the cry of "learned! learned!" was heard in the assembly, and was found to proceed from some of the canons. after this a fourth, clad in the garments of the former speaker, ascended the desk, and thus began: "i also am inclined to suspect that not a single person can be found of so subtle and refined a genius as to be able to discover what the soul is, and what is its quality; therefore i am of opinion, that in attempting to make the discovery, subtlety will be spent in fruitless labor; nevertheless from my childhood i have continued firm in the opinion of the ancients, that the soul of man is in the whole of him, and in every part of the whole, and thus that it is in the head and in all its parts, as well as in the body and in all its parts; and that it is an idle conceit of the moderns to fix its habitation in any particular part, and not in the body throughout; besides, the soul is a spiritual substance, of which there cannot be predicated either extension or place, but habitation and impletion; moreover, when mention is made of the soul, who does not conceive life to be meant? and is not life in the whole and in every part?" these sentiments were favorably received by a great part of the audience. after him the fifth rose, and, being adorned with the same insignia, thus delivered himself from the desk: "i will not waste your time and my own in determining the place of the soul's residence, whether it be in some particular part of the body, or in the whole; but from my mind's storehouse i will communicate to you my sentiments on the subject, what is the soul, and what is its quality? no one conceives of the soul but as of a pure somewhat, which may be likened to ether, or air, or wind, containing a vital principle, from the rationality which man enjoys above the beasts. this opinion i conceive to be founded on the circumstance, that when a man expires, he is said to breathe forth or emit his soul or spirit; hence also the soul which lives after death is believed to be such a breath or vapor animated by some principle of thinking life, which is called the soul; and what else can the soul be? but as i heard it declared from the orchestra, that this problem concerning the soul, its nature and quality, is not above the understanding, but is within it and in its view, i intreat and beseech you, who have made this declaration, to unfold this eternal arcanum yourselves." then the elders in the orchestra turned their eyes towards the head master, who had proposed the problem, and who understood by their signs that they wished him to descend and teach the audience: so he instantly quitted the pulpit, passed through the auditory, and entered the desk, and there, stretching out his hand, he thus began: "let me bespeak your attention: who does not believe the soul to be the inmost and most subtle essence of man? and what is an essence without a form, but an imaginary entity? wherefore the soul is a form, and a form whose qualities and properties i will now describe. it is a form of all things relating to love, and of all things relating to wisdom. all things relating to love are called affections, and those relating to wisdom are called perceptions. the latter derived from the former and thereby united with them constitute one form, in which are contained innumerable things in such an order, series, and coherence, that they may be called a one; and they may be called a one also for this reason, because nothing can be taken away from it, or added to it, but the quality of the form is changed. what is the human soul but such a form? are not all things relating to love and all things relating to wisdom essentials of that form? and are not these things appertaining to a man in his soul, and by derivation from the soul in his head and body? you are called spirits and angels; and in the world you believed that spirits and angels are like mere wind or ether, and thus mere mind and animation; and now you see clearly that you are truly, really, and actually men, who, during your abode in the world, lived and thought in a material body, and knew that a material body does not live and think, but a spiritual substance in that body; and this substance you called the soul, whose form you then were ignorant of, but now have seen and continue to see. you all are souls, of whose immortality you have heard, thought, said, and written so much; and because you are forms of love and wisdom from god, you can never die. the soul therefore is a human form, from which the smallest thing cannot be taken away, and to which the smallest thing cannot be added; and it is the inmost of all the forms of the whole body: and since the forms which are without receive from the inmost both essence and form, therefore you are souls, as you appear to yourselves and to us: in a word, the soul is the very man himself, because it is the inmost man; therefore its form is fully and perfectly the human form: nevertheless it is not life, but the proximate receptacle of life from god, and thereby the habitation of god." when he had thus spoken, many expressed their approbation; but some said, "we will weigh the matter." i immediately went home, and lo! over the gymnasium, instead of the foregoing meteor, there appeared a bright cloud, without streaks or rays that seemed to combat with each other, and which, penetrating through the roof, entered, and illuminated the walls; and i was informed, that they saw some pieces of writing, and among others this, "_jehovah god breathed into the man's nostrils the soul of lives, and the man became a living soul_," gen. ii. . . the second memorable relation. some time ago, as i was walking with my mind (_animus_) at rest, and in a state of delightful mental peace, i saw at a distance a grove, in the midst of which was an avenue leading to a small palace, into which maidens and youths, husbands and wives were entering. i also went thither in spirit, and asked the keeper who was standing at the entrance, whether i also might enter? he looked at me; upon which i said, "why do you look at me?" he replied, "i look at you that i may see whether the delight of peace, which appears in your face, partakes at all of the delight of conjugial love. beyond this avenue there is a little garden, and in the midst of it a house, where there are two novitiate conjugial partners, who to-day are visited by their friends of both sexes, coming to pay their congratulations. i do not know those whom i admit; but i was told that i should know them by their faces: those in whom i saw the delights of conjugial love, i was to admit, and none else." all the angels can see from the faces of others the delights of their hearts; and he saw the delight of that love in my face, because i was then meditating on conjugial love. this meditation beamed forth from my eyes, and thence entered into the interiors of my face: he therefore told me that i might enter. the avenue through which i entered was formed of fruit trees connected together by their branches, which made on each side a continued espalier. through the avenue i entered the little garden, which breathed a pleasant fragrance from its shrubs and flowers. the shrubs and flowers were in pairs; and i was informed that such little gardens appear about the houses where there are and have been nuptials, and hence they are called nuptial gardens. i afterwards entered the house, where i saw the two conjugial partners holding each other by the hands, and conversing together from love truly conjugial; and as i looked, it was given me to see from their faces the image of conjugial love, and from their conversation the vital principle thereof. after i, with the rest of the company, had paid them my respects, and wished them all happiness, i went into the nuptial garden, and saw on the right side of it a company of youths, to whom all who came out of the house resorted. the reason of their resorting to them was, because they were conversing respecting conjugial love, and conversation on this subject attracts to it the minds (_animos_) of all by a certain occult power. i then listened to a wise one who was speaking on the subject; and the sum of what i heard is as follows: that the divine providence of the lord is most particular and thence most universal in respect to marriages in the heavens: because all the felicities of heaven issue from the delights of conjugial love, like sweet waters from the sweet source of a fountain; and that on this account it is provided by the lord that conjugial pairs be born, and that these pairs be continually educated for marriage, neither the maiden nor the youth knowing anything of the matter; and after a stated time, when they both become marriageable, they meet as by chance, and see each other; and that in this case they instantly know, as by a kind of instinct, that they are pairs, and by a kind of inward dictate think within themselves, the youth, that she is mine, and the maiden, that he is mine; and when this thought has existed for some time in the mind of each, they deliberately accost each other, and betroth themselves. it is said, "as by chance," and "as by instinct," and the meaning is, by the divine providence; since, while the divine providence is unknown, it has such an appearance. that conjugial pairs are born and educated to marriage, while each party is ignorant of it, he proved by the conjugial likeness visible in the faces of each; also by the intimate and eternal union of minds (_animorum_) and minds (_mentium_), which could not possibly exist, as it does in heaven, without being foreseen and provided by the lord. when the wise one had proceeded thus far with his discourse, and had received the applauses of the company, he further added, that in the minutest things with man, both male and female, there is a conjugial principle; but still the conjugial principle with the male is different from what it is with the female; also that in the male conjugial principle there is what is conjunctive with the female conjugial principle, and _vice versa_, even in the minutest things. this he confirmed by the marriage of the will and the understanding in every individual, which two principles act together upon the minutest things of the mind and of the body; from which considerations it may be seen, that in every substance, even the smallest, there is a conjugial principle; and that this is evident from the compound substances which are made up of simple substances; as that there are two eyes, two ears, two nostrils, two cheeks, two lips, two arms with hands, two loins, two feet, and within in man two hemispheres of the brain, two ventricles of the heart, two lobes of the lungs, two kidneys, two testicles; and where there are not two, still they are divided into two. the reason why there are two is, because the one is of the will and the other of the understanding, which act wonderfully in each other to present a one; wherefore the two eyes make one sight, the two ears one hearing, the two nostrils one smell, the two lips one speech, the two hands one labor, the two feet one pace, the two hemispheres of the brain one habitation of the mind, the two chambers of the heart one life of the body by the blood, the two lobes of the lungs one respiration, and so forth; but the male and female principles, united by love truly conjugial, constitute one life fully human. while he was saying these things, there appeared red lightning on the right, and white lightning on the left; each was mild, and they entered through the eyes into the mind, and also enlightened it. after the lightning it also thundered; which was a gentle murmur from the angelic heaven flowing down and increasing. on hearing and seeing these things, the wise one said, "these are to remind me to add the following observations: that of the above pairs, the right one signifies their good, and the left their truth; and that this is from the marriage of good and truth, which is inscribed on man in general and in every one of his principles; and good has reference to the will, and truth to the understanding, and both together to a one. hence, in heaven the right eye is the good of vision, and the left the truth thereof; also the right ear is the good of hearing, and the left the truth thereof; and likewise the right hand is the good of a man's ability, and the left the truth thereof; and in like manner in the rest of the above pairs; and since the right and left have such significations, therefore the lord said, 'if thy right eye scandalize thee, pluck it out; and if thy right hand scandalize thee, cut it off;' whereby he meant, if good becomes evil, the evil must be cast out. this is the reason also why he said to his disciples that they should cast the net on the right side of the ship; and that when they did so, they took a great multitude of fishes; whereby he meant that they should teach the good of charity, and that thus they would collect men." when he had said these things, the two lightnings again appeared, but milder than before; and then it was seen, that the lightning on the left derived its whiteness from the red-shining fire of the lightning on the right; on seeing which he said, "this is a sign from heaven tending to confirm what i have said; because what is firy in heaven is good, and what is white in heaven is truth; and its being seen that the lightning on the left derived its whiteness from the red-shining fire of the lightning on the right, is a demonstrative sign that the whiteness of light, or light, is merely the splendor of fire." on hearing this all went home, inflamed with the good and truth of gladness, in consequence of the above lightnings, and of the conversation respecting them. * * * * * on repeated marriages. . it may come to be a matter of question, whether conjugial love, which is that of one man with one wife, after the death of one of the parties, can be separated, or transferred, or superinduced; also whether repeated marriages have any thing in common with polygamy, and thereby whether they may be called successive polygamies; with several other inquiries which often add scruples to scruples with men of a reasoning spirit. in order therefore that those who are curious in such researches, and who only grope in the shade respecting these marriages, may see some light, i have conceived it would be worth while to present for their consideration the following articles on the subject: i. _after the death of a married partner, again to contract wedlock, depends on the preceding conjugial love._ ii. _it depends also on the state of marriage, in which the parties had lived._ iii. _with those who have not been in love truly conjugial there is no obstacle or hindrance to their again contracting wedlock._ iv. _those who had lived together in love truly conjugial are unwilling to marry again, except for reasons separate from conjugial love._ v. _the state of the marriage of a youth with a maiden differs from that of a youth with a widow._ vi. _the state of the marriage of a widower with a maiden differs also from that of a widower with a widow._ vii. _the varieties and diversities of these marriages as to love and its attributes are innumerable._ viii. _the state of a widow is more grievous than that of a widower._ we proceed to the explanation of each article. . i. after the death of a married partner, again to contract wedlock, depends on the preceding conjugial love. love truly conjugial is like a balance, in which the inclinations for repeated marriages are weighed: so far as the preceding conjugial love had been genuine, so far the inclination for another marriage is weak; but so far as the preceding love had not been genuine, so far the inclination to another marriage is usually strong. the reason of this is obvious; because conjugial love is in a similar degree a conjunction of minds, which remains in the life of the body of the one party after the decease of the other; and this holds the inclination as a scale in a balance, and causes a preponderance according to the appropriation of true love. but since the approach to this love is seldom made at this day except for a few paces, therefore the scale of the preponderance of the inclination generally rises to a state of equilibrium, and from thence inclines and tends to the other side, that is, to marriage. the contrary is the case with those, whose preceding-love in the former marriage has not been truly conjugial, because in proportion as that love is not genuine, there is in a like degree a disjunction of minds, which also remains in the life of the body of the one party after the decease of the other; and this enters the will disjoined from that of the other, and causes an inclination for a new connection; in favor of which the thought arising from the inclination of the will induces the hope of a more united, and thereby a more delightful connection. that inclinations to repeated marriages arise from the state of the preceding love, is well known, and is also obvious to reason: for love truly conjugial is influenced by a fear of loss, and loss is followed by grief; and this grief and fear reside in the very inmost principles of the mind. hence, so far as that love prevails, so far the soul inclines both in will and in thought, that is, in intention, to be in the subject with and in which it was: from these considerations it follows, that the mind is kept balancing towards another marriage according to the degree of love in which it was in the former marriage. hence it is that after death the same parties are re-united, and mutually love each other as they did in the world: but as we said above, such love at this day is rare, and there are few who make the slightest approach to it; and those who do not approach it, and still more those who keep at a distance from it, as they were desirous of separation in the matrimonial life heretofore passed, so after death they are desirous of being united to another. but respecting both these sorts of persons more will be said in what follows. . ii. after the death of a married partner, again to contract wedlook, depends also on the state of marriage in which the parties had lived. by the state of marriage here we do not mean the state of love treated of in the foregoing article, because the latter causes an internal inclination to marriage or from it; but we mean the state of marriage which causes an external inclination to it or from it; and this state with its inclinations is manifold: as, . if there are children in the house, and a new mother is to be provided for them. . if there is a wish for a further increase of children. . if the house is large and full of servants of both sexes. . if the calls of business abroad divert the mind from domestic concerns, and without a new mistress there is reason to fear misery and misfortune. . if mutual aids and offices require that married partners be engaged in various occupations and employments. . moreover it depends on the temper and disposition of the separated partner, whether after the first marriage the other partner can or cannot live alone, or without a consort. . the preceding marriage also disposes the mind either to be afraid of married life, or in favor of it. . i have been informed that polygamical love and the love of the sex, also the lust of deflowering and the lust of variety, have induced the minds (_animos_) of some to desire repeated marriages; and that the minds of some have also been induced thereto by a fear of the law and of the loss of reputation, in case they commit whoredom: besides several other circumstances which promote external inclinations to matrimony. . iii. with those who have not been in love truly conjugial, there is no obstacle or hindrance to their again contracting wedlock. with those who have not been principled in conjugial love, there is no spiritual or internal, but only a natural or external bond; and if an internal bond does not keep the external in its order and tenor, the latter is but like a bundle when the bandage is removed, which flows every way according as it is tossed or driven by the wind. the reason of this is, because what is natural derives its origin from what is spiritual, and in its existence is merely a mass collected from spiritual principles; wherefore if the natural be separated from the spiritual, which produced and as it were begot it, it is no longer kept together interiorly, but only exteriorly by the spiritual, which encompasses and binds it in general, and does not tie it and keep it tied together in particular. hence it is, that the natural principle separated from the spiritual, in the case of two married partners, does not cause any conjunction of minds, and consequently of wills, but only a conjunction of some external affections, which are connected with the bodily senses. the reason why nothing opposes and hinders such persons from again contracting wedlock, is, because they have not been the essentials of marriage; and hence those essentials do not at all influence them after separation by death: therefore they are then absolutely at their own disposal, whether they be widowers or widows, to bind their sensual affections with whomsoever they please, provided there be no legal impediment. neither do they themselves think of marriages in any other than a natural view, and from a regard to convenience in supplying various necessities and external advantages, which after the death of one of the parties may again be supplied by another; and possibly, if their interior thoughts were viewed, as in the spiritual world, there would not be found in them any distinction between conjugial unions and extra-conjugial connections. the reason why it is allowable for these to contract repeated marriages, is, as above-mentioned, because merely natural connections are after death of themselves dissolved and fall asunder; for by death the external affections follow the body, and are entombed with it; those only remaining which are connected with internal principles. but it is to be observed, that marriages interiorly conjunctive can scarcely be entered into in the world, because elections of internal likenesses cannot there be provided by the lord as in the heavens; for they are limited in many ways, as to equals in rank and condition, within the country, city, and village where they live; and in the world for the most part married partners are held together merely by externals, and thus not by internals, which internals do not shew themselves till some time after marriage, and are only known when they influence the externals. . iv. those who had lived together in love truly conjugial are unwilling to marry again, except for reasons separate from conjugial love. the reasons why those who had lived in love truly conjugial, after the death of their married partners are unwilling to marry again, are as follow. . because they were united as to their souls, and thence as to their minds; and this union, being spiritual, is an actual junction of the soul and mind of one of the parties to those of the other, which cannot possibly be dissolved; that such is the nature of spiritual conjunction, has been constantly shewn above. . because they were also united as to their bodies by the receptions of the propagation of the soul of the husband by the wife, and thus by the insertion of his life into hers, whereby a maiden becomes a wife; and on the other hand by the reception of the conjugial love of the wife by the husband, which disposes the interiors of his mind, and at the same time the interiors and exteriors of his body, into a state receptible of love and perceptible of wisdom, which makes him from a youth become a husband; see above, n. . . because a sphere of love from the wife, and a sphere of understanding from the man, is continually flowing forth, and because it perfects conjunctions, and encompasses them with its pleasant influence, and unites them; see also above, n. . . because married partners thus united think of, and desire what is eternal, and because on this idea their eternal happiness is founded; see n. . . from these several considerations it is, that they are no longer two, but one man, that is, one flesh. . that such a union cannot be destroyed by the death of one of the parties, is manifest to the sight of a spirit. . to the above considerations shall be added this new information, that two such conjugial partners, after the death of one, are still not separated; since the spirit of the deceased dwells continually with that of the survivor, and this even to the death of the latter, when they again meet and are reunited, and love each other more tenderly than before, because they are then in the spiritual world. hence flows this undeniable consequence, that those who had lived in love truly conjugial, are unwilling to marry again. but if they afterwards contract something like marriage, it is for reasons separate from conjugial love, which are all external; as in case there are young children in the house, and the care of them requires attention; if the house is large and full of servants of both sexes; if the calls of business abroad divert the mind from domestic concerns; if mutual aids and offices are necessary; with other cases of a like nature. . v. the state of the marriage of a youth with a maiden differs from that of a youth with a widow. by states of marriage we mean the states of the life of each party, the husband and the wife, after the nuptials, thus in the marriage, as to the quality of the intercourse at that time, whether it be internal, that is of souls and minds, which is intercourse in the principle idea, or whether it be only external, that is of minds (_animorum_), of the senses, and of the body. the state of marriage of a youth with a maiden is essentially itself initiatory to genuine marriage; for between these conjugial love can proceed in its just order, which is from its first heat to its first torch, and afterwards from its first seed with the youth-husband, and from its first flower with the maiden-wife, and thus generate, grow, and fructify, and introduce itself into those successive states with both parties mutually; but if otherwise, the youth or the maiden was not really such, but only in external form. but between a youth and a widow there is not such an initiation to marriage from first principles, nor a like progression in marriage, since a widow is more at her own disposal, and under her own jurisdiction, than a maiden; wherefore a youth addresses himself differently to his wife if she were a widow, from what he does if she were a maiden. but herein there is much variety and diversity; therefore the subject is here mentioned only in a general way. . vi. the state of the marriage of a widower with a maiden differs also from that of a widower with a widow. for a widower has already been initiated into married life which a maiden has to be; and yet conjugial love perceives and is sensible of its pleasantness and delight in mutual initiation; a youth-husband and a maiden-wife perceive and are sensible of things ever new in whatever occurs, whereby they are in a kind of continual initiation and consequent amiable progression. the case is otherwise in the state of the marriage of a widower with a maiden: the maiden-wife has an internal inclination, whereas with the man that inclination has passed away; but herein there is much variety and diversity: the case is similar in a marriage between a widower and a widow; however, except this general notion, it is not allowable to add anything specifically. . vii. the varieties and diversities of these marriages as to love and its attributes are innumerable. there is an infinite variety of all things, and also an infinite diversity. by varieties we here mean the varieties between those things which are of one genus or species, also between the genera and species; but by diversities we here mean the diversities between those things which are opposite. our idea of the distinction of varieties and diversities may be illustrated as follows: the angelic heaven, which is connected as a one, in an infinite variety, no one there being absolutely like another, either as to souls and minds, or as to affections, perceptions, and consequent thoughts, or as to inclinations and consequent intentions, or as to tone of voice, face, body, gesture, and gait, and several other particulars, and yet, notwithstanding there are myriads of myriads, they have been and are arranged by the lord into one form, in which there is full unanimity and concord; and this could not possibly be, unless they were all, with their innumerable varieties, universally and individually under the guidance of one: these are what we here mean by varieties. but by diversities we mean the opposites of those varieties, which exist in hell; for the inhabitants there are diametrically opposite to those in heaven; and hell, which consists of such, is kept together as a one by varieties in themselves altogether contrary to the varieties in heaven, thus by perpetual diversities. from these considerations it is evident what is perceived by infinite variety and infinite diversity. the case is the same in marriages, namely, that there are infinite varieties with those who are in conjugial love, and infinite varieties with those who are in adulterous love; and hence, that there are infinite diversities between the latter and the former. from these premises it follows, that the varieties and diversities in marriages of every genus and species, whether of a youth with a maiden, or of a youth with a widow, or of a widower with a maiden, or of a widower with a widow exceed all number: who can divide infinity into numbers? . viii. the state of a widow is more grievous than that of a widower. the reasons for this are both external and internal; the external are such as all can comprehend; as: . that a widow cannot provide for herself and her family the necessaries of life, nor dispose of them when acquired, as a man can and as she previously did by and with her husband. . that neither can she defend herself and her family as is expedient; for, while she was a wife, her husband was her defence, and as it were her arm; and while she herself was her own (defence and arm), she still trusted to her husband. . that of herself she is deficient of counsel in such things as relate to interior wisdom and the prudence thence derived. . that a widow is without the reception of love, in which as a woman she is principled; thus she is in a state contrary to that which was innate and induced by marriage. these external reasons, which are natural, have their origin from internal reasons also, which are spiritual, like all other things in the world and in the body; respecting which see above, n. . those external natural reasons are perceived from the internal spiritual reasons which proceed from the marriage of good and truth, and principally from the following: that good cannot provide or arrange anything but by truth; that neither can good defend itself but by truth; consequently that truth is the defence and as it were the arm of good; that good without truth is deficient of counsel, because it has counsel, wisdom, and prudence by means of truth. now since by creation the husband is truth, and the wife the good thereof; or, what is the same thing, since by creation the husband is understanding, and the wife the love thereof, it is evident that the external or natural reasons, which aggravate the widowhood of a woman, have their origin from internal or spiritual reasons. these spiritual reasons, together with natural, are meant by what is said of widows in several passages in the word; as may be seen in the apocalypse revealed, n. . * * * * * . to the above i shall add two memorable relations. first. after the problem concerning the soul had been discussed and solved in the gymnasium, i saw them coming out in order: first came the chief teacher, then the elders, in the midst of whom were the five youths who had given the answers, and after these the rest. when they were come out they went apart to the environs of the house, where there were piazzas surrounded by shrubs; and being assembled, they divided themselves into small companies, which were so many groups of youths conversing together on subjects of wisdom, in each of which was one of the wise persons from the orchestra. as i saw these from my apartment, i became in the spirit, and in that state i went out to them, and approached the chief teacher, who had lately proposed the problem concerning the soul. on seeing me, he said. "who are you? i was surprised as i saw you approaching in the way, that at one instant you came into my sight, and the next instant went out of it; or that at one time i saw you, and suddenly i did not see you: assuredly you are not in the same state of life that we are." to this i replied, smiling, "i am neither a player nor a _vertumnus_; but i am alternate, at one time in your light, and at another in your shade; thus both a foreigner and a native." hereupon the chief teacher looked at me, and said, "you speak things strange and wonderful: tell me who you are." i said, "i am in the world in which you have been, and from which you have departed, and which is called the natural world; and i am also in the world into which you have come, and in which you are, which is called the spiritual world. hence i am in a natural state, and at the same time in a spiritual state; in a natural state with men of the earth and in a spiritual state with you; and when i am in the natural state, you do not see me, but when i am in the spiritual state, you do; that such should be my condition, has been granted me by the lord. it is known to you, illustrious sir, that a man of the natural world does not see a man of the spiritual world, nor _vice versa_; therefore when i let my spirit into the body, you did not see me; but when i let it out of the body, you did see me. you have been teaching in the gymnasium, that you are souls, and that souls see souls, because they are human forms; and you know, that when you were in the natural world, you did not see yourself or your souls in your bodies; and this is a consequence of the difference between what is spiritual and what is natural." when he heard of the difference between what is spiritual and what is natural, he said, "what do you mean by that difference? is it not like the difference between what is more or less pure? for what is spiritual but that which is natural in a higher state of purity?" i replied, "the difference is of another kind; it is like that between prior and posterior, which bear no determinate proportion to each other: for the prior is in the posterior as the cause is in the effect; and the posterior is derived from the prior as the effect from its cause: hence, the one does not appear to the other." to this the chief teacher replied, "i have meditated and ruminated upon this difference, but heretofore in vain; i wish i could perceive it." i said, "you shall not only perceive the difference between what is spiritual and what is natural, but shall also see it." i then proceeded as follows: "you yourself are in a spiritual state with your associate spirits, but in a natural state with me; for you converse with your associates in the spiritual language, which is common to every spirit and angel, but with me in my mother tongue; for every spirit and angel, when conversing with a man, speaks his peculiar language; thus french with a frenchman, english with an englishman, greek with a greek, arabic with an arabian, and so forth. that you may know therefore the difference between what is spiritual and what is natural in respect to languages, make this experiment; withdraw to your associates, and say something there: then retain the expressions, and return with them in your memory, and utter them before me." he did so, and returned to me with those expressions in his mouth, and uttered them; and they were altogether strange and foreign, such as do not occur in any language of the natural world. by this experiment several times repeated, it was made very evident that all the spiritual world have the spiritual language, which has in it nothing that is common to any natural language, and that every man comes of himself into the use of that language after his decease. at the same time also he experienced, that the sound of the spiritual language differs so far from the sound of natural language, that a spiritual sound, though loud, could not at all be heard by a natural man, nor a natural sound by a spirit. afterwards i requested the chief teacher and the bystanders to withdraw to their associates, and write some sentence or other on a piece of paper, and then return with it to me, and read it. they did so, and returned with the paper in their hand; but when they read it, they could not understand any part of it, as the writing consisted only of some letters of the alphabet, with turns over them, each of which was significative of some particular sense and meaning: because each letter of the alphabet is thus significative, it is evident why the lord is called alpha and omega. on their repeatedly withdrawing, and writing in the same manner, and returning to me, they found that their writing involved and comprehended innumerable things which no natural writing could possibly express; and they were given to understand, that this was in consequence of the spiritual man's thoughts being incomprehensible and ineffable to the natural man, and such as cannot flow and be brought into any other writing or language. then as some present were unwilling to comprehend that spiritual thought so far exceeds natural thought, as to be respectively ineffable, i said to them, "make the experiment; withdraw into your spiritual society, and think on some subject, and retain your thoughts, and return, and express them before me." they did so; but when they wanted to express the subject thought of, they were unable; for they did not find any idea of natural thought adequate to any idea of spiritual thought, consequently no words expressive of it; for ideas of thought are constituent of the words of language. this experiment they repeated again and again; whereby they were convinced that spiritual ideas are supernatural, inexpressible, ineffable, and incomprehensible to the natural man; and on account of this their super-eminence, they said, that spiritual ideas, or thoughts, as compared with natural, were ideas of ideas, and thoughts of thoughts; and that therefore they were expressive of qualities of qualities, and affections of affections; consequently that spiritual thoughts were the beginnings and origins of natural thoughts: hence also it was made evident that spiritual wisdom was the wisdom of wisdom, consequently that it was imperceptible to any wise man in the natural world. it was then told them from the third heaven, that there is a wisdom still interior and superior, which is called celestial, bearing a proportion to spiritual wisdom like that which spiritual wisdom bears to natural, and that these descend by an orderly influx according to the heavens from the divine wisdom of the lord, which is infinite. . after this i said to the by-standers, "you have seen from these three experimental proofs what is the difference between spiritual and natural, and also the reason why the natural man does not appear to the spiritual, nor the spiritual to the natural, although they are consociated as to affections and thoughts, and thence as to presence. hence it is that, as i approached, at one time you, sir, (addressing the chief teacher), saw me, and at another you did not." after this, a voice was heard from the superior heaven to the chief teacher, saying, "come up hither;" and he went up: and on his return, he said, that the angels, as well as himself, did not before know the differences between spiritual and natural, because there had never before been an opportunity of comparing them together, by any person's existing at the same time in both worlds; and without such comparison and reference those differences were not ascertainable. . after this we retired, and conversing again on this subject, i said, "those differences originate solely in this circumstance of your existence in the spiritual world, that you are in substantials and not in materials: and substantials are the beginning of materials. you are in principles and thereby in singulars; but we are in principiates and composites; you are in particulars, but we are in generals; and as generals cannot enter into particulars, so neither can natural things, which are material, enter into spiritual things which are substantial, any more than a ship's cable can enter into, or be drawn though, the eye of a fine needle; or than a nerve can enter or be let into one of the fibres of which it is composed, or a fibre into one of the fibrils of which it is composed: this also is known in the world: therefore herein the learned are agreed, that there is no such thing as an influx of what is natural into what is spiritual, but of what is spiritual into what is natural. this now is the reason why the natural man cannot conceive that which the spiritual man conceives, nor consequently express such conceptions; wherefore paul calls what he heard from the third heaven ineffable. moreover, to think spiritually is to think abstractedly from space and time, and to think naturally is to think in conjunction with space and time; for in every idea of natural thought there is something derived from space and time, which is not the case with any spiritual idea; because the spiritual world is not in space and time, like the natural world, but in the appearances of space and time. in this respect also spiritual thoughts and perceptions differ from natural; therefore you can think of the essence and omnipresence of god from eternity, that is, of god before the creation of the world, since you think of the essence of god from eternity abstracted from time, and of his omnipresence abstracted from space, and thus comprehend such things as transcend the ideas of the natural man." i then related to them, how i once thought of the essence and omnipresence of god from eternity, that is of god before the creation of the world; and that because i could not yet remove spaces and times from the ideas of my thought, i was brought into anxiety; for the idea of nature entered instead of god: but it was said to me, "remove the ideas of space and time, and you will see." i did so and then i saw; and from that time i was enabled to think of god from eternity, and not of nature from eternity; because god is in all time without time, and in all space without space, whereas nature in all time is in time, and in all space in space; and nature with her time and space, must of necessity have a beginning and a birth, but not god who is without time, and space; therefore nature is from god, not from eternity, but in time, that is, together with her time and space. . after the chief teacher and the rest of the assembly had left me, some boys who were also engaged in the gymnasian exercise, followed me home, and stood near me for a little while as i was writing: and lo! at that instant they saw a moth running upon my paper, and asked in surprise what was the name of that nimble little creature? i said, "it is called a moth; and i will tell you some wonderful things respecting it. this little animal contains in itself as many members and viscera as there are in a camel, such as brains, hearts, pulmonary pipes, organs of sense, motion, and generation, a stomach, intestines, and several others; and each of these organs consists of fibres, nerves, blood-vessels, muscles, tendons, membranes; and each of these of still purer parts, which escape the observation of the keenest eye." they then said that this little animal appeared to them just like a simple substance; upon which i said, "there are nevertheless innumerable things within it. i mention these things that you may know, that the case is similar in regard to every object which appears before you as one, simple and least, as well in your actions as in your affections and thoughts. i can assure you that every grain of thought, that every drop of your affection, is divisible _ad infinitum_: and that in proportion as your ideas are divisible, so you are wise. know then, that every thing divided is more and more multiple, and not more and more simple; because what is continually divided approaches nearer and nearer to the infinite, in which all things are infinitely. what i am now observing to you is new and heretofore unheard of." when i concluded, the boys took their leave of me, and went to the chief teacher, and intreated him to take an opportunity to propose in the gymnasium somewhat new and unheard of as a problem. he inquired, "what?" they said, "that every thing divided is more and more multiple, and not more and more simple; because it approaches nearer and nearer to the infinite, in which all things are infinitely:" and he pledged himself to propose it, and said, "i see this, because i have perceived that one natural idea contains innumerable spiritual ideas; yea, that one spiritual idea contains innumerable celestial ideas. herein is grounded the difference between the celestial wisdom of the angels of the third heaven, and the spiritual wisdom of the angels of the second heaven, and also the natural wisdom of the angels of the last heaven and likewise of men." . the second memorable relation. i once heard a pleasant discussion between some men respecting the female sex, whether it be possible for a woman to love her husband, who constantly loves her own beauty, that is, who loves herself from her form. they agreed among themselves first, that women have two-fold beauty; one natural, which is that of the face and body, and the other spiritual which is that of the love and manners; they agreed also, that these two kinds of beauty are often divided in the natural world, and are always united in the spiritual world; for in the latter world beauty is the form of the love and manners; therefore after death it frequently happens that deformed women become beauties, and beautiful women become deformities. while the men were discussing this point, there came some wives, and said, "admit of our presence; because what you are discussing, you have learned by science, but we are taught it by experience; and you likewise know so little of the love of wives, that it scarcely amounts to any knowledge. do you know that the prudence of the wives' wisdom consists in hiding their love from their husbands in the inmost recess of their bosoms, or in the midst of their hearts?" the discussion then proceeded; and the first conclusion made by the men was, that every woman is willing to appear beautiful as to face and manners, because she is born an affection of love, and the form of this affection is beauty; therefore a woman that is not desirous to be beautiful, is not desirous to love and to be loved, and consequently is not truly a woman. hereupon the wives observed, "the beauty of a woman resides in soft tenderness, and consequently in exquisite sensibility; hence comes the woman's love for the man, and the man's for the woman. this possibly you do not understand." the second conclusion of the men was, that a woman before marriage is desirous to be beautiful for the men, but after marriage, if she be chaste, for one man only, and not for the men. hereupon the wives observed. "when the husband has sipped the natural beauty of the wife, he sees it no longer, but sees her spiritual beauty; and from this he re-loves, and recalls the natural beauty, but under another aspect." the third conclusion of their discussion was, that if a woman after marriage is desirous to appear beautiful in like manner as before marriage, she loves the men, and not a man: because a woman loving herself from her beauty is continually desirous that her beauty should be sipped; and as this no longer appears to her husband, as you observed, she is desirous that it may be sipped by the men to whom it appears. it is evident that such a one has a love of the sex, and not a love of one of the sex. hereupon the wives were silent; yet they murmured, "what woman is so void of vanity, as not to desire to seem beautiful to the men also, at the same time that she seems beautiful to one man only?" these things were heard by some wives from heaven, who were beautiful, because they were heavenly affections. they confirmed the conclusions of the men; but they added, "let them only love their beauty and its ornaments for the sake of their husbands, and from them." . those three wives being indignant that the three conclusions of the men were confirmed by the wives from heaven, said to the men, "you have inquired whether a woman that loves herself from her beauty, loves her husband; we in our turn will therefore inquire whether a man who loves himself from his intelligence, can love his wife. be present and hear." this was their first conclusion; no wife loves her husband on account of his face, but on account of his intelligence in his business and manners: know therefore, that a wife unites herself with a man's intelligence and thereby with the man: therefore if a man loves himself on account of his intelligence, he withdraws it from the wife into himself, whence comes disunion and not union: moreover to love his own intelligence is to be wise from himself, and this is to be insane; therefore it is to love his own insanity. hereupon the men observed, "possibly the wife unites herself with the man's strength or ability." at this the wives smiled, saying, "there is no deficiency of ability while the man loves the wife from intelligence; but there is if he loves her from insanity. intelligence consists in loving the wife only: and in this love there is no deficiency of ability; but insanity consists in not loving the wife but the sex, and in this love there is a deficiency of ability. you comprehend this." the second conclusion was; we women are born into the love of the men's intelligence; therefore if the men love their own intelligence, it cannot be united with its genuine love, which belongs to the wife; and if the man's intelligence is not united with its genuine love, which belongs to the wife, it becomes insanity grounded in haughtiness, and conjugial love becomes cold. what woman in such case can unite her love to what is cold; and what man can unite the insanity of his haughtiness to the love of intelligence? but the men said, "whence has a man honor from his wife but by her magnifying his intelligence?" the wives replied, "from love, because love honors; and honor cannot be separated from love, but love maybe from honor." afterwards they came to this third conclusion; you seemed as if you loved your wives; and you do not see that you are loved by them, and thus that you re-love; and that your intelligence is a receptacle: if therefore you love your intelligence in yourselves, it becomes the receptacle of your love; and the love of _proprium_ (or self-hood), since it cannot endure an equal, never becomes conjugial love; but so long as it prevails, so long it remains adulterous. hereupon the men were silent; nevertheless they murmured, "what is conjugial love?" some husbands in heaven heard what passed, and confirmed thence the three conclusions of the wives. * * * * * on polygamy. . the reason why polygamical marriages are absolutely condemned by the christian world cannot be clearly seen by any one, whatever powers of acute and ingenious investigation he may possess, unless he be previously instructed, that there exists a love truly conjugial; that this love can only exist between two; nor between two, except from the lord alone; and that into this love is inserted heaven with all its felicities. unless these knowledges precede, and as it were lay the first stone, it is in vain for the mind to desire to draw from the understanding any reasons for the condemnation of polygamy by the christian world, which should be satisfactory, and on which it may firmly stand, as a house upon its stone or foundation. it is well known, that the institution of monogamical marriage is founded on the word of the lord, "_that whosoever putteth away his wife, except on account of whoredom, and marrieth another, committeth adultery; and that from the beginning, or from the first establishment of marriages, it was (ordained), that two should become one flesh; and that man should not separate what god hath joined together_," matt. xix. - . but although the lord spake these words from the divine law inscribed on marriages, still if the understanding cannot support that law by some reason of its own, it may so warp it by the turnings and windings to which it is accustomed, and by sinister interpretations, as to render its principle obscure and ambiguous, and at length affirmative negative;--affirmative, because it is also grounded in the civil law; and negative, because it is not grounded in a rational view of those words. into this principle the human mind will fall, unless it be previously instructed respecting the above-mentioned knowledges, which may be serviceable to the understanding as introductory to its reasons: these knowledges are, that there exists a love truly conjugial; that this love can only possibly exist between two; nor between two, except from the lord alone; and that into this love is inserted heaven with all its felicities. but these, and several other particulars respecting the condemnation of polygamy by the christian world, we will demonstrate in the following order: i. _love truly conjugial can only exist with one wife, consequently neither can friendship, confidence, ability truly conjugial, and such conjunction of minds that two may be one flesh._ ii. _thus celestial blessednesses, spiritual satisfactions, and natural delights, which from the beginning were provided for those who are in love truly conjugial, can only exist with one wife._ iii. _all those things can only exist from the lord alone; and they do not exist with any but those who come to him alone, and at the same time live according to his commandments._ iv. _consequently, love truly conjugial, with its felicities, can only exist with those who are of the christian church._ v. _therefore a christian is not allowed to marry more than one wife._ vi. _if a christian marries several wives, he commits not only natural but also spiritual adultery._ vii. _the israelitish nation was permitted to marry several wives, because they had not the christian church, and consequently love truly conjugial could not exist with them._ viii. _at this day the mahometans are permitted to marry several wives, because they do not acknowledge the lord jesus christ to be one with jehovah the father, and thereby to be the god of heaven and earth; and hence they cannot receive love truly conjugial._ ix. _the mahometan heaven is out of the christian heaven and is divided into two heavens, the inferior and the superior; and only those are elevated into their superior heaven who renounce concubines and live with one wife, and acknowledge our lord as equal to god the father, to whom is given dominion over heaven and earth._ x. _polygamy is lasciviousness._ xi. _conjugial chastity, purity, and sanctity, cannot exist with polygamists._ xii. _polygamists, so long as they remain such, cannot become spiritual._ xiii. _polygamy is not sin with those who live in it from a religious notion._ xiv. _that polygamy is not sin with those who are in ignorance respecting the lord._ xv. _that of these, although polygamists, such are saved as acknowledge god, and from a religious notion live according to the civil laws of justice._ xvi. _but none either of the latter or of the former can be associated with the angels in the christian heavens._ we proceed to an explanation of each article. . i. love truly conjugial can only exist with one wife, consistently neither can friendship, confidence, ability truly conjugial, and such a conjunction of minds that two may be one flesh. that love truly conjugial is at this day so rare as to be generally unknown, is a subject which has been occasionally inquired into above; that nevertheless such love actually exists, was demonstrated in its proper chapter, and occasionally in following chapters. but apart from such demonstration, who does not know that there is such a love, which, for excellency and satisfaction, is paramount to all other loves, so that all other loves in respect to it are of little account? that it exceeds self-love, the love of the world, and even the love of life, experience testifies in a variety of cases. have there not been, and are there not still, instances of men, who for a woman, the dear and desired object of their wishes, prostrate themselves on their knees, adore her as a goddess, and submit themselves as the vilest slaves to her will and pleasure? a plain proof that this love exceeds the love of self. have there not been, and are there not still instances of men, who for such a woman, make light of wealth, yea of treasures presented in prospect, and are also prodigal of those which they possess? a plain proof that this love exceeds the love of the world. have there not been, and are there not still, instances of men who for such a woman, account life itself as worthless, and desire to die rather than be disappointed in their wishes, as is evidenced by the many fatal combats between rival lovers on such occasions? a plain proof that this love exceeds the love of life. lastly, have there not been, and are there not still, instances of men, who for such a woman, have gone raving mad in consequence of being denied a place in her favor? from such a commencement of this love in several cases, who cannot rationally conclude, that, from its essence, it holds supreme dominion over every other love; and that the man's soul in such case is in it, and promises itself eternal blessedness with the dear and desired object of its wishes? and who can discover, let him make what inquiry he pleases, any other cause of this than that he has devoted his soul and heart to one woman? for if the lover, while he is in that state, had the offer made him of choosing out of the whole sex the worthiest, the richest, and the most beautiful, would he not despise the offer, and adhere to her whom he had already chosen, his heart being riveted to her alone? these observations are made in order that you may acknowledge, that conjugial love of such super-eminence exists, while one of the sex alone is loved. what understanding which with quick discernment attends to a chain of connected reasonings, cannot hence conclude, that if a lover from his inmost soul constantly persisted in love to that one, he would attain those eternal blessednesses which he promised himself before consent, and promises in consent? that he also does attain them if he comes to the lord, and from him lives a life of true religion, was shewn above. who but the lord enters the life of man from a superior principle, and implants therein internal celestial joys, and transfers them to the derivative principles which follow in order; and the more so, while at the same time he also bestows an enduring strength or ability? it is no proof that such love does not exist, or cannot exist, to urge that it is not experienced in one's self, and in this or that person. . since love truly conjugial unites the souls and hearts of two persons, therefore also it is united with friendship, and by friendship with confidence, and makes each conjugial, and so exalts them above other friendships and confidences, that as that love is the chief love, so also that friendship and that confidence are the chief: that this is the case also with ability, is plain from several reasons, some of which are discovered in the second memorable relation that follows this chapter; and from this ability follows the endurance of that love. that by love truly conjugial two consorts become one flesh, was shewn in a separate chapter, from n. - . . ii. thus celestial blessedness, spiritual satisfactions, and natural delights, which from the beginning were provided for those who are in love truly conjugial, can only exist with one wife. they are called celestial blessednesses, spiritual satisfactions, and natural delights, because the human mind is distinguished into three regions, of which the highest is called celestial, the second spiritual, and the third natural; and those three regions, with such as are principled in love truly conjugial, are open, and influx follows in order according to the openings. and as the pleasantnesses of that love are most eminent in the highest regions, they are perceived as blessednesses, and as in the middle region they are less eminent, they are perceived as satisfactions, and lastly, in the lowest region, as delights: that there are such blessednesses, satisfactions, and delights, and that they are perceived and felt, appears from the memorable relations in which they are described. the reason why all those happinesses were from the beginning provided for those who are principled in love truly conjugial, is, because there is an infinity of all blessednesses in the lord, and he is divine love; and it is the essence of love to desire to communicate all its goods to another whom it loves; therefore together with man he created that love, and inserted in it the faculty of receiving and perceiving those blessednesses. who is of so dull and doting an apprehension as not to be able to see, that there is some particular love into which the lord has collected all possible blessings, satisfactions, and delights? . iii. all those things can only exist from the lord alone; and they do not exist with any but those who come to him alone, and live according to his commandments. this has been proved above in many places; to which proofs it may be expedient to add, that all those blessings, satisfactions, and delights can only be given by the lord, and therefore no other is to be approached. what other can be approached, when by him all things were made which are made, john i. ; when he is the god of heaven and earth, matt, xxviii. : when no appearance of god the father was ever seen, or his voice heard, except through him, john i. ; chap. v. ; chap. xiv. - ? from these and very many other passages in the word, it is evident that the marriage of love and wisdom, or of good and truth, from which alone all marriages derive their origin, proceeds from him alone. hence it follows, that the above love with its felicities exists with none but those who come to him; and the reason why it exists with those who live according to his commandments, is, because he is conjoined with them by love, john xiv. - . . iv. consequently, love truly conjugial with its felicities can only exist with those who are of the christian church. the reason why conjugial love, such as was described in its proper chapter, n. - , and in the following chapters, thus such as it is in its essence, exists only with those who are of the christian church, is, because that love is from the lord alone, and the lord is not so known elsewhere as that he can be approached as god; also because that love is according to the state of the church with every one, n. , and the genuine state of the church is from no other source than from the lord, and thus is with none but those who receive it from him. that these two principles are the beginnings, introductions, and establishments of that love, has been already confirmed by such abundance of evident and conclusive reasons, that it is altogether needless to say any thing more on the subject. the reason why conjugial love is nevertheless rare in the christian world, n. - , is, because few in that world approach the lord, and among those there are some who indeed believe the church, but do not live accordingly; besides other circumstances which are unfolded in the apocalypse revealed, where the present state of the christian church is fully described. but nevertheless it is an established truth, that love truly conjugial can only exist with those who are of the christian church; therefore also from this ground polygamy is in that church altogether rejected and condemned: that this also is of the divine providence of the lord, appears very manifest to those who think justly concerning providence. . v. therefore a christian is not allowed to marry more than one wife. this follows as a conclusion from the confirmation of the preceding articles; to which this is to be added, that the genuine conjugial principle is more deeply inserted into the minds of christians, than of the gentiles who have embraced polygamy; and that hence the minds of christians are more susceptible of that love than the minds of polygamists; for that conjugial principle is inserted in the interiors of the minds of christians, because they acknowledge the lord and his divine principle, and in the exteriors of their minds by civil laws. . vi. if a christian marries several wives, he commits not only natural but also spiritual adultery. that a christian who marries several wives, commits natural adultery, is agreeable to the lord's words, "_that it is not lawful to put away a wife, because from the beginning they were created to be one flesh; and that he who putteth away a wife without just cause, and marrieth another, committeth adultery_." matt. xix. - ; thus still more does he commit adultery who does not put away his wife, but, while retaining her, connects himself with another. this law enacted by the lord respecting marriages, has its internal ground in spiritual marriage; for whatever the lord spoke was in itself spiritual; which is meant by this declaration, "_the words that i speak unto you are spirit and are life_," john vi. . the spiritual (sense) contained therein is this, that by polygamical marriage in the christian world, the marriage of the lord and the church is profaned; in like manner the marriage of good and truth; and still more the word, and with the word the church; and the profanation of those things is spiritual adultery. that the profanation of the good and truth of the church derived from the word corresponds to adultery, and hence is spiritual adultery; and that the falsification of good and truth has alike correspondence, but in a less degree, may be seen confirmed in the apocalypse revealed, n. . the reason why by polygamical marriages among christians the marriage of the lord and the church is profaned, is, because there is a correspondence between that divine marriage and the marriages of christians; concerning which, see above, n. - ; which correspondence entirely perishes, if one wife is joined to another; and when it perishes, the married man is no longer a christian. the reason why by polygamical marriages among christians the marriage of good and truth is profaned, is because from this spiritual marriage are derived marriages in the world; and the marriages of christians differ from those of other nations in this respect, that as good loves truth, and truth good, and are a one, so it is with a wife and a husband; therefore if a christian should join one wife to another, he would rend asunder in himself that spiritual marriage; consequently he would profane the origin of his marriage, and would thereby commit spiritual adultery. that marriages in the world are derived from the marriage of good and truth, may be seen above, n. - . the reason why a christian by polygamical marriage would profane the word and the church, is, because the word considered in itself is the marriage of good and truth, and the church in like manner, so far as this is derived from the word; see above, n. - . now since a christian is acquainted with the lord, possesses the word, and has also the church from the lord by the word, it is evident that he, much more than one who is not a christian, has the faculty of being capable of being regenerated, and thereby of becoming spiritual, and also of attaining to love truly conjugial; for these things are connected together. since those christians who marry several wives, commit not only natural but also at the same time spiritual adultery, it follows that the condemnation of christian polygamists after death is more grievous than that of those who commit only natural adultery. upon inquiring into their state after death, i received for answer, that heaven is altogether closed in respect to them; that they appear in hell as lying in warm water in the recess of a bath, and that they thus appear at a distance, although they are standing on their feet, and walking, which is in consequence of their intestine frenzy; and that some of them are thrown into whirlpools in the borders of the worlds. . vii. the israelitish nation was permitted to marry several wives, because they had not the christian church, and consequently love truly conjugial could not exist with them. there are some at this day who are in doubt respecting the institution relative to monogamical marriages, or those of one man with one wife, and who are distracted by opposite reasonings on the subject; being led to suppose that because polygamical marriages were openly permitted in the case of the israelitish nation and its kings, and in the case of david and solomon, they are also in themselves permissible to christians; but such persons have no distinct knowledge respecting the israelitish nation and the christian, or respecting the externals and internals of the church, or respecting the change of the church from external to internal by the lord; consequently they know nothing from interior judgment respecting marriages. in general it is to be observed, that a man is born natural in order that he may be made spiritual; and that so long as he remains natural, he is in the night, and as it were asleep as to spiritual things; and that in this case he does not even know the difference between the external natural man and the internal spiritual. that the christian church was not with the israelitish nation, is known from the word; for they expected the messiah, as they still expect him, who was to exalt them above all other nations and people in the world: if therefore they had been told, and were still to be told, that the messiah's kingdom is over the heavens, and thence over all nations, they would have accounted it an idle tale; hence they not only did not acknowledge christ or the messiah, our lord, when he came into the world, but also barbarously took him away out of the world. from these considerations it is evident, that the christian church was not, with that nation, as neither is it at this day; and those with whom the christian church is not, are natural men both externally and internally: to such persons polygamy is not hurtful, since it is inherent in the natural man; for, in regard to love in marriages, the natural man perceives nothing but what has relation to lust. this is meant by these words of the lord, "_that moses, because of the hardness of their hearts, suffered them to put away their wives: but that from the beginning it was not so_," matt. xix. . he says that moses permitted it, in order that it may be known that it was not the lord (who permitted it). but that the lord taught the internal spiritual man, is known from his precepts, and from the abrogation of the rituals which served only for the use of the natural man; from his precepts respecting washing, as denoting the purification of the internal man, matt. xv. , - ; chap. xxiii. , ; mark vii. - ; respecting adultery, as denoting cupidity of the will, matt. v. ; respecting the putting away of wives, as being unlawful, and respecting polygamy, as not being agreeable to the divine law, matt. xix. - . these and several other things relating to the internal principle and the spiritual man, the lord taught, because he alone opens the internals of human minds, and makes them spiritual, and implants these spiritual principles in the natural, that these also may partake of a spiritual essence: and this effect takes place if he is approached, and the life is formed according to his command merits, which in a summary are, to believe on him, and to shun evils because they are of and from the devil; also to do good works, because they are of the lord and from the lord; and in each case for the man to act as from himself, and at the same time to believe that all is done by the lord through him. the essential reason why the lord opens the internal spiritual man, and implants this in the external natural man, is, because every man thinks and acts naturally, and therefore could not perceive any thing spiritual, and receives it in his natural principle, unless the lord had assumed the human natural, and had made this also divine. from these considerations now it appears a truth that the israelitish nation was permitted to marry several wives, because the christian church was not with them. . viii. at this day the mahometans are permitted to marry several wives, because they do not acknowledge the lord jesus christ to be one with jehovah the father, and thereby to be the god of heaven and earth, and hence cannot receive love truly conjugial. the mahometans, in conformity to the religion which mahomet gave them, acknowledge jesus christ to be the son of god and a grand prophet, and that he was sent into the world by god the father to teach mankind; but not that god the father and he are one, and that his divine and human (principle) are one person, united as soul and body, agreeably to the faith of all christians as grounded in the athanasian creed; therefore the followers of mahomet could not acknowledge our lord to be any god from eternity, but only to be a perfect natural man; and this being the opinion entertained by mahomet, and thence by his disciples, and they knowing that god is one, and that that god is he who created the universe, therefore they could do no other than pass by our lord in their worship; and the more so, because they declare mahomet also to be a grand prophet; neither do they know what the lord taught. it is owing to this cause, that the interiors of their minds, which in themselves are spiritual, could not be opened: that the interiors of the mind are opened by the lord alone, may be seen just above, n. . the genuine cause why they are opened by the lord, when he is acknowledged to be the god of heaven and earth, and is approached, and with those who live according to his commandments, is, because otherwise there is no conjunction, and without conjunction there is no reception. man is receptible of the lord's presence and of conjunction with him. to come to him causes presence, and to live according to his commandments causes conjunction; his presence alone is without reception, but presence and conjunction together are with reception. on this subject i will impart the following new information from the spiritual world. every one in that world, when he is thought of, is brought into view as present; but no one is conjoined to another except from the affection of love; and this is insinuated by doing what he requires, and what is pleasing to him. this circumstance, which is common in the spiritual world, derives its origin from the lord, who, in this same manner, is present and is conjoined. the above observations are made in order to shew, that the mahometans are permitted to marry several wives, because love truly conjugial, which subsists only between one man and one wife, was not communicable to them; since from their religious tenets they did not acknowledge the lord to be equal to god the father, and so to be the god of heaven and earth. that conjugial love with every one is according to the state of the church, may be seen above, at n. , and in several other places. . ix. the mahometan heaven is out of the christian heaven and is divided into two heavens, the inferior and the superior; and only those are elevated into their superior heaven who renounce concubines and live with one wife, and acknowledge our lord as equal to god the father, to whom is given dominion over heaven and earth. before we speak particularly to each of these points, it may be expedient to premise somewhat concerning the divine providence of the lord in regard to the rise of mahometanism. that this religion is received by more kingdoms than the christian religion, may possibly be a stumbling-block to those who, while thinking of the divine providence, at the same time believe that no one can be saved that is not born a christian; whereas the mahometan religion is no stumbling-block to those who believe that all things are of the divine providence. these inquire in what respect the divine providence is manifested in the mahometan religion; and they so discover in it this, that the mahometan religion acknowledges our lord to be the son of god, the wisest of men, and a grand prophet, who came into the world to instruct mankind; but since the mahometans have made the koran the book of their religion, and consequently think much of mahomet who wrote it, and pay him a degree of worship, therefore they think little respecting our lord. in order to shew more fully that the mahometan religion was raised up by the lord's divine providence to destroy the idolatries of several nations, we will give a detail of the subject, beginning with the origin of idolatries. previous to the mahometan religion idolatrous worship prevailed throughout the whole world; because the churches before the lord's coming were all representative; such also was the israelitish church, in which the tabernacle, the garments of aaron, the sacrifices, all things belonging to the temple at jerusalem, and also the statutes, were representative. the ancients likewise had the science of correspondences, which is also the science of representations, the very essential science of the wise, which was principally cultivated by the egyptians, whence their hieroglyphics were derived. from that science they knew what was signified by animals and trees of every kind, likewise by mountains, hills, rivers, fountains, and also by the sun, the moon, and the stars: by means of this science also they had a knowledge of spiritual things; since things represented, which were such as relate to the spiritual wisdom of the angels, were the origins (of those which represent). now since all their worship was representative, consisting of mere correspondences, therefore they celebrated it on mountains and hills, and also in groves and gardens; and on this account they sanctified fountains, and in their adorations turned their faces to the rising sun: moreover they made graven horses, oxen, calves, and lambs; yea, birds, fishes, and serpents; and these they set in their houses and other places, in order, according to the spiritual things of the church to which they corresponded, or which they represented. they also set similar images in their temples, as a means of recalling to their remembrance the holy things of worship which they signified. in process of time, when the science of correspondences was forgotten, their posterity began to worship the very graven images as holy in themselves, not knowing that the ancients, their fathers, did not see anything holy in them, but only that according to correspondences they represented and thence signified holy things. hence arose the idolatries which overspread the whole globe, as well asia with its islands, as africa and europe. to the intent that all those idolatries might be eradicated, it came to pass of the lord's divine providence, that a new religion, accommodated to the genius of the orientals, took its rise; in which something from each testament of the word was retained, and which taught that the lord had come into the world, and that he was a grand prophet, the wisest of all, and the son of god. this was effected by means of mahomet, from whom that religion took its name. from these considerations it is manifest, that this religion was raised up of the lord's divine providence, and accommodated, as we have observed, to the genius of the orientals, to the end that it might destroy the idolatries of so many nations, and might give its professors some knowledge of the lord, before they came into the spiritual world, as is the case with every one after death. this religion would not have been received by so many nations, neither could it have eradicated their idolatries, unless it had been made agreeable to their ideas; especially unless polygamy had been permitted; since without such permission, the orientals would have burned with the fire of filthy adultery more than the europeans, and would have perished. . the mahometans also have their heaven; for all in the universe, who acknowledge a god, and from a religious notion shuns evils as sins against him, are saved. that the mahometan heaven is distinguished into two, the inferior and the superior, i have heard from themselves: and that in the inferior heaven they live with several wives and concubines as in the world; but that those who renounce concubines and live with one wife, are elevated into the superior heaven. i have heard also that it is impossible for them to think of our lord as one with the father; but that it is possible for them to think of him as his equal, and that he has dominion over heaven and earth, because he is his son; therefore such of them as are elevated by the lord into their superior heaven, hold this belief. . on a certain time i was led to perceive the quality of the heat of conjugial love with polygamists. i was conversing with one who personated mahomet. mahomet himself is never present, but some one is substituted in his place, to the end that those who are lately deceased may as it were see him. this substitute, after i had been talking with him at a distance, sent me an ebony spoon and other things, which were proofs that they came from him; at the same time a communication was opened for the heat of their conjugial love in that place, which seemed to me like the warm stench of a bath; whereupon i turned myself away, and the communication was closed. . x. polygamy is lasciviousness. the reason of this is, because its love is divided among several, and is the love of the sex, and the love of the external or natural man, and thus is not conjugial love, which alone is chaste. it is well known that polygamical love is divided among several, and divided love is not conjugial love, which cannot be divided from one of the sex; hence the former love is lascivious, and polygamy is lasciviousness. polygamical love is the love of the sex, differing from it only in this respect, that it is limited to a number, which the polygamist may determine, and that it is bound to the observance of certain laws enacted for the public good; also that it is allowed to take concubines at the same time as wives; and thus, as it is the love of the sex, it is the love of lasciviousness. the reason why polygamical love is the love of the external or natural man is, because it is inherent in that man; and whatever the natural man does from himself is evil, from which he cannot be released except by elevation into the internal spiritual man, which is effected solely by the lord; and evil respecting the sex, by which the natural man is influenced, is whoredom; but since whoredom is destructive of society, instead thereof was induced its likeness, which is called polygamy. every evil into which a man is born from his parents, is implanted in his natural man, but not any in his spiritual man; because into this he is born from the lord. from what has now been adduced, and also from several other reasons, it may evidently be seen, that polygamy is lasciviousness. . xi. conjugial chastity, purity, and sanctity cannot exist with polygamists. this follows from what has been just now proved, and evidently from what was demonstrated in the chapter on the chaste principle and the non-chaste; especially from these articles of that chapter, namely, that a chaste, pure, and holy principle is predicated only of monogamical marriages, or of the marriage of one man with one wife, n. ; also, that love truly conjugial is essential chastity, and that hence all the delights of that love, even the ultimate, are chaste, n. , ; and moreover from what was adduced in the chapter on love truly conjugial, namely, that love truly conjugial, which is that of one man with one wife, from its origin and correspondence, is celestial, spiritual, holy, and clean above every other love, n. . now since chastity, purity, and sanctity exist only in love truly conjugial, it follows, that it neither does nor can exist in polygamical love. . xii. a polygamist, so long as he remains such, cannot become spiritual. to become spiritual is to be elevated out of the natural, that is, out of the light and heat of the world, into the light and heat of heaven. respecting this elevation no one knows anything but he that is elevated; nevertheless the natural man, although not elevated, perceives no other than that he is; because he can elevate his understanding into the light of heaven, and think and talk spiritually, like the spiritual man; but if the will does not at the same time follow the understanding to its altitude, he is still not elevated; for he does not remain in that elevation, but in a short time lets himself down to his will, and there fixes his station. it is said the will, but it is the love that is meant at the same time; because the will is the receptacle of the love; for what a man loves, that he wills. from these few considerations it may appear, that a polygamist, so long as he remains such, or what is the same, a natural man, so long as he remains such, cannot be made spiritual. . xiii. polygamy is not sin with those who live in it from a religious notion. all that which is contrary to religion is believed to be sin, because it is contrary to god; and on the other hand, all that which agrees with religion, is believed not to be sin, because it agrees with god; and as polygamy existed with the sons of israel from a principle of religion, and exists at this day with the mahometans, it could not, and cannot, be imputed to them as sin. moreover, to prevent its being sin to them, they remain natural, and do not become spiritual; and the natural man cannot see that there is any sin in such things as belong to the received religion: this is seen only by the spiritual man. it is on this account, that although the mahometans are taught by the koran to acknowledge our lord as the son of god, still they do not come to him, but to mahomet; and so long they remain natural, and consequently do not know that there is in polygamy any evil, or indeed any lasciviousness. the lord also saith, "_if ye were blind ye would not have sin; but now ye say, we see, therefore your sin remaineth_," john ix. . since polygamy cannot convict them of sin, therefore after death they have their heavens, n. , ; and their joys there according to life. . xiv. polygamy is not sin with those who are in ignorance respecting the lord. this is, because love truly conjugial is from the lord alone, and cannot be imparted by the lord to any but those who know him, acknowledge him, believe on him, and live the life which is from him; and those to whom that love cannot be imparted know no other than that the love of the sex and conjugial love are the same thing; consequently also polygamy. moreover, polygamists, who know nothing of the lord, remain natural: for a man (_homo_) is made spiritual only from the lord; and that is not imputed to the natural man as sin, which is according to the laws of religion and at the same time of society: he also acts according to his reason; and the reason of the natural man is in mere darkness respecting love truly conjugial; and this love in excellence is spiritual. nevertheless the reason of polygamists is taught from experience, that both public and private peace require that promiscuous lust in general should be restrained, and be left to every one within his own house: hence comes polygamy. . it is well known, that a man (_homo_) by birth is viler than the beasts. all the beasts are born into the knowledges corresponding to the love of their life; for as soon as they are born, or are hatched from the egg, they see, hear, walk, know their food, their dam, their friends and foes; and soon after this they show attention to the sex, and to the affairs of love, and also to the rearing of their offspring. man alone, at his birth, knows nothing of this sort; for no knowledge is connate to him; he has only the faculty and inclination of receiving those things which relate to knowledge and love; and if he does not receive these from others, he remains viler than a beast. that man is born in this condition, to the end that he may attribute nothing to himself, but to others, and at length every thing of wisdom and of the love thereof to god alone, and may hence become an image of god, see the memorable relation, n. - . from these considerations it follows, that a man who does not learn from others that the lord has come into the world, and that he is god, and has only acquired some knowledge respecting religion and the laws of his country, is not in fault if he thinks no more of conjugial love than of the love of the sex, and if he believes polygamical love to be the only conjugial love. the lord leads such persons in their ignorance; and by his divine auspices providently withdraws from the imputation of guilt those who, from a religious notion, shun evils as sins, to the end that they may be saved; for every man is born for heaven, and no one for hell; and every one comes into heaven (by influence) from the lord, and into hell (by influence) from himself. . xv. of these, although polygamists, such are saved as acknowledge a god, and from a religious notion live according to the civil laws of justice. all throughout the world who acknowledge a god and live according to the civil laws of justice from a religious notion, are saved. by the civil laws of justice we mean such precepts as are contained in the decalogue, which forbid murder, theft, adultery, and false witness. these precepts are the civil laws of justice in all the kingdoms of the earth; for without them no kingdom could subsist. but some are influenced in the practice of them by fear of the penalties of the law, some by civil obedience, and some also by religion; these last are saved, because in such case god is in them; and every one, in whom god is, is saved. who does not see, that among the laws given to the sons of israel, after they had left egypt, were those which forbid murder, adultery, theft, and false witness, since without those laws their communion or society could not subsist? and yet these laws were promulgated by jehovah god upon mount sinai with a stupendous miracle: but the cause of their being so promulgated was, that they might be also laws of religion, and thus that the people might practise them not only for the sake of the good of society, but also for the sake of god, and that when they practised them from a religious notion for the sake of god, they might be saved. from these considerations it may appear, that the pagans, who acknowledge a god, and live according to the civil laws of justice, are saved; since it is not their fault that they know nothing of the lord, consequently nothing of the chastity of the marriage with one wife. for it is contrary to the divine justice to condemn those who acknowledge a god, and from their religion practise the laws of justice, which consist in shunning evils because they are contrary to god, and in doing what is good because it is agreeable to god. . xvi. but none either of the latter or of the former can be associated with the angels in the christian heavens. the reason of this is, because in the christian heavens there are celestial light, which is divine truth, and celestial heat, which is divine love; and these two discover the quality of goods and truths, and also of evils and falses; hence, there is no communication between the christian and the mahometan heavens, and in like manner between the heavens of the gentiles. if there were a communication, none could have been saved but those who were in celestial light and at the same time in celestial heat from the lord; yea neither would these be saved if there was a conjunction of the heavens: for in consequence of conjunction all the heavens would so far fall to decay that the angels would not be able to subsist; for an unchaste and lascivious principle would flow from the mahometans into the christian heaven, which in that heaven could not be endured; and a chaste and pure principle would flow from the christians into the mahometan heaven, which again could not be there endured. in such case, in consequence of communication and thence of conjunction, the christian angels would become natural and thereby adulterers; or if they remained spiritual, they would be continually sensible of a lascivious principle about them, which would intercept all the blessedness of their life. the case would be somewhat similar with the mahometan heaven: for the spiritual principles of the christian heaven would continually encompass and torment them, and would take away all the delight of their life, and would moreover insinuate that polygamy is sin, whereby they would be continually eluded. this is the reason why all the heavens are altogether distinct from each other, so that there is no connection between them, except by an influx of light and heat from the lord out of the sun, in the midst of which he is: and this influx enlightens and vivifies everyone according to his reception; and reception is according to religion. this communication is granted, but not a communication of the heavens with each other. * * * * * . to the above i shall add two memorable relations. first. i was once in the midst of the angels and heard their conversation. it was respecting intelligence and wisdom; that a man perceives no other than that each is in himself, and thus that whatever he thinks from his understanding and intends from his will, is from himself; when nevertheless not the least portion thereof is from the man, but only the faculty of receiving the things of the understanding and the will from god: and as every man (_homo_) is by birth inclined to love himself, it was provided from creation, to prevent man's perishing by self-love and the conceit of his own intelligence, that that love of the man (_vir_) should be transferred into the wife, and that in her should be implanted from her birth a love for the intelligence and wisdom of her husband, and thereby a love for him; therefore the wife continually attracts to herself her husband's conceit of his own intelligence, and extinguishes it in him, and vivifies it in herself, and thus changes it into conjugial love, and fills it with unbounded pleasantnesses. this is provided by the lord, lest the conceit of his own intelligence should so far infatuate the man, as to lead him to believe that he has understanding and wisdom from himself and not from the lord, and thereby make him willing to eat of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, and thence to believe himself like unto god, and also a god, as the serpent, which was the love of his own intelligence, said and persuaded him: wherefore the man (_homo_) after eating was cast out of paradise, and the way to the tree of life was guarded by a cherub. paradise, spiritually understood, denotes intelligence; to eat of the tree of life, in a spiritual sense, is to be intelligent and wise from the lord; and to eat of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, in a spiritual sense, is to be intelligent and wise from self. . the angels having finished this conversation departed; and there came two priests, together with a man who in the world had been an ambassador of a kingdom, and to them i related what i had heard from the angels. on hearing this they began to dispute with each other about intelligence and wisdom, and the prudence thence derived, whether they are from god or from man. the dispute grew warm. all three in heart believed that they are from man because they are in man, and that the perception and sensation of its being so confirm it; but the priests, who on this occasion were influenced by theological zeal, said that there is nothing of intelligence and wisdom, and thus nothing of prudence from man; and when the ambassador retorted, that in such case there is nothing of thought from man, they assented to it. but as it was perceived in heaven, that all the three were in a similar belief, it was said to the ambassador, "put on the garments of a priest, and believe that you are one, and then speak." he did so; and instantly he declared aloud that nothing of intelligence and wisdom, and consequently nothing of prudence, can possibly exist but from god; and he proved it with his usual eloquence full of rational arguments. it is a peculiar circumstance in the spiritual world, that a spirit thinks himself to be such as is denoted by the garment he wears; because in that world the understanding clothes every one. afterwards, a voice from heaven said to the two priests, "put off your own garments, and put on those of political ministers, and believe yourselves to be such." they did so; and in this case they at the same time thought from their interior self, and spoke from arguments which they had inwardly cherished in favor of man's own intelligence. at that instant there appeared a tree near the path; and it was said to them, "it is the tree of the knowledge of good and evil; take heed to yourselves lest ye eat of it." nevertheless all the three, infatuated by their own intelligence, burned with a desire to eat of it, and said to each other, "why should not we? is not the fruit good?" and they went to it and eat of it. immediately all the three, as they were in a like faith, became bosom friends; and they entered together into the way of self-intelligence, which led into hell: nevertheless i saw them return thence, because they were not yet prepared. . the second memorable relation. on a time as i was looking into the spiritual world, i saw in a certain green field some men, whose garments were like those worn by men of this world; from which circumstance i knew that they were lately deceased. i approached them and stood near them, that i might hear what they were conversing about. their conversation was about heaven; and one of them who knew something respecting it, said, "in heaven there are wonderful things, such as no one can believe unless he has seen them: there are paradisiacal gardens, magnificent palaces constructed according to the rules of architecture, because the work of the art itself, resplendent with gold; in the front of which are columns of silver; and on the columns heavenly forms made of precious stones; also houses of jasper and sapphire, in the front of which are stately porticos, through which the angels enter; and within the houses handsome furniture, which no art or words can describe. the angels themselves are of both sexes: there are youths and husbands, also maidens and wives: maids so beautiful, that nothing in the world bears any resemblance to their beauty; and wives still more beautiful, who are genuine images of celestial love, and their husbands images of celestial wisdom; and all these are ever approaching the full bloom of youth; and what is more, they know no other love of the sex than conjugial love; and, what you will be surprised to hear, the husbands there have a perpetual faculty of enjoyment." when the novitiate spirits heard that no other love of the sex prevailed in heaven than conjugial love, and that they had a perpetual faculty of enjoyment, they smiled at each other, and said, "what you tell us is incredible; there cannot be such a faculty: possibly you are amusing us with idle tales." but at that instant a certain angel from heaven unexpectedly stood in the midst of them, and said, "hear me, i beseech you; i am an angel of heaven, and have lived now a thousand years with my wife, and during that time have been in the same flower of my age in which you here see me. this is in consequence of the conjugial love in which i have lived with my wife; and i can affirm, that the above faculty has been and is perpetual with me; and because i perceive that you believe this to be impossible, i will talk with you on the subject from a ground of rational argument according to the light of your understanding. you do not know anything of the primeval state of man, which you call a state of integrity. in that state all the interiors of the mind were open even to the lord; and hence they were in the marriage of love and wisdom, or of good and truth; and as the good of love and the truth of wisdom perpetually love each other, they also perpetually desire to be united; and when the interiors of the mind are open, the conjugial spiritual love flows down freely with its perpetual endeavour, and presents the above faculty. the very soul of a man (_homo_), being in the marriage of good and truth, is not only in the perpetual endeavour of that union, but also in the perpetual endeavour of the fructification and production of its own likeness; and since the interiors of a man even from the soul are open by virtue of that marriage, and the interiors continually regard as an end the effect in ultimates that they may exist, therefore that perpetual endeavor for fructifying and producing its like, which is the property of the soul, becomes also of the body: and since the ultimate of the operation of the soul in the body with two conjugial partners is into the ultimates of love therein, and these depend on the state of the soul, it is evident whence they derive this perpetuality. fructification also is perpetual, because the universal sphere of generating and propagating the celestial things which are of love, and the spiritual things which are of wisdom, and thence the natural things which are of offspring, proceeds from the lord, and fills all heaven and all the world; and that celestial sphere fills the souls of all men, and descends through their minds into the body even to its ultimates, and gives the power of generating. but this cannot be the case with any but those with whom a passage is open from the soul through the superior and inferior principles of the mind into the body to its ultimates, as is the case with those who suffer themselves to be led back by the lord into the primeval state of creation. i can confirm that now for a thousand years i have never wanted faculty, strength, or vigor, and that i am altogether a stranger to any diminution of powers, which are continually renewed by the influx of the above-mentioned sphere, and in such case also cheer the mind (_animum_), and do not make it sad, as is the case with those who suffer the loss of those powers. moreover love truly conjugial is just like the vernal heat, from the influx of which all things tend to germination and fructification; nor is there any other heat in our heaven: wherefore with conjugial partners in that heaven there is spring in its perpetual _conatus_, and it is this perpetual _conatus_ from which the above virtue is derived. but fructifications with us in heaven are different from those with men on earth. with us fructifications are spiritual, which are the fructifications of love and wisdom, or of good and truth: the wife from the husband's wisdom receives into herself the love thereof; and the husband from the love thereof in the wife receives into himself wisdom; yea the wife is actually formed into the love of the husband's wisdom, which is effected by her receiving the propagations of his soul with the delight arising therefrom, in that she desires to be the love of her husband's wisdom: thus from a maiden she becomes a wife and a likeness. hence also love with its inmost friendship with the wife, and wisdom with its happiness with the husband, are continually increasing, and this to eternity. this is the state of the angels of heaven." when the angel had thus spoken, he looked at those who had lately come from the world, and said to them, "you know that, while you were in the vigor of love, you loved your married partners; but when your appetite was gratified, you regarded them with aversion; but you do not know that we in heaven do not love our married partners in consequence of that vigor, but that we have vigor in consequence of love and derived from it; and that as we perpetually love our married partners, we have perpetual vigor: if therefore you can invert the state, you may be able to comprehend this. does not he who perpetually loves a married partner, love her with the whole mind and with the whole body? for love turns every thing of the mind and of the body to that which it loves; and as this is done reciprocally, it conjoins the objects so that they become a one." he further said, "i will not speak to you of the conjugial love implanted from the creation in males and females, and of their inclination to legitimate conjunction, or of the faculty of prolification in the males, which makes one with the faculty of multiplying wisdom from the love of truth; and that so far as a man loves wisdom from the love thereof, or truth from good, so far he is in love truly conjugial and in its attendant vigor." . when he had spoken these words, the angel was silent; and from the spirit of his discourse the novitiates comprehended that a perpetual faculty of enjoyment is communicable; and as this consideration rejoiced their minds, they exclaimed, "o how happy is the state of angels! we perceive that you in the heavens remain for ever in a state of youth, and thence in the vigor of that age; but tell us how we also may enjoy that vigor." the angel replied, "shun adulteries as internal, and approach the lord, and you will possess it." they said, "we will do so." but the angel replied, "you cannot shun adulteries as infernal evils, unless you in like manner shun all other evils, because adulteries are the complex of all; and unless you shun them, you cannot approach the lord; for the lord receives no others." after this the angel took his leave, and the novitiate spirits departed sorrowful. * * * * * on jealousy. . the subject of jealousy is here treated of, because it also has relation to conjugial love. there is a just jealousy and an unjust;--a just jealousy with married partners who mutually love each other, with whom it is a just and prudent zeal lest their conjugial love should be violated, and thence a just grief if it is violated; and an unjust jealousy with those who are naturally suspicious, and whose minds are sickly in consequence of viscous and bilious blood. moreover, all jealousy is by some accounted a vice; which is particularly the case with whoremongers, who censure even a just jealousy. the term jealousy (_zelotypia_) is derived from zeli typus (the type of zeal), and there is a type or image of just and also of unjust zeal; but we will explain these distinctions in the following series of articles: i. _zeal, considered in itself, is like the ardent fire, of love._ ii. _the burning or flame of that love, which is zeal, is a spiritual burning or flame, arising from an infestation and assault of the love._ iii. _the quality of a man's (homo) zeal is according to the quality of his love; thus it differs according as the love is good or evil._ iv. _the zeal of a good love and the zeal of an evil love are alike in externals, but altogether unlike in internals._ v. _the zeal of a good love in its internals contains a hidden store of love and friendship; but the zeal of an evil love in its internals contains a hidden store of hatred and revenge._ vi. _the zeal of conjugial love is called jealousy._ vii. _jealousy is like an ardent fire against those who infest love exercised towards a married partner, and like a terrible fear for the loss of that love._ viii. _there is spiritual jealousy with monogamists, and natural with polygamists._ ix. _jealousy with those married partners who tenderly love each other, is a just grief grounded in sound reason lest conjugial love should be divided, and should thereby perish._ x. _jealousy with married partners who do not love each other, is grounded in several causes: arising in some instances from various mental weaknesses._ xi. _in some instances there is not any jealousy; and this also from various causes._ xii. _there is a jealousy also in regard to concubines, but not such as in regard to wives._ xiii. _jealousy likewise exists among beasts and birds._ xiv. _the jealousy of men and husbands is different from that of women and wives._ we proceed to an explanation of the above articles. . i. zeal, considered in itself, is like the ardent fire of love, what jealousy is cannot be known, unless it be known what zeal is; for jealousy is the zeal of conjugial love. the reason why zeal is like the ardent fire of love is, because zeal is of love, which is spiritual heat, and this in its origin is like fire. in regard to the first position, it is well known that zeal is of love: nothing else is meant by being zealous, and acting from zeal, than acting from the force of love: but since when it exists, it appears not as love, but as unfriendly and hostile, offended at and fighting against him who hurts the love, therefore it may also be called the defender and protector of love; for all love is of such a nature that it bursts into indignation and anger, yea into fury, whenever it is disturbed in its delights: therefore if a love, especially the ruling love, be touched, there ensues an emotion of the mind; and if it be hurt, there ensues wrath. from these considerations it may be seen, that zeal is not the highest degree of the love, but that it is ardent love. the love of one, and the correspondent love of another, are like two confederates; but when the love of one rises up against the love of another, they become like enemies; because love is the _esse_ of a man's life; therefore he that assaults the love, assaults the life itself; and in such case there ensues a state of wrath against the assailant, like the state of every man whose life is attempted by another. such wrath is attendant on every love, even that which is most pacific, as is very manifest in the case of hens, geese, and birds of every kind; which, without any fear, rise against and fly at those who injure their young, or rob them of their meat. that some beasts are seized with anger, and wild beasts with fury, if their young are attacked, or their prey taken from them, is well known. the reason why love is said to burn like fire is, because love is spiritual heat, originating in the fire of the angelic sun, which is pure love. that love is heat as it were from fire, evidently appears from the heat of living bodies, which is from no other source than from their love; also from the circumstance that men grow warm and are inflamed according to the exaltation of their love. from these considerations it is manifest, that zeal is like the ardent fire of love. . ii. the burning or flame of that love, which is zeal, is a spiritual burning or flame, arising from an infestation and assault of the love. that zeal is a spiritual burning or flame, is evident from what has been said above. as love in the spiritual world is heat arising from the sun of that world, therefore also love at a distance appears there as flame: it is thus that celestial love appears with the angels of heaven; and thus also infernal love appears with the spirits of hell: but it is to be observed, that that flame does not burn like the flame of the natural world. the reason why zeal arises from an assault of the love is, because love is the heat of every one's life; wherefore when the life's love is assaulted, the life's heat kindles itself, resists, and bursts forth against the assailant, and acts as an enemy by virtue of its own strength and ability, which is like flame bursting from a fire upon him who stirs it: that it is like fire, appears from the sparkling of the eyes from the face being inflamed, also from the tone of the voice and the gestures. this is the effect of love, as being the heat of life, to prevent its extinction, and with it the extinction of all cheerfulness, vivacity, and perceptibility of delight, grounded in its own love. . it may be expedient here to show how the love by being assaulted is inflamed and kindled into zeal, like fire into flame. love resides in a man's will; nevertheless it is not inflamed in the will itself, but in the understanding; for in the will it is like fire, and in the understanding like flame. love in the will knows nothing about itself, because there it is not sensible of anything relating to itself, neither does it there act from itself; but this is done in the understanding and its thought: when therefore the will is assaulted, it provokes itself to anger in the understanding, which is effected by various reasonings. these reasonings are like pieces of wood, which the fire inflames, and which thence burn: they are therefore like so much fuel, or so many combustible matters which give occasion to that spiritual flame, which is very variable. . we will here unfold the true reason why a man becomes inflamed in consequence of an assault of his love. the human form in its inmost principles is from creation a form of love and wisdom. in man there are all the affections of love, and thence all the perceptions of wisdom, compounded in the most perfect order, so as to make together what is unanimous, and thereby a one. those affections and perceptions are rendered substantial; for substances are their subjects. since therefore the human form is compounded of these, it is evident that, if the love is assaulted, this universal form also, with everything therein, is assaulted at the same instant, or together with it. and as the desire to continue in its form is implanted from creation in all living things, therefore this principle operates in every general compound by derivation from the singulars of which it is compounded, and in the singulars by derivation from the general compound: hence when the love is assaulted, it defends itself by its understanding, and the understanding (defends itself) by rational and imaginative principles, whereby it represents to itself the event; especially by such as act in unity with the love which is assaulted: and unless this was the case the above form would wholly fall to pieces, in consequence of the privation of that love. hence then it is that love, in order to resist assaults, hardens the substance of its form, and sets them erect, as it were in crests, like so many sharp prickles, that is, crisps itself; such is the provoking of love which is called zeal: wherefore if there is no opportunity of resistance, there arise anxiety and grief, because it foresees the extinction of interior life with its delights. but on the other hand, if the love is favored and cherished, the above form unbends, softens, and dilates itself; and the substances of the form become gentle, mild, meek, and alluring. . iii. the quality of a man's zeal is according to the quality of his love; thus it differs according as the love is good or evil. since zeal is of love, it follows that its quality is such as the quality of the love is; and as there are in general two loves, the love of what is good and thence of what is true, and the love of what is evil and thence of what is false, hence in general there is a zeal in favor of what is good and thence of what is true, and in favor of what is evil and thence of what is false. but it is to be noted, that of each love there is an infinite variety. this is very manifest from the angels of heaven and the spirits of hell; both of whom in the spiritual world are the forms of their respective love; and yet there is not one angel of heaven absolutely like another as to face, speech, gait, gesture, and manner; nor any spirit of hell; yea neither can there be to eternity, howsoever they be multiplied into myriads of myriads. hence it is evident, that there is an infinite variety of loves, because there is of their forms. the case is the same with zeal, as being of the love; the zeal of one cannot be absolutely like or the same with the zeal of another. in general there are the zeal of a good and the zeal of an evil love. . iv. the zeal of a good love and the zeal of an evil love are alike in externals, but altogether different in internals. zeal in externals, with every one, appears like anger and wrath; for it is love enkindled and inflamed to defend itself against a violator, and to remove him. the reason why the zeal of a good love and the zeal of an evil love appear alike in externals is, because in both cases love while it is in zeal, burns; but with a good man only in externals, whereas with an evil man it burns in both externals and internals; and when internals are not regarded, the zeals appear alike in externals; but that they are altogether different in internals will be seen in the next article. that zeal appears in externals like anger and wrath, may be seen and heard from all those who speak and act from zeal; as for example, from a priest while he is preaching from zeal, the tone of whose voice is high, vehement, sharp, and harsh; his face is heated and perspires; he exerts himself, beats the pulpit, and calls forth fire from hell against those who do evil: and so in many other cases. . in order that a distinct idea may be formed of zeal as influencing the good, and of zeal as influencing the wicked, and of their dissimilitude, it is necessary that some idea be previously formed of men's internals and externals. for this purpose, let us take a common idea on the subject, as being adapted to general apprehension, and let it be exhibited by the case of a nut or an almond, and their kernels. with the good, the internals are like the kernels within as to their soundness and goodness, encompassed with their usual and natural husk; with the wicked, the case is altogether different, their internals are like kernels which are either not eatable from their bitterness, or rotten, or worm-eaten; whereas their externals are like the shells or husks of those kernels, either like the natural shells or husks, or shining bright like shell-fish, or speckled like the stones called irises, such is the appearance of their externals, within which the above-mentioned internals lie concealed. the case is the same with their zeal. . v. the zeal of a good love in its internals contains a hidden store of love and friendship; but this zeal of an evil love in its internals contains a hidden store of hatred and revenge. it was said just above, that zeal in externals appears like anger and wrath, as well with those who are in a good love, as with those who are in an evil love: but whereas the internals are different, the anger and wrath in each case differs from that of the other, and the difference is as follows: . the zeal of a good love is like a heavenly flame, which in one case bursts out upon another, but only defends itself, and that against a wicked person, as when he rushes into the fire and is burnt: but the zeal of an evil love is like an infernal flame, which of itself bursts forth and rushes on, and is desirous to consume another. . the zeal of a good love instantly burns away and is allayed when the assailant ceases to assault; but the zeal of an evil love continues and is not extinguished. . this is because the internal of him who is in the love of good is in itself mild, soft, friendly, and benevolent; wherefore when his external, with a view of defending itself, is fierce, harsh, and haughty, and thereby acts with rigor, still it is tempered by the good in which he is internally: it is otherwise with the wicked; with such the internal is unfriendly, without pity, harsh, breathing hatred and revenge, and feeding itself with their delights; and although it is reconciled, still those evils lie concealed as fires in wood underneath the embers; and these fires burst forth after death, if not in this world. . since zeal in externals appears alike both in the good and the wicked, and since the ultimate sense of the word consists of correspondence and appearances, therefore in the word, it is very often said of jehovah that he is angry and wrathful, that he revenges, punishes, casts into hell, with many other things which are appearances of zeal in externals; hence also it is that he is called zealous: whereas there is not the least of anger, wrath, and revenge in him; for he is essential mercy, grace and clemency, thus essential good, in whom it is impossible such evil passions can exist. but on this subject see more particulars in the treatise on heaven and hell, n. - ; and in the apocalypse revealed, n. , , , , . . vi. the zeal of conjugial love is called jealousy. zeal in favor of truly conjugial love is the chief of zeals; because that love is the chief of loves, and its delights, in favor of which also zeal operates, are the chief delights; for, as was shewn above, that love is the head of all loves. the reason of this is, because that love induces in a wife the form of love, and in a husband the form of wisdom; and from these forms united into one, nothing can proceed but what savors of wisdom and at the same time of love. as the zeal of conjugial love is the chief of zeals, therefore it is called by a new name, jealousy, which is the very type of zeal. . vii. jealousy is like an ardent fire against those who infest love exercised towards a married partner, and like a terrible fear for the loss of that love. the subject here treated of is jealousy of those who are in spiritual love with a married partner; in the following article we shall treat of the jealousy of those who are in natural love; and afterwards of the jealousy of those who are in love truly conjugial. with those who are in spiritual love the jealousy is various, because their love is various; for one love, whether spiritual or natural, is never altogether alike with two persons, still less with several. the reason why spiritual jealousy, or jealousy with the spiritual, is like an ardent fire raging against those who infest their conjugial love, is, because with them the first principle of love is in the internals of each party, and their love from its first principle follows its principiates, even to its ultimates, by virtue of which ultimates and at the same time of first principles, the intermediates which are of the mind and body, are kept in lovely connection. these, being spiritual, in their marriage regard union as an end, and in union spiritual rest and the pleasantness thereof: now, as they have rejected disunion from their minds, therefore their jealousy is like a fire stirred up and darting forth against those who infest them. the reason why it is also like a terrible fear is, because their spiritual love intends that they be one; if therefore there exists a chance, or happens an appearance of separation, a fear ensues as terrible as when two united parts are torn asunder. this description of jealousy was given me from heaven by those who are in spiritual conjugial love; for there are a natural, a spiritual, and a celestial conjugial love; concerning the natural and the celestial conjugial love, and their jealousy, we shall take occasion to speak in the two following articles. . viii. there is spiritual jealousy with monogamists, and natural with polygamists. the reason why spiritual jealousy exists with monogamists is, because they alone can receive spiritual conjugial love, as has been abundantly shewn above. it is said that it exists; but the meaning is that it is capable of existing. that it exists only with a very few in the christian world, where there are monogamical marriages, but that still it is capable of existing there, has also been confirmed above. that with polygamists conjugial love is natural, may be seen in the chapter on polygamy, n. , ; in like manner jealousy is natural in the same case, because this follows love. what the quality of jealousy is among polygamists, we are taught from the relations of those who have been eyewitnesses of its effects among the orientals: these effects are, that wives and concubines are guarded as prisoners in work-houses, and are withheld from and prohibited all communication with men; that into the women's apartments, or the closets of their confinement, no man is allowed to enter unless attended by a eunuch; and that the strictest watch it set to observe whether any of the women look with a lascivious eye or countenance at a man as he passes; and that if this be observed, the woman is sentenced to the whip; and in case she indulges her lasciviousness with any man, whether introduced secretly into her apartment, or from home, she is punished with death. . from these considerations it is plainly seen what is the quality of the fire of jealousy into which polygamical conjugial love enkindles itself,--that it is into anger and revenge; into anger with the meek, and into revenge with the fierce. the reason of this effect is, because their love is natural, and does not partake of anything spiritual. this is a consequence of what is demonstrated in the chapter on polygamy,--that polygamy is lasciviousness, n. ; and that a polygamist, so long as he remains such, is natural, and cannot become spiritual, n. . but the fire of jealousy is different with natural monogamists, whose love is inflamed not so much against the women as against those who do violence, becoming anger against the latter, and cold against the former: it is otherwise with polygamists, whose fire of jealousy burns also with the rage of revenge: this likewise is one of the reasons why, after the death of polygamists, their concubines and wives are for the most part set free, and are sent to seraglios not guarded, to employ themselves in the various elegant arts proper to women. . ix. jealousy with those married partners who tenderly love each other, is a just grief grounded in sound reason lest conjugial love should be divided, and should thereby perish. all love is attended with fear and grief; fear lest it should perish, and grief in case it perishes: it is the same with conjugial love; but the fear and grief attending this love is called zeal or jealousy. the reason why this zeal, with married partners who tenderly love each other, is just and grounded in sound reason, is, because it is at the same time a fear for the loss of eternal happiness, not only of its own but also of its married partner's, and because also it is a defence against adultery. in respect to the first consideration,--that it is a just fear for the loss of its own eternal happiness and of that of its married partner, it follows from every thing which has been heretofore adduced concerning love truly conjugial; and also from this consideration, that married partners derive from that love the blessedness of their souls, the satisfaction of their minds, the delight of their bosoms, and the pleasure of their bodies; and since these remain with them to eternity, each party has a fear for eternal happiness. that the above zeal is a just defence against adulteries, is evident: hence it is like a fire raging against violation, and defending itself against it. from these considerations it is evident, that whoever loves a married partner tenderly, is also jealous, but is just and discreet according to the man's wisdom. . it was said, that in conjugial love there is implanted a fear lest it should be divided, and a grief lest it should perish, and that its zeal is like a fire raging against violation. some time ago, when meditating on this subject, i asked the zealous angels concerning the seat of jealousy? they said, that it is in the understanding of the man who receives the love of a married partner and returns it; and that its quality there is according to his wisdom: they said further, that jealousy has in it somewhat in common with honor, which also resides in conjugial love; for he that loves his wife, also honors her. in regard to zeal's residing with a man in his understanding, they assigned this reason; because conjugial love defends itself by the understanding, as good does by truth; so the wife defends those things which are common with the man, by her husband; and that on this account zeal is implanted in the men, and by them, and for their sake, in the women. to the question as to the region of the mind in which jealousy resides with the men, they replied, in their souls, because it is also a defence against adulteries; and because adulteries principally destroy conjugial love, that when there is danger of the violation of that love, the man's understanding grows hard, and becomes like a horn, with which he strikes the adulterer. . x. jealousy with married partners who do not love each other, is grounded in several causes; arising in some instances from various mental weaknesses. the causes why married partners who do not mutually love each other, are yet jealous, are principally the honor resulting from power, the fear of defamation with respect both to the man himself and also to his wife, and the dread lest domestic affairs should fall into confusion. it is well known that the men have honor resulting from power, that is, that they are desirous of being respected in consequence thereof; for so long as they have this honor, they are as it were of an elevated mind, and not dejected when in the company of men and women: to this honor also is attached the name of bravery; wherefore military officers have it more than others. that the fear of defamation, with respect both to the man himself and also to his wife, is a cause of jealousy that agrees with the foregoing: to which may be added, that living with a harlot, and debauched practices in a house, are accounted infamous. the reason why some are jealous through a dread lest their domestic affairs should fall into confusion, is because, so far as this is the case, the husband is made light of, and mutual services and aids are withdrawn; but with some in process of time this jealousy ceases and is annihilated, and with some it is changed into the mere semblance of love. . that jealousy in certain cases arises from various mental weaknesses, is not unknown in the world; for there are jealous persons, who are continually thinking that their wives are unfaithful, and believe them to be harlots, merely because they hear or see them talk in a friendly manner with or about men. there are several vitiated affections of the mind which induce this weakness; the principal of which is a suspicious fancy, which if it be long cherished, introduces the mind into societies of similar spirits, from whence it cannot without difficulty be rescued; it also confirms itself in the body, by rendering the serum, and consequently the blood, viscous, tenacious, thick, slow, and acrid, a defect of strength also increases it; for the consequence of such defect is, that the mind cannot be elevated from its suspicious fancies; for the presence of strength elevates, and its absence depresses, the latter causing the mind to sink, give way, and become feeble; in which case it immerses itself more and more in the above fancy, till it grows delirious, and thence takes delight in quarrelling, and, so far as is allowable, in abuse. . there are also several countries, which more than others labor under this weakness of jealousy: in these the wives are imprisoned, are tyrannically shut out from conversation with men, are prevented from even looking at them through the windows, by blinds drawn down, and are terrified by threats of death if the cherished suspicion shall appear well grounded; not to mention other hardships which the wives in those countries suffer from their jealous husbands. there are two causes of this jealousy; one is, an imprisonment and suffocation of the thoughts in the spiritual things of the church; the other is, an inward desire of revenge. as to the first cause,--the imprisonment and suffocation of the thoughts in the spiritual things of the church, its operation and effect may be concluded from what has been proved above,--that everyone has conjugial love according to the state of the church with him, and as the church is from the lord, that that love is solely from the lord, n. , ; when therefore, instead of the lord, living and deceased men are approached and invoked, it follows, that the state of the church is such that conjugial love cannot act in unity with it; and the less so while the mind is terrified into that worship by the threats of a dreadful prison: hence it comes to pass, that the thoughts, together with the expressions of them in conversation, are violently seized and suffocated; and when they are suffocated, there is an influx of such things as are either contrary to the church, or imaginary in favor of it; the consequence of which is, heat in favor of harlots and cold towards a married partner; from which two principles prevailing together in one subject, such an unconquerable fire of jealousy flows forth. as to the second cause,--the inward desire of revenge, this altogether checks the influx of conjugial love, and swallows it up, and changes the delight thereof, which is celestial, into the delight of revenge, which is infernal; and the proximate determination of this latter is to the wife. there is also an appearance, that the unhealthiness of the atmosphere, which in those regions is impregnated with the poisonous exhalations of the surrounding country, is an additional cause. . xi. in some instances there is not any jealousy; and this also from various causes. there are several causes of there being no jealousy, and of its ceasing. the absence of jealousy is principally with those who make no more account of conjugial than of adulterous love, and at the same time are so void of honorable feeling as to slight the reputation of a name: they are not unlike married pimps. there is no jealousy likewise with those who have rejected it from a confirmed persuasion that it infests the mind, and that it is useless to watch a wife, and that to do so serves only to incite her, and that therefore it is better to shut the eyes, and not even to look through the key-hole, lest any thing should be discovered. some have rejected jealousy on account of the reproach attached to the name, and under the idea that any one who is a real man, is afraid of nothing: some have been driven to reject it lest their domestic affairs should suffer, and also lest they should incur public censure in case the wife was convicted of the disorderly passion of which she is accused. moreover jealousy passes off into no jealousy with those who grant license to their wives, either from a want of ability, or with a view to the procreation of children for the sake of inheritance, also in some cases with a view to gain, and so forth. there are also disorderly marriages, in which, by mutual consent, the licence of unlimited amour is allowed to each party, and yet they are civil and complaisant to each other when they meet. . xii. there is a jealousy also in regard to concubines, but not such as in regard to wives. jealousy in regard to wives originates in a man's inmost principles; but jealousy in regard to concubines originates in external principles; they therefore differ in kind. the reason why jealousy in regard to wives originates in inmost principles is, because conjugial love resides in them: the reason why it resides there is, because marriage from the eternity of its compact established by covenant, and also from an equality of right, the right of each party being transferred to the other, unites souls, and lays a superior obligation on minds: this obligation and that union, once impressed, remain inseparable, whatever be the quality of the love afterwards, whether it be warm or cold. hence it is that an invitation to love coming from a wife chills the whole man from the inmost principles to the outermost; whereas an invitation to love coining from a concubine has not the same effect upon the object of her love. to jealousy in regard to a wife is added the earnest desire of reputation with a view to honor; and there is no such addition to jealousy in regard to a concubine. nevertheless both kinds of jealousy vary according to the seat of the love received by the wife and by the concubine; and at the same time according to the state of the judgment of the man receiving it. . xiii. jealousy likewise exists among beasts and birds. that it exists among wild beasts, as lions, tigers, bears, and several others, while they have whelps, is well known; and also among bulls, although they have not calves: it is most conspicuous among dung-hill cocks, who in favor of their hens fight with their rivals even to death: the reason why the latter have such jealousy is, because they are vain-glorious lovers, and the glory of that love cannot endure an equal; that they are vain-glorious lovers, above every genus and species of birds, is manifest from their gestures, nods, gait, and tone of voice. that the glory of honor with men, whether lovers or not, excites, increases, and sharpens jealousy, has been confirmed above. . xiv. the jealousy of men and husbands is different from that of women and wives. the differences cannot however be distinctly pointed out, since the jealousy of married partners who love each other spiritually, differs from that of married partners who love each other merely naturally, and differs again with those who disagree in minds, and also with those who have subjected their consorts to the yoke of obedience. the jealousies of men and of women considered in themselves are different, because from different origins: the origin of the jealousies of men is in the understanding, whereas of women it is in the will applied to the understanding of the husband: the jealousy of a man therefore, is like a flame of wrath and anger; whereas that of a woman is like a fire variously restrained, by fear, by regard to the husband, by respect to her own love, and by her prudence in not revealing this love to her husband by jealousy: they differ also because wives are loves, and men recipients thereof; and wives are unwilling to squander their love upon the men, but the case is not so with the recipients towards the wives. with the spiritual, however, it is otherwise; with these the jealousy of the man is transferred into the wife, as the love of the wife is transferred into the husband; therefore with each party it appears like itself against the attempts of a violator; but the jealousy of the wife is inspired into the husband against the attempts of the violating harlot, which is like grief weeping, and moving the conscience. * * * * * . to the above i shall add two memorable relations. i was once in much amazement at the great multitude of men who ascribe creation, and consequently whatever is under the sun and above it, to nature; expressing the real sentiments of their hearts as to the visible things of the world, by this question, "what are these but the works of nature?" and when they are asked why they ascribe them to nature and not to god, when nevertheless they occasionally join in the general confession, that god has created nature, and therefore they might as well ascribe creation to god as to nature, they return for answer, with an internal tone of voice, which is scarcely audible, "what is god but nature?" from this persuasion concerning nature as the creator of the universe, and from this folly which has to them the semblance of wisdom, all such persons appear so full of their own importance, that they regard all those who acknowledge the creation of the universe to be from god, as so many ants which creep along the ground and tread in a beaten path, and in some cases as butterflies which fly in the air; ridiculing their opinions as dreams because they see what they do not see, and deciding all by the question, "who has seen god, and who has not seen nature?" while i was thus amazed at the great multitude of such persons, there stood near me an angel, who asked me, "what is the subject of your meditation?" i replied, "it is concerning the great multitude of such as believe that nature created the universe." the angel then said to me, "all hell consists of such persons, who are there called satans and devils; satans, if they have confirmed themselves in favor of nature to the denial of god, and devils, if they have lived wickedly, and thereby rejected all acknowledgement of god from their hearts; but i will lead you to the _gymnasia_, which are in the south-west, where such persons dwell, having not yet departed to their infernal abodes." he took me by the hand and led me there. i saw some small houses, in which were apartments for the studious, and in the midst of them one which served as a principal hall to the rest. it was constructed of a pitchy kind of stone, covered with a sort of glazed plates, that seemed to sparkle with gold and silver, like the stones called _glades mariæ_; and here and there were interspersed shells which glittered in like manner. we approached and knocked at the door, which was presently opened by one who bade us welcome. he then went to the table, and fetched four books, and said, "these books are the wisdom which is at this day the admiration of many kingdoms: this book or wisdom is the admiration of many in france, this of many in germany, this of some in holland, and this of some in england:" he further said, "if you wish to see it, i will cause these four books to shine brightly before your eyes:" he then poured forth and spread around them the glory of his own reputation, and the books presently shone as with light; but this light instantly vanished from our sight. we then asked him what he was now writing? he replied, that he was now about to bring forth from his treasures, and publish to the world, things of inmost wisdom, which would be comprised under these general heads: i. whether nature be derived from life, or life from nature. ii. whether the centre be derived from the expanse, or the expanse from the centre. iii. on the centre and the expanse of nature and of life. having said this, he reclined on a couch at the table; but we walked about in his spacious study. he had a candle on the table, because the light of the sun never shone in that room, but only the nocturnal light of the moon; and what surprised me, the candle seemed to be carried all round the room, and to illuminate it; but, for want of being snuffed, it gave but little light. while he was writing, we saw images in various forms flying from the table towards the walls, which in that nocturnal moon-light appeared like beautiful indian birds; but on opening the door, lo! in the light of the sun they appeared like birds of the evening, with wings like network; for they were semblances of truth made fallacies by being confirmed, which he had ingeniously connected together into series. after attending some time to this sight, we approached the table, and asked him what he was then writing? he replied, "on the first general head, whether nature be derived from life, or life from nature;" and on this question he said, that he could confirm either side, and cause it to be true; but as something lay concealed within which excited his fears, therefore he durst only confirm this side, that nature is of life, that is, from life, but not that life is of nature, that is, from it. we then civilly requested him to tell us, what lay concealed within, which excited his fears? he replied, he was afraid lest he should be called a naturalist, and so an atheist, by the clergy, and a man of unsound reason by the laity; as they both either believe from a blind credulity, or see from the sight of those who confirm that credulity. but just then, being impelled by a kind of indignant zeal for the truth, we addressed him in saying, "friend, you are much deceived; your wisdom, which is only an ingenious talent for writing, has seduced you, and the glory of reputation has led you to confirm what you do not believe. do you know that the human mind is capable of being elevated above sensual things, which are derived into the thoughts from the bodily senses, and that when it is so elevated, it sees the things that are of life above, and those that are of nature beneath? what is life but love and wisdom? and what is nature but their recipient, whereby they may produce their effects or uses? can these possibly be one in any other sense than as principal and instrumental are one? can light be one with the eye, or sound with the ear? whence are the senses of these organs but from life, and their forms but from nature? what is the human body but an organ of life? are not all things therein organically formed to produce the things which the love wills and the understanding thinks? are not the organs of the body from nature, and love and thought from life? and are not those things entirely distinct from each other? raise the penetration of your ingenuity a little, and you will see that it is the property of life to be affected and to think, and that to be affected is from love, and to think is from wisdom, and each is from life; for, as we have said, love and wisdom are life: if you elevate your faculty of understanding a little higher, you will see that no love and wisdom exists, unless its origin be somewhere or other, and that its origin is wisdom itself, and thence life itself, and these are god from whom is nature." afterwards we conversed with him about his second question, whether the centre be of the expanse, or the expanse of the centre; and asked him why he discussed this question? he replied, "with a view to conclude concerning the centre and the expanse of nature and of life, thus concerning the origin of each." and when we asked him what were his sentiments on the subject, he answered, as in the former case, that he could confirm either side, but for fear of suffering in his reputation, he would confirm that the expanse is of the centre, that is, from the centre; although i know, said he, that something existed before the sun, and this in the universe throughout, and that these things flowed together of themselves into order, thus into centres. but here again we addressed him from the overflowing of an indignant zeal, and said, "friend, you are insane." on hearing these words, he drew his couch aside from the table, and looked timidly at us, and then listened to our conversation, but with a smile upon his countenance, while we thus proceeded: "what is a surer proof of insanity, than to say that the centre is from the expanse? by your centre we understand the sun, and by your expanse the universe; and thus, according to you, the universe existed without the sun: but does not the sun make nature, and all its properties, which depend solely on the heat and light proceeding from the sun by the atmospheres? where were those things previous to the sun's existence? but whence they originated we will shew presently. are not the atmospheres and all things which exist on the earth, as surfaces, and the sun their centre? what are they all without the sun; or how could they subsist a single moment in the sun's absence? consequently what were they all before the sun, or how could they subsist? is not subsistence perpetual existence? since therefore all the parts of nature derive their subsistence from the sun, they must of consequence derive also their existence from the same origin: every one sees and is convinced of this truth by the testimony of his own eyes. does not that which is posterior subsist from what is prior, as it exists from what is prior? supposing the surface to be the prior and the centre the posterior, would not the prior in such case subsist from the posterior, which yet is contrary to the laws of order? how can posterior things produce prior, or exterior things produce interior, or grosser things produce purer? consequently, how can surfaces, which constitute the expanse, produce centres? who does not see that this is contrary to the laws of nature? we have adduced these arguments from a rational analysis, to prove that the expanse exists from the centre, and not the centre from the expanse; nevertheless every one who sees aright, sees it to be so without the help of such arguments. you have asserted, that the expanse flowed together of itself into a centre; did it thus flow by chance into so wonderful and stupendous an order, where one thing exists for the sake of another, and everything for the sake of man, and with a view to his eternal life? is it possible that nature from any principle of love, by any principle of wisdom, should provide such things? and can nature make angels of men, and heaven of angels? ponder and consider these things: and your idea of nature existing from nature will fall to the ground." afterwards we questioned him as to his former and present sentiments concerning his third inquiry, relating to the centre and expanse of nature and of like; whether he was of opinion that the centre and expanse of life are the same with the centre and expanse of nature? he replied, that he was in doubt about it, and that he formerly thought that the interior activity of nature is life; and that love and wisdom, which essentially constitute the life of man, are thence derived; and that the sun's fire, by the instrumentality of heat and light, through the mediums of the atmospheres, produce those principles; but that now, from what he had heard concerning the eternal life of men, he began to waver in his sentiments, and that in consequence of such wavering, his mind was sometimes carried upwards, sometimes downwards; and that when it was carried upwards, he acknowledged a centre of which he had before no idea; but when downwards, he saw a centre which he believed to be the only one that existed; and that life is from the centre which before was unknown to him; and nature is from the centre which he before believed to be the only one existing; and that each centre has an expanse around it. to this we said, well, if he would only respect the centre and expanse of nature from the centre and expanse of life, and not contrariwise; and we informed him, that above the angelic heaven there is a sun which is pure love, in appearance very like the sun of the world; and that from the heat which proceeds from that sun, angels and men derive will and love, and from its light they derive understanding and wisdom; and that the things which are of life, are called spiritual and that those which proceed from the sun of the world, are what contain life, and are called natural; also that the expanse of the centre of life is called the spiritual world, which subsists from its sun, and that the expanse of nature is called the natural world, which subsists from its sun. now, since of love and wisdom there cannot be predicated spaces and times, but instead thereof states, it follows, that the expanse around the sun of the angelic heaven is not extended, but still is in the extense of the natural sun, and present with all living subjects therein according to their receptions, which are according to forms. but he then asked, "whence comes the fire of the sun of the world, or of nature?" we replied, that it is derived from the sun of the angelic heaven, which is not fire, but divine love proximately proceeding from god, who is love itself. as he was surprised at this, we thus proved it: "love in its essence is spiritual fire; hence fire in the word, in its spiritual sense, signifies love: it is on this account that priests, when officiating in the temple, pray that heavenly fire may fill their hearts, by which they mean heavenly love: the fire of the altar and of the candlestick in the tabernacle amongst the israelites, represented divine love: the heat of the blood, or the vital heat of men and animals in general is from no other source than love, which constitutes their life: hence it is that a man is enkindled, grows warm, and becomes on fire, while his love is exalted into zeal, anger, and wrath; wherefore from the circumstance, that spiritual heat, which is love, produces natural heat with men, even to the kindling and inflaming of their faces and limbs, it may appear, that the fire of the natural sun has existed from no other source than the fire of the spiritual sun, which is divine love. now, since the expanse originates from the centre, and not the centre from the expanse, as we said above, and the centre of life, which is the sun of the angelic heaven, is divine love proximately proceeding from god, who is in the midst of that sun; and since the expanse of that centre, which is called the spiritual world, is hence derived; and since from that sun existed the sun of the world, and from the latter its expanse, which is called the natural world; it is evident, that the universe was created by one god." with these words we took our leave, and he attended us out of the court of his study, and conversed with us respecting heaven and hell, and the divine government, from a new acuteness of genius. . the second memorable relation. on a time as i was looking around into the world of spirits, i saw at a distance a palace surrounded and as it were besieged by a crowd; i also saw many running towards it. wondering what this could mean, i speedily left the house, and asked one of those who were running, what was the matter at the palace? he replied, that three new comers from the world had been taken up into heaven, and had there seen magnificent things, also maidens and wives of astonishing beauty; and that being let down from heaven they had entered into that palace, and were relating what they had seen; especially that they had beheld such beauties as their eyes had never before seen, or can see, unless illustrated by the light of heavenly _aura_. respecting themselves they said, that in the world they had been orators, from the kingdom of france, and had applied themselves to the study of eloquence, and that now they were seized with a desire of making an oration on the origin of beauty. when this was made known in the neighbourhood, the multitude flocked together to hear them. upon receiving this information, i hastened also myself, and entered the palace, and saw the three men standing in the midst, dressed in long robes of a sapphire color, which, having threads of gold in their texture at every change of posture shone as if they had been golden. they stood ready to speak behind a kind of stage; and presently one of them rose on a step behind the stage, and delivered his sentiments concerning the origin of the beauty of the female sex, in the following words. . "what is the origin of beauty but love, which, when it flows into the eyes of youths, and sets them on becomes beauty? therefore love and beauty are the same thing; for love, from an inmost principle, tinges the face of a marriageable maiden with a kind of flame, from the transparence of which is derived the dawn and bloom of her life. who does not know that the flame emits rays into her eyes, and spreads from these as centres into the countenance, and also descends into the breast, and sets the heart on fire, and thereby affects (a youth), just as a fire with its heat and light affects a person standing near it? that heat is love, and that light is the beauty of love. the whole world is agreed, and firm in the opinion, that every one is lovely and beautiful according to his love: nevertheless the love of the male sex differs from that of the female. male love is the love of growing wise, and female love is that of loving the love of growing wise in the male; so far therefore as a youth is the love of growing wise, so far he is lovely and beautiful to a maiden; and so far as a maiden is the love of a youth's wisdom, so far she is lovely and beautiful to a youth; wherefore as love meets and kisses the love of another, so also do beauties. i conclude therefore, that love forms beauty into a resemblance of itself." . after him arose a second, with a view of discovering, in a neat and elegant speech, the origin of beauty. he expressed himself thus: "i have heard that love is the origin of beauty; but i cannot agree with this opinion. what human being knows what love is? who has ever contemplated it with any idea of thought? who has ever seen it with the eye? let such a one tell me where it is to be found. but i assert that wisdom is the origin of beauty; in women a wisdom which lies concealed and stored up in the inmost principles of the mind, in men a wisdom which manifests itself, and is apparent. whence is a man (_homo_) a man but from wisdom? were it not so, a man would be a statue or a picture. what does a maiden attend to in a youth, but the quality of his wisdom; and what does a youth attend to in a maiden, but the quality of her affection of his wisdom? by wisdom i mean genuine morality; because this is the wisdom of life. hence it is, that when wisdom which lies concealed, approaches and embraces wisdom which is manifest, as is the case interiorly in the spirit of each, they mutually kiss and unite, and this is called love; and in such case each of the parties appears beautiful to the other. in a word, wisdom is like the light or brightness of fire, which impresses itself on the eyes, and thereby forms beauty." . after him the third arose, and spoke to this effect: "it is neither love alone nor wisdom alone, which is the origin of beauty; but it is the union of love and wisdom; the union of love with wisdom in a youth, and the union of wisdom with its love in a maiden: for a maiden does not love wisdom in herself but in a youth, and hence sees him as beauty, and when a youth sees this in a maiden, he then sees her as beauty; therefore love by wisdom forms beauty, and wisdom grounded in love receives it. that this is the case, appears manifestly in heaven. i have there seen maidens and wives, and have attentively considered their beauties, and have observed, that beauty in maidens differs from beauty in wives; in maidens being only the brightness, but in wives the splendor of beauty. the difference appeared like that of a diamond sparkling from light, and of a ruby shining from fire together with light. what is beauty but the delight of the sight? and in what does this delight originate but in the sport of love and wisdom? this sport gives brilliancy to the sight, and this brilliancy vibrates from eye to eye, and presents an exhibition of beauty. what constitutes beauty of countenance, but red and white, and the lovely mixture thereof with each other? and is not the red derived from love, and the white from wisdom? love being red from its fire, and wisdom, white from its light. both these i have clearly seen in the faces of two married partners in heaven; the redness of white in the wife, and the whiteness of red in the husband; and i observed that they shone in consequence of mutually looking at each other." when the third had thus concluded, the assembly applauded and cried out, "he has gained the victory." then on a sudden, a flaming light, which is the light of conjugial love, filled the house with its splendor, and the hearts of the company with satisfaction. * * * * * on the conjunction of conjugial love with the love of infants. . there are evident signs that conjugial love and the love of infants, which is called _storge_, are connected; and there are also signs which may induce a belief that they are not connected; for there is the love of infants with married partners who tenderly love each other, and also with married partners who disagree entirely, and likewise with those who are separated from each other, and in some cases it is more tender and stronger with the latter than the former; but that still the love of infants is always connected with conjugial love, may appear from the origin from which it flows in; for although this origin varies with the recipients, still those loves remain inseparable, just as the first end in the last, which is the effect. the first end of conjugial love is the procreation of offspring, and the last, or the effect, is the offspring procreated. that the first end enters into the effect, and is therein as in its origin, and does not withdraw from it, may be seen from a rational view of the orderly progression of ends and causes to effects. but as the reasonings of the generality commence merely from effects, and from them proceed to some consequences thence resulting, and do not commence from causes, and from them proceed analytically to effects, and so forth; therefore the rational principles of light must needs become the obscure principles of cloud; whence come derivations from truth, arising from appearances and fallacies. but that it may be seen that conjugial love and the love of infants are interiorly connected, although exteriorly disjointed, we will proceed to demonstrate it in the following order. i. _two universal spheres proceed from the lord to preserve the universe in its created state; of which the one is the sphere of procreating, and the other the sphere of protecting the things procreated._ ii. _these two universal spheres make a one with the sphere of conjugial love and the sphere of the love of infants._ iii. _these two spheres universally and singularly flow into all things of heaven, and all things of the world from first to last._ iv. _the sphere of the love of infants is a sphere of protection and support of those who cannot protect and support themselves._ v. _this sphere affects both the evil and the good, and disposes every one to love, protect, and support his offspring from his own love._ vi. _this sphere principally affects the female sex, thus mothers, and the male sex, or fathers, by derivation from them._ vii. _this sphere is also a sphere of innocence and peace from the lord._ viii. _the sphere of innocence flows into infants, and through them into the parents, and affects them._ ix, _it also flows into the souls of the parents, and unites with the same sphere (as operative) with the infants; and it is principally insinuated by means of the touch._ x. _in the degree in which innocence retires from infants, affection and conjunction also abate, and this successively even to separation._ xi. _a state of rational innocence and peace with parents towards infants is grounded on the circumstance, that they know nothing and can do nothing from themselves, but from others, especially from the father and mother; and that this state also successively retires, in proportion as they know and have ability from themselves, and not from others._ xii. _the above sphere advances in order from the end through causes into effects and makes periods; whereby creation is preserved in the state foreseen and provided for._ xiii. _the love of infants descends and does not ascend._ xiv. _wives have one state of love before conception and another after, even to the birth._ xv. _with parents conjugial love is conjoined with the love of infants by spiritual causes, and thence by natural._ xvi. _the love of infants and children is different with spiritual married partners from what it is with natural._ xvii. _with spiritual married partners that love is from what is interior or prior, but with natural from what is exterior or posterior._ xviii. _in consequence hereof that love prevails with married partners who mutually love each other, and also with those who do not at all love each other._ xix. _the love of infants remains after death, especially with women._ xx. _infants are educated under the lord's auspices by such women, and grow in stature and intelligence as in the world._ xxi. _it is there provided by the lord, that with those infants the innocence of infancy becomes the innocence of wisdom, and thus the infants become angels._ we now proceed to an explanation of each article. . i. two universal spheres proceed from the lord to preserve the universe in its created state; of which the one is the sphere of procreating and the other the sphere of protecting the things procreated. the divine which proceeds from the lord is called a sphere, because it goes forth from him, surrounds him, fills both the spiritual and the natural world, and produces the effects of the ends which the lord predestinated in creation, and provides since creation. all that which flows from a subject, and surrounds and environs it, is named a sphere; as in the case of the sphere of light from the sun around it, of the sphere of life from man around him, of the sphere of odor from a plant around it, of the sphere of attraction from the magnet around it, and so forth: but the universal spheres of which we are here treating, are from the lord around him; and they proceed from the sun of the spiritual world, in the midst of which he is. from the lord by means of that sun, proceeds a sphere of heat and light, or what is the same, a sphere of love and wisdom, to produce ends, which are uses; but that sphere according to uses, is distinguished by various names: the divine sphere which looks to the preservation of the universe in its created state by successive generations, is called the sphere of procreating; and the divine sphere which looks to the preservation of generations in their beginnings, and afterwards in their progressions, is called the sphere of protecting the things procreated: besides these two, there are several other divine spheres which are named according to their uses, consequently variously, as may be seen above, n. . the operations of uses by these spheres are the divine providence. . ii. these two universal spheres make a one with the sphere of conjugial love and the sphere of the love of infants. that the sphere of conjugial love makes a one with the sphere of procreating, is evident; for procreation is the end, and conjugial love the mediate cause by which (the end is promoted), and the end and the cause in what is to be effected and in effects, act in unity, because they act together. that the sphere of the love of infants makes a one with the sphere of protecting the things procreated, is also evident, because it is the end proceeding from the foregoing end, which was procreation, and the love of infants is its mediate cause by which it is promoted: for ends advance in a series, one after another, and in their progress the last end becomes the first, and thereby advances further, even to the boundary, in which they subsist or cease. but on this subject more will be seen in the explanation of article xii. . iii. these two spheres universally and singularly flow into all things of heaven and all things of the world, from first to last. it is said universally and singularly, because when mention is made of a universal, the singulars of which it is composed are meant at the same time; for a universal exists from and consists of singulars; thus it takes its name from them, as a whole exists from, consists of, and takes its name from its parts; therefore, if you take away singulars, a universal is only a name, and is like a mere surface which contains nothing: consequently to attribute to god universal government, and to take away singulars, is vain talk and empty preaching: nor is it to the purpose, in this case, to urge a comparison with the universal government of the kings of the earth. from this ground then it is said, that those two spheres flow in universally and singularly. . the reason why the spheres of procreating and of protecting the things procreated, or the spheres of conjugial love and the love of infants, flow into all thing of heaven and all things of the world, from first (principles) to last, is because all things which proceed from the lord, or from the sun which is from him and in which he is, pervade the created universe even to the last of all its principles: the reason of this is, because divine things, which in progression are called celestial and spiritual, have no relation to space and time. that extension cannot be predicated of things spiritual, in consequence of their not having any relation to space and time, is well known: hence whatever proceeds from the lord, is in an instant from first (principles) in last. that the sphere of conjugial love is thus universal may be seen above, n. - . that in like manner the sphere of the love of infants is universal, is evident from that love's prevailing in heaven, where there are infants from the earths; and from that love's prevailing in the world with men, beasts and birds, serpents and insects. something resembling this love prevails also in the vegetable and mineral kingdoms; in the vegetable, in that seeds are guarded by shells or husks as by swaddling clothes, and moreover are in the fruit as in a house, and are nourished with juice as with milk; that there is something similar in minerals, is plain from the matrixes and external covering, in which noble gems and metals are concealed and guarded. . the reason why the sphere of procreating, and the sphere of protecting the things procreated, make a one in a continual series, is, because the love of procreating is continued into the love of what is procreated. the quality of the love of procreating is known from its delight, which is supereminent and transcendent. this love influences the state of procreating with men, and in a remarkable manner the state of reception with women; and this very exalted delight with its love continues even to the birth, and there attains its fulness. . iv. the sphere of the love of infants is a sphere of protection and support of those who cannot protect and support themselves. that the operations of uses from the lord by spheres proceeding from him, are the divine providence, was said above, n. ; this divine providence therefore is meant by the sphere of protection and support of those who cannot protect and support themselves: for it is a law of creation that the things created are to be preserved, guarded, protected, and supported; otherwise the universe would fall to decay: but as this cannot be done immediately from the lord with living creatures, who are left to their own choice, it is done mediately by his love implanted in fathers, mothers, and nurses. that their love is from the lord influencing them, is not known to themselves, because they do not perceive the influx, and still less the lord's omnipresence: but who does not see, that this principle is not of nature, but of the divine providence operating in and by nature; and that such a universal principle cannot exist except from god, by a certain spiritual sun, which is in the centre of the universe, and whose operation, being without space and time, is instant and present from first principles in last? but in what manner that divine operation, which is the lord's divine providence, is received by animate subjects, will be shewn in what follows. that mothers and fathers protect and support infants, because they cannot protect and support themselves, is not the cause of that love, but is a rational cause derived from that love's falling into the understanding; for a man, from this cause alone, without love inspired and inspiring it, or without law and punishment compelling him, would no more than a statue provide for infants. . v. this sphere affects both the evil and the good, and disposes every one to love, protect, and support his offspring from his own love. experience testifies that the love of infants prevails equally with the evil and the good, and in like manner with tame and wild beasts; yea, that in some cases it is stronger and more ardent in its influence on evil men, and also on wild beasts. the reason of this is, because all love proceeding from the lord and flowing into subjects, is changed in the subject into the love of its life; for every animate subject has no other sensation than that its love originates in itself, as it does not perceive the influx; and while also it actually loves itself, it makes the love of infants proper to itself; for it sees as it were itself in them, and them in itself, and itself thus united with them. hence also this love is fiercer with wild beasts, as with lions and lionesses, he and she bears, leopards and leopardesses, he and she wolves, and others of a like nature, than with horses, deer, goats, and sheep; because those wild beasts have dominion over the tame, and hence self-love is predominant, and this loves itself in its offspring; therefore as we said, the influent love is turned into self-love. such an inversion of the influent love into self-love, and the consequent protection and support of the young offspring by evil parents, is of the lord's divine providence; for otherwise there would remain but few of the human race, and none of the savage beasts, which, nevertheless, are of use. from these considerations it is evident, that every one is disposed to love, protect, and support his offspring, from his own love. . vi. this sphere principally affects the female sex, thus mothers and the male sex, or fathers, by derivation from them. this follows from what was said above, in regard to the origin of conjugial love,--that the sphere of conjugial love is received by the women, and through them is transferred to the men: because women are born loves of the understanding of the men, and the understanding is a recipient. the case is the same with the love of infants, because this originates in conjugial love. it is well known that mothers are influenced by a most tender love of infants, and fathers by a love less tender. that the love of infants is inherent in conjugial love, into which women are born, is evident from the amiable and endearing love of girls towards infants, and towards their dolls, which they carry, dress, kiss, and press to their bosoms: boys are not influenced by any such affection. it appears as if mothers derived the love of infants from nourishing them in the womb out of their own blood, and from the consequent appropriation of their life, and thus from sympathetic union: but still this is not the origin of that love; for if another infant, without the mother's knowledge, were to be put after the birth in the place of the genuine infant, the mother would love it with equal tenderness as if it were her own: moreover infants are sometimes loved by their nurses more than by their mothers. from these considerations it follows, that this love is from no other source than from the conjugial love implanted in every woman, to which is joined the love of conceiving; from the delight of which the wife is prepared for reception. this is the first of the above love, which with its delight after the birth passes fully to the offspring. . vii. this sphere is also a sphere of innocence and peace (from the lord). innocence and peace are the two inmost principles of heaven; they are called inmost principles, because they proceed immediately from the lord: for the lord is innocence itself and peace itself. from innocence the lord is called a lamb, and from peace he saith, "_peace i leave you; my peace i give you_," john xiv. ; and he is also meant by the peace with which the disciples were to salute a city or house which they entered; and of which it is said, that if it was worthy, peace would come upon it, and if not worthy, peace would return, matt. x. - . hence also the lord is called the prince of peace, isaiah ix. , . a further reason why innocence and peace are the inmost principles of heaven, is, because innocence is the _esse_ of every good, and peace is the blessed principle of every delight which is of good. see the work on heaven and hell, as to the state of innocence of the angels of heaven, n. - ; and as to peace in heaven, n. - . . viii. the sphere of innocence flows into infants, and through them into the parents, and affects them. it is well known that infants are innocences; but it is not known that their innocence flows in from the lord. it flows in from the lord, because, as was said just above, he is innocence itself; neither can any thing flow in, since it cannot exist except from its first principle, which is it itself. but we will briefly describe the nature and quality of the innocence of infants, which affects parents: it shines forth from their face, from some of their gestures, and from their first speech, and affects them. they have innocence, because they do not think from any interior principle; for they do not as yet know what is good and evil, and what is true and false, as the ground of their thoughts; in consequence of which they have not a prudence originating in selfhood, nor any deliberate purpose; of course they do not regard any evil as an end. they are free from selfhood acquired from self-love and the love of the world; they do not attribute any thing to themselves; they refer to their parents whatever they receive; content with the trifles which are given them as presents, they have no care about food and raiment, or about the future; they do not look to the world, and immerse themselves thereby in the desire of many things; they love their parents, their nurses, and their infant companions, with whom they play in innocence; they suffer themselves to be guided, they harken and obey. this is the innocence of infancy, which is the cause of the love called _storge_. . ix. it also flows in to the souls of the parents, and unites with the same sphere (as operative) with the infants, and it is principally insinuated by means of the touch. the lord's innocence flows into the angels of the third heaven, where all are in the innocence of wisdom, and passes through the inferior heavens, but only through the innocences of the angels therein, and thus immediately and mediately flows into infants. these differ but little from graven forms; but still they are receptible of life from the lord through the heavens. yet, unless the parents also received that influx in their souls, and in the inmost principles of their minds, they would in vain be affected by the innocence of the infants. there must be something adequate and similar in another, whereby communication may be effected, and which may cause reception, affection, and thence conjunction; otherwise it would be like soft seed falling upon a stone, or a lamb exposed to a wolf. from this ground then it is, that innocence flowing into the souls of the parents, unites with the innocence of the infants. experience may shew that, with the parents, this conjunction is effected by the mediation of the bodily senses, but especially by the touch: as that the sight is intimately delighted by seeing them, the hearing by their speech, the smelling by their odor. that the communication and therefore the conjunction of innocence is principally effected by the touch, is evident from the satisfaction of carrying them in the arms, from fondling and kissing them, especially in the case of mothers, who are delighted in laying their mouth and face upon their bosoms, and at the same time in touching the same with the palms of their hands, in general, in giving them milk by suckling them at the breasts, moreover, in stroking their naked body, and the unwearied pains they take in washing and dressing them on their laps. that the communications of love and its delights between married partners are effected by the sense of the touch has been occasionally proved above. the reason why communications of the mind are also effected by the same sense is, because the hands are a man's ultimates, and his first principles are together in the ultimates, whereby also all things of the body and of the mind are kept together in an inseparable connection. hence it is, that jesus touched infants, matt, xviii. - ; mark x. - ; and that he healed the sick by the touch: and that those who touched him were healed: hence also it is, that inaugurations into the priesthood are at this day effected by the laying on of hands. from these considerations it is evident, that the innocence of parents and the innocence of infants meet each other by the touch, especially of the hands, and thereby join themselves together as by kisses. . that innocence produces similar effects with beasts and birds as with men, and that by contact, is well known: the reason of this is, because all that proceeds from the lord, in an instant pervades the universe, as may be seen above, n. - ; and as it proceeds by degrees, and by continual mediations, therefore it passes not only to animals, but also to vegetables and minerals; see n. ; it also passes into the earth itself, which is the mother of all vegetables and minerals; for the earth, in the spring, is in a prepared state for the reception of seeds, as it were in the womb; and when it receives them, it, as it were, conceives, cherishes them, bears, excludes, suckles, nourishes, clothes, educates, guards, and, as it were, loves the offspring derived from them, and so forth. since the sphere of procreation proceeds thus far, how much more must it proceed to animals of every kind, even to worms! that as the earth is the common mother of vegetables, so there is also a common mother of bees in every hive, is a well known tact, confirmed by observation. . x. in the degree in which innocence retires from infants, affection and conjunction also abate, and this successively even to separation. it is well known that the love of infants, or _storge_, retires from parents according as innocence retires from them; and that, in the case of men, it retires even to the separation of children from home, and in the case of beasts and birds, to a rejection from their presence, and a total forgetfulness of relationship. from this circumstance, as an established fact, it may further appear, that innocence flowing in on each side produces the love called _storge_. . xi. a state of rational innocence and peace with parents towards infants, is grounded in the circumstance, that they know nothing and can do nothing from themselves, but from others, especially from the father and mother; and this state successively retires, in proportion as they know and have ability from themselves, and not from others. that the sphere of the love of infants is a sphere of protection and support of those who cannot protect and support themselves, was shewn above in its proper article, n. : that this is only a rational cause with men, but not the very essential cause of that love prevailing with them, was also mentioned in the same article. the real original cause of that love is innocence from the lord, which flows in while the man is ignorant of it, and produces the above rational cause; therefore as the first cause produces a retiring from that love, so also does the second cause at the same time; or what is the same, as the communication of innocence retires, so also the persuading reason accompanies it; but this is the case only with man to the intent that he may do what he does from freedom according to reason, and from this, as from a rational and at the same time a moral law, may support his adult offspring according to the requirements of necessity and usefulness. this second cause does not influence animals who are without reason, they being affected only by the prior cause, which to them is instinct. . xii. the sphere of the love of procreating advances in order from the end through causes into effects, and makes periods; whereby creation is preserved in the state foreseen and provided for. all operations in the universe have a progression from ends through causes into effects. these three are in themselves indivisible, although in idea they appear divided; but still the end, unless the intended effect is seen together with it, is not any thing; nor does either become any thing, unless the cause supports, contrives, and conjoins it. such a progression is inherent in every man in general, and in every particular, altogether as will, understanding, and action: every end in regard to man relates to the will, every cause to the understanding, and every effect to the action; in like manner, every end relates to love, every efficient cause to wisdom, and every effect thence derived to use. the reason of this is, because the receptacle of love is the will, the receptacle of wisdom is the understanding, and the receptacle of use is action: since therefore operations in general and in particular with man advance from the will through the understanding into act, so also do they advance from love through wisdom into use. by wisdom here we mean all that which belongs to judgement and thought. that these three are a one in the effect, is evident. that they also make a one in ideas before the effect, is perceived from the consideration, that determination only intervenes; for in the mind an end goes forth from the will and produces for itself a cause in the understanding, and presents to itself an intention; and intention is as an act before determination; hence it is, that by a wise man, and also by the lord, intention is accepted as an act. what rational person cannot see, or, when he hears, acknowledge, that those three principles flow from some first cause, and that that cause is, that from the lord, the creator and conservator of the universe, there continually proceed love, wisdom, and use, and these three are one? tell, if you can, in what other source they originate. . a similar progression from end through cause into effect belongs also to the sphere of procreating and of protecting the things procreated. the end in this case is the will or love of procreating; the middle cause, by which the end is effected and into which it infuses itself, is conjugial love; the progressive series of efficient causes is the loving, conception, gestation of the embryo or offspring to be procreated; and the effect is the offspring itself procreated. but although end, cause, and effect successively advance as three things, still in the love of procreating, and inwardly in all the causes, and in the effect itself, they make a one. they are the efficient causes only, which advance through times, because in nature; while the end or will, or love, remains continually the same: for ends advance in nature through times without time; but they cannot come forth and manifest themselves, until the effect or use exists and becomes a subject; before this, the love could love only the advance, but could not secure and fix itself. that there are periods of such progressions, and that creation is thereby preserved in the state foreseen and provided for, is well known. but the series of the love of infants from its greatest to its least, thus to the boundary in which it subsists or ceases, is retrograde; since it is according to the decrease of innocence in the subject, and also on account of the periods. . xiii. the love of infants descends, and does not ascend. that it descends from generation to generation, or from sons and daughters to grandsons and granddaughters, and does not ascend from these to fathers and mothers of families, is well known. the cause of its increase in descent is the love of fructifying, or of producing uses, and in respect to the human race, it is the love of multiplying it; but this derives its origin solely from the lord, who, in the multiplication of the human race, regards the conservation of creation, and as the ultimate end thereof, the angelic heaven, which is solely from the human race; and since the angelic heaven is the end of ends, and thence the love of loves with the lord, therefore there is implanted in the souls of men, not only the love of procreating, but also of loving the things procreated in successions: hence also this love exists only with man and not with any beast or bird. that this love with man descends increasing, is in consequence of the glory of honor, which in like manner increases with him according to amplifications. that the love of honor and glory receives into itself the love of infants flowing from the lord, and makes it as it were its own, will be seen in article xvi. . xiv. wives have one state of love before conception and another after, even to the birth. this is adduced to the end that it may be known, that the love of procreating, and the consequent love of what is procreated, is implanted in conjugial love with women, and that with them those two loves are divided, while the end, which is the love of procreating, begins its progression. that the love called _storge_ is then transferred from the wife to the husband; and also that the love of procreating, which, as we said, with a woman makes one with her conjugial love, is then not alike, is evident from several indications. . xv. with parents conjugial love is conjoined with the love of infants by spiritual causes, and thence by natural. the spiritual causes are, that the human race may be multiplied, and from this the angelic heaven enlarged, and that thereby such may be born as will become angels, serving the lord to promote uses in heaven, and by consociation with men also in the earths: for every man has angels associated with him from the lord; and such is his conjunction with them, that if they were taken away, he would instantly die. the natural causes of the conjunction of those two loves are, to effect the birth of those who may promote uses in human societies, and may be incorporated therein as members. that the latter are the natural and the former the spiritual causes of the love of infants and of conjugial love, even married partners themselves think and sometimes declare, saying they have enriched heaven with as many angels as they have had descendants, and have furnished society with as many servants as they have had children. . xvi. the love of children and infants is different with spiritual married partners from what it is with natural. with spiritual married partners the love of infants as to appearance, is like the love of infants with natural married partners; but it is more inward, and thence more tender, because that love exists from innocence, and from a nearer reception of innocence, and thereby a more present preception of it in man's self: for the spiritual are such so far as they partake of innocence. but spiritual fathers and mothers, after they have sipped the sweet of innocence with their infants, love their children very differently from what natural fathers and mothers do. the spiritual love their children from their spiritual intelligence and moral life; thus they love them from the fear of god and actual piety, or the piety of life, and at the same time from affection and application to uses serviceable to society, consequently from the virtues and good morals which they possessed. from the love of these things they are principally led to provide for, and minister to, the necessities of their children; therefore if they do not observe such things in them, they alienate their minds from them and do nothing for them but so far as they think themselves bound in duty. with natural fathers and mothers the love of infants is indeed grounded also in innocence; but when the innocence is received by them, it is entwined around their own love, and consequently the love of their infants from the latter, and at the same time from the former, kissing, embracing, and dangling them, hugging them to their bosoms, and fawning upon and flattering them beyond all bounds, regarding them as one heart and soul with themselves; and afterwards, when they have passed the state of infancy even to boyhood and beyond it, in which state innocence is no longer operative, they love them not from any fear of god and actual piety, or the piety of life, nor from any rational and moral intelligence they may have; neither do they regard, or only very slightly, if at all, their internal affections, and thence their virtues and good morals, but only their externals, which they favor and indulge. to these externals their love is directed and determined: hence also they close their eyes to their vices, excusing, and favoring them. the reason of this is, because with such parents the love of their offspring is also the love of themselves; and this love adheres to the subject outwardly, without entering into it, as self does not enter into itself. . the quality of the love of infants and of the love of children with the spiritual and with the natural, is evidently discerned from them after death; for most fathers, when they come into another life, recollect their children who have died before them; they are also presented to and mutually acknowledge each other. spiritual fathers only look at them, and inquire as to their present state, and rejoice if it is well with them, and grieve if it is ill; and after some conversation, instruction, and admonition respecting moral celestial life, they separate from them, telling them, that they are no longer to be remembered as fathers because the lord is the only father to all in heaven, according to his words, matt. xxiii. : and that they do not at all remember them as children. but natural fathers, when they first become conscious that they are living after death, and recall to mind their children who have died before them, and also when, agreeably to their wishes, they are presented to each other, they instantly embrace, and become united like bundles of rods; and in this case the father is continually delighted with beholding and conversing with them. if the father is told that some of his children are satans, and that they have done injuries to the good, he nevertheless keeps them in a group around him, if he himself sees that they are the occasion of hurt and do mischief, he still pays no attention to it, nor does he separate any of them from association with himself; in order, therefore, to prevent the continuance of such a mischievous company, they are of necessity committed forthwith to hell; and there the father, before the children, is shut up in confinement, and the children are separated, and each is removed to the place of his life. . to the above i will add this wonderful relation:--in the spiritual world i have seen fathers who, from hatred, and as it were rage, had looked at infants presented before their eyes, with a mind so savage, that, if they could, they would have murdered them; but on its being hinted to them, though without truth, that they were their own infants, their rage and savageness instantly subsided, and they loved them to excess. this love and hatred prevail together with those who in the world had been inwardly deceitful, and had set their minds in enmity against the lord. . xvii. with the spiritual that love is from what is interior or prior, but with the natural from what is exterior or posterior. to think and conclude from what is interior or prior, is to think and conclude from ends and causes to effects; but to think and conclude from what is exterior or posterior, is to think and conclude from effects to causes and ends. the latter progression is contrary to order, but the former according to it; for to think and conclude from ends and causes, is to think and conclude from goods and truths, viewed in a superior region of the mind, to effects in an inferior region. real human rationality from creation is of this quality. but to think and conclude from effects, is to think and conclude from an inferior region of the mind, where the sensual things of the body reside with their appearances and fallacies, to guess at causes and effects, which in itself is merely to confirm falsities and concupiscences, and afterwards to see and believe them to be truths of wisdom and goodnesses of the love of wisdom. the case is similar in regard to the love of infants and children with the spiritual and the natural; the spiritual love them from what is prior, thus according to order: but the natural love them from what is posterior, thus contrary to order. these observations are adduced only for the confirmation of the preceding article. . xviii. in consequence hereof that love prevails with married partners who mutually love each other, and also with those who do not at all love each other; consequently it prevails with the natural as well as with the spiritual; but the latter are influenced by conjugial love, whereas the former are influenced by no such love but what is apparent and pretended. the reason why the love of infants and conjugial love still act in unity, is, because, as we have said, conjugial love is implanted in every woman from creation, and together with it the love of procreating, which is determined to and flows into the procreated offspring, and from the women is communicated to the men. hence in houses, in which there is no conjugial love between the man and his wife, it nevertheless is with the wife, and thereby some external conjunction is effected with the man. from this same ground it is, that even harlots love their offspring; for that which from creation is implanted in souls, and respects propagation, is indelible, and cannot be extirpated. . xix. the love of infants remains after death, especially with women. infants, as soon as they are raised up, which happens immediately after their decease, are elevated into heaven, and delivered to angels of the female sex, who in the life of the body in the world loved infants, and at the same time feared god. these, having loved all infants with maternal tenderness, receive them as their own; and the infants in this case, as from an innate feeling, love them as their mothers: as many infants are consigned to them, as they desire from a spiritual _storge_. the heaven in which infants are appears in front in the region of the forehead, in the line in which the angels look directly at the lord. that heaven is so situated, because all infants are educated under the immediate auspices of the lord. there is an influx also into this heaven from the heaven of innocence, which is the third heaven. when they have passed through this first period, they are transferred to another heaven, where they are instructed. . xx. infants are educated under the lord's auspices by such women, and grow in stature and intelligence as in the world. infants in heaven are educated in the following manner; they learn to speak from the female angel who has the charge of their education; their first speech is merely the sound of affection, in which however there is some beginning of thought, whereby what is human in the sound is distinguished from the sound of an animal; this speech gradually becomes more distinct, as ideas derived from affection enter the thought: all their affections, which also increase, proceed from innocence. at first, such things are insinuated into them as appear before their eyes, and are delightful; and as these are from a spiritual origin, heavenly things flow into them at the same time, whereby the interiors of their minds are opened. afterwards, as the infants are perfected in intelligence, so they grow in stature, and viewed in this respect, they appear also more adult, because intelligence and wisdom are essential spiritual nourishment; therefore those things which nourish their minds, also nourish their bodies. infants in heaven, however, do not grow up beyond their first age, where they stop, and remain in it to eternity. and when they are in that age, they are given in marriage, which is provided by the lord, and is celebrated in the heaven of the youth, who presently follows the wife into her heaven, or into her house, if they are of the same society. that i might know of a certainty, that infants grow in stature, and arrive at maturity as they grow in intelligence, i was permitted to speak with some while they were infants, and afterwards when they were grown up; and they appeared as full-grown youths, in a stature, like that of young men full grown in the world. . infants are instructed especially by representatives adequate and suitable to their genius; the great beauty and interior wisdom of which can scarcely be credited in the world. i am permitted to adduce here two representations, from which a judgement may be formed in regard to the rest. on a certain time they represented the lord ascending from the sepulchre, and at the same time the unition of his human with the divine. at first they presented the idea of a sepulchre, but not at the same time the idea of the lord, except so remotely, that it was scarcely, and as it were at a distance, perceived that it was the lord; because in the idea of a sepulchre there is somewhat funereal, which they hereby removed. afterwards they cautiously admitted into the sepulchre a sort of atmosphere, appearing nevertheless as a thin vapor, by which they signified, and this with a suitable degree of remoteness, spiritual life in baptism. they afterwards represented the lord's descent to those who were bound, and his ascent with them into heaven; and in order to accommodate the representation to their infant minds, they let down small cords that were scarcely discernible, exceedingly soft and yielding, to aid the lord in the ascent, being always influenced by a holy fear lest any thing in the representation should affect something that was not under heavenly influence: not to mention other representations, whereby infants are introduced into the knowledges of truth and the affections of good, as by games adapted to their capacities. to these and similar things infants are led by the lord by means of innocence passing through the third heaven; and thus spiritual things are insinuated into their affections, and thence into their tender thoughts, so that they know no other than that they do and think such things from themselves, by which their understanding commences. . xxi. it is there provided by the lord, that with those infants the innocence of infancy becomes the innocence of wisdom (and thus they become angels). many may conjecture that infants remain infants, and become angels immediately after death: but it is intelligence and wisdom that make an angel: therefore so long as infants are without intelligence and wisdom, they are indeed associated with angels, yet are not angels: but they then first become so when they are made intelligent and wise. infants therefore are led from the innocence of infancy to the innocence of wisdom, that is, from external innocence to internal: the latter innocence is the end of all their instruction and progression: therefore when they attain to the innocence of wisdom, the innocence of infancy is adjoined to them, which in the mean time had served them as a plane. i saw a representation of the quality of the innocence of infancy; it was of wood almost without life, and was vivified in proportion as the knowledges of truth and the affections of good were imbibed: and afterwards there was represented the quality of the innocence of wisdom, by a living infant. the angels of the third heaven, who are in a state of innocence from the lord above other angels, appear like naked infants before the eyes of spirits who are beneath the heavens; and as they are wiser than all others, so are they also more truly alive: the reason of this is, because innocence corresponds to infancy, and also to nakedness, therefore it is said of adam and his wife, when they were in a state of innocence, that they were naked and were not ashamed, but that when they had lost their state of innocence, they were ashamed of their nakedness, and hid themselves, gen. ii. ; chap. iii. , , . in a word, the wiser the angels are the more innocent they are. the quality of the innocence of wisdom may in some measure be seen from the innocence of infancy above described, n. , if only instead of parents, the lord be assumed as the father by whom they are led, and to whom they ascribe what they have received. . on the subject of innocence i have often conversed with the angels who have told me that innocence is the _esse_ of every good, and that good is only so far good as it has innocence in it: and, since wisdom is of life and thence of good, that wisdom is only so far wisdom as it partakes of innocence: the like is true of love, charity, and faith; and hence it is that no one can enter heaven unless he has innocence; which is meant by these words of the lord, "_suffer infants to come to me, and forbid them not; for of such is the kingdom of the heavens; verily i say unto you, whosoever shall not receive the kingdom of the heavens as an infant, he will not enter therein_," mark x. , ; luke xviii. , . in this passage, as well as in other parts of the word, infants denote those who are in innocence. the reason why good is good, so far as it has innocence in it, is, because all good is from the lord, and innocence consists in being led by the lord. * * * * * . to the above i shall add this memorable relation. one morning, as i awoke out of sleep, the light beginning to dawn and it being very serene, while i was meditating and not yet quite awake, i saw through the window as it were a flash of lightning, and presently i heard as it were a clap of thunder; and while i was wondering whence this could be, i heard from heaven words to this effect, "there are some not far from you, who are reasoning sharply about god and nature. the vibration of light like lightning, and the clapping of the air like thunder, are correspondences and consequent appearances of the conflict and collision of arguments, on one side in favor of god, and on the other in favor of nature." the cause of this spiritual combat was as follows: there were some satans in hell who expressed a wish to be allowed to converse with the angels of heaven; "for," said they, "we will clearly and fully demonstrate, that what they call god, the creator of all things, is nothing but nature; and thus that god is a mere unmeaning expression, unless nature be meant by it." and as those satans believed this with all their heart and soul, and also were desirous to converse with the angels of heaven, they were permitted to ascend out of the mire and darkness of hell, and to converse with two angels at that time descending from heaven. they were in the world of spirits, which is intermediate between heaven and hell. the satans on seeing the angels there, hastily ran to them, and cried out with a furious voice, "are you the angels of heaven with whom we are allowed to engage in debate, respecting god and nature? you are called wise because you acknowledge a god; but, alas! how simple you are! who sees god? who understands what god is? who conceives that god governs, and can govern the universe, with everything belonging thereto? and who but the vulgar and common herd of mankind acknowledges what he does not see and understand? what is more obvious than that nature is all in all? is it not nature alone that we see with our eyes, hear with our ears, smell with our nostrils, taste with our tongues, and touch and feel with our hands and bodies? and are not our bodily senses the only evidences of truth? who would not swear from them that it is so? are not your heads in nature, and is there any influx into the thoughts of your heads but from nature? take away nature, and can you think at all? not to mention several other considerations of a like kind." on hearing these words the angels replied, "you speak in this manner because you are merely sensual. all in the hells have the ideas of their thoughts immersed in the bodily senses, neither are they able to elevate their minds above them; therefore we excuse you. the life of evil and the consequent belief of what is false have closed the interiors of your minds, so that you are incapable of any elevation above the things of sense, except in a state removed from evils of life, and from false principles of faith: for a satan, as well as an angel, can understand truth when he hears it; but he does not retain it, because evil obliterates truth and induces what is false: but we perceive that you are now in a state of removal from evil, and thus that you can understand the truth which we speak; attend therefore to what we shall say:" and they proceeded thus: "you have been in the natural world, and have departed thence, and are now in the spiritual world. have you known anything till now concerning a life after death? have you not till now denied such a life, and degraded yourselves to the beasts? have you known any thing heretofore about heaven and hell, or the light and heat of this world? or of this circumstance, that you are no longer within the sphere of nature, but above it; since this world and all things belonging to it are spiritual, and spiritual things are above natural, so that not the least of nature can flow into this world? but, in consequence of believing nature to be a god or a goddess, you believe also the light and heat of this world to be the light and heat of the natural world, when yet it is not at all so; for natural light here is darkness, and natural heat is cold. have you known anything about the sun of this world from which our light and heat proceed? have you known that this sun is pure love, and the sun of the natural world pure fire; and the sun of the world, which is pure fire, is that from which nature exists and subsists; and that the sun of heaven, which is pure love, is that from which life itself, which is love with wisdom exists and subsists; and thus that nature, which you make a god or a goddess, is absolutely dead? you can, under the care of a proper guard, ascend with us into heaven; and we also, under similar protection, can descend with you into hell; and in heaven you will see magnificent and splendid objects, but in hell such as are filthy and unclean. the ground of the difference is, because all in the heavens worship god, and all in the hells worship nature; and the magnificent and splendid objects in the heavens are correspondences of the affections of good and truth, and the filthy and unclean objects in the hells are correspondences of the lusts of what is evil and false. judge now, from these circumstances, whether god or nature be all in all." to this the satans replied, "in the state wherein we now are, we can conclude, from what we have heard, that there is a god; but when the delight of evil seizes our minds, we see nothing but nature." these two angels and two satans were standing to the right, at no great distance from me; therefore i saw and heard them; and lo! i saw near them many spirits who had been celebrated in the natural world for their erudition; and i was surprised to observe that those great scholars at one time stood near the angels and at another near the satans, and that they favored the sentiments of those near whom they stood; and i was led to understand that the changes of their situation were changes of the state of their minds, which sometimes favored one side and sometimes the other; for they were _vertumni_. moreover, the angels said, "we will tell you a mystery; on our looking down upon the earth, and examining those who were celebrated for erudition, and who have thought about god and nature from their own judgement, we have found six hundred out of a thousand favorers of nature, and the rest favorers of god; and that these were in favor of god, in consequence of having frequently maintained in their conversation, not from any convictions of their understandings, but only from hear-say, that nature is from god; for frequent conversation from the memory and recollection, and not at the same time from thought and intelligence, induces a species of faith." after this, the satans were entrusted to a guard and ascended with the two angels into heaven, and saw the magnificent and splendid objects contained therein; and being then an illustration from the light of heaven, they acknowledged the being of a god, and that nature was created to be subservient to the life which is in god and from god; and that nature in itself is dead, and consequently does nothing of itself, but is acted upon by life. having seen and perceived these things, they descended: and as they descended the love of evil returned and closed their understanding above and opened it beneath; and then there appeared above it as it were a veil sending forth lightning from infernal fire; and as soon as they touched the earth with their feet, the ground cleaved asunder beneath them, and they returned to their associates. . after these things those two angels seeing me near, said to the by-standers respecting me, "we know that this man has written about god and nature; let us hear what he has written." they therefore came to me, and intreated that what i had written about god and nature might be read to them: i therefore read as follows. "those who believe in a divine operation in everything of nature, may confirm themselves in favor of the divine, from many things which they see in nature, equally, yea more than those who confirm themselves in favor of nature: for those who confirm themselves in favor of the divine, attend to the wonderful things, which are conspicuous in the productions of both vegetables and animals:--in the production of vegetables, that from a small seed sown in the earth there is sent forth a root, by means of the root a stem, and successively buds, leaves, flowers, fruits, even to new seeds; altogether as if the seed was acquainted with the order of succession, or the process by which it was to renew itself. what rational person can conceive, that the sun which is pure fire, is acquainted with this, or that it can endue its heat and light with a power to effect such things; and further, that it can form wonderful things therein, and intend use? when a man of elevated reason sees and considers such things, he cannot think otherwise than that they are from him who has infinite wisdom, consequently from god. those who acknowledge the divine, also see and think so; but those who do not acknowledge it, do not see and think so, because they are unwilling; and thereby they let down their rational principle into the sensual, which derives all its ideas from the luminous principle in which the bodily senses are, and confirms their fallacies urging, 'do not you see the sun effecting these things by its heat and light? what is that which you do not see?' is it anything? those who confirm themselves in favor of the divine, attend to the wonderful things which are conspicuous in the productions of animals; to mention only what is conspicuous in eggs, that there lies concealed in them a chick in its seed, or first principles of existence, with everything requisite even to the hatching, and likewise to every part of its progress after hatching, until it becomes a bird, or winged animal, in the form of its parent stock. a farther attention to the nature and quality of the form cannot fail to cause astonishment in the contemplative mind; to observe in the least as well as in the largest kinds, yea, in the invisible as in the visible, that is, in small insects, as in fowls or great beasts, how they are all endowed with organs of sense, such as seeing, smelling, tasting, touching; and also with organs of motion, such as muscles, for they fly and walk; and likewise with viscera, around the heart and lungs, which are actuated by the brains: that the commonest insects enjoy all these parts of organization is known from their anatomy, as described by some writers, especially swammerdam in his books of nature. those who ascribe all things to nature do indeed see such things; but they think only that they are so, and say that nature produces them: and this they say in consequence of having averted their minds from thinking about the divine; and those who have so averted their minds, when they see the wonderful things in nature, cannot think rationally, and still less spiritually; but they think sensually and materially, and in this case they think in and from nature, and not above it, in like manner as those do who are in hell; differing from beasts only in this respect, that they have rational powers, that is, they are capable of understanding, and thereby of thinking otherwise, if only they are willing. those who have averted themselves from thinking about the divine, when they see the wonderful things in nature, and thereby become sensual, do not consider that the sight of the eye is so gross that it sees several small insects as one confused mass; when yet each of them is organized to feel and to move itself, consequently is endowed with fibres and vessels, also with a little heart, pulmonary pipes, small viscera, and brains; and that the contexture of these parts consists of the purest principles in nature, and corresponds to some life, by virtue of which their minutest parts are distinctly acted upon. since the sight of the eye is so gross that several of such insects, with the innumerable things in each, appear to it as a small confused mass, and yet those who are sensual, think and judge from that sight, it is evident how gross their minds are, and consequently in what thick darkness they are respecting spiritual things. . "every one that is willing to do so, may confirm himself in favor of the divine from the visible things in nature; and he also who thinks of god from the principle of life, does so confirm himself; while, for instance, he observes the fowls of heaven, how each species of them knows its proper food and where it is to be found; how they can distinguish those of their own kind by the sounds they utter and by their external appearance; how also, among other kinds, they can tell which are their friends and which their foes; how they pair together, build their nests with great art, lay therein their eggs, hatch them, know the time of hatching, and at its accomplishment help their young out of the shell, love them most tenderly, cherish them under their wings, feed and nourish them, until they are able to provide for themselves and do the like, and to procreate a family in order to perpetuate their kind. every one that is willing to think of a divine influx through the spiritual world into the natural, may discern it in these instances, and may also, if he will, say in his heart, 'such knowledges cannot flow into those animals from the sun by the rays of its light:' for the sun, from which nature derives its birth and its essence, its pure fire, and consequently the rays of its light are altogether dead; and thus they may conclude, that such effects are derived from an influx of divine wisdom into the ultimates of nature. . "every one may confirm himself in favor of the divine from what is visible in nature, while he observes worms, which from the delight of a certain desire, wish and long after a change of their earthly state into a state analogous to a heavenly one; for this purpose they creep into holes, and cast themselves as it were into a womb that they may be born again, and there become chrysalises, aurelias, nymphs, and at length butterflies; and when they have undergone this change, and according to their species are decked with beautiful wings, they fly into the air as into their heaven, and there indulge in all festive sports, pair together, lay their eggs, and provide for themselves a posterity; and then they are nourished with a sweet and pleasant food, which they extract from flowers. who that confirms himself in favor of the divine from what is visible in nature, does not see some image of the earthly state of man in these animals while they are worms, and of his heavenly state in the same when they become butterflies? whereas those who confirm themselves in favor of nature, see indeed such things; but as they have rejected from their minds all thought of man's heavenly state, they call them mere instincts of nature. . "again, everyone may confirm himself in favor of the divine from what is visible in nature, while he attends to the discoveries made respecting bees,--how they have the art to gather wax and suck honey from herbs and flowers, and build cells like small houses, and arrange them into the form of a city with streets, through which they come in and go out; and how they can smell flowers and herbs at a distance, from which they may collect wax for their home and honey for their food; and how, when laden with these treasures, they can trace their way back in a right direction to their hive; thus they provide for themselves food and habitation against the approaching winter, as if they were acquainted with and foresaw its coming. they also set over themselves a mistress as a queen, to be the parent of a future race, and for her they build as it were a palace in an elevated situation, and appoint guards about her; and when the time comes for her to become a mother, she goes from cell to cell and lays her eggs, which her attendants cover with a sort of ointment to prevent their receiving injury from the air; hence arises a new generation, which, when old enough to provide in like manner for itself, is driven out from home; and when driven out, it flies forth to seek a new habitation, not however till it has first collected itself into a swarm to prevent dissociation. about autumn also the useless drones are brought forth and deprived of their wings, lest they should return and consume the provision which they had taken no pains to collect; not to mention many other circumstances; from which it may appear evident, that on account of the use which they afford to mankind, they have by influx from the spiritual world a form of government, such as prevails among men in the world, yea, among angels in the heavens. what man of uncorrupted reason does not see that such instincts are not communicated to bees from the natural world? what has the sun, in which nature originates, in common with a form of government which vies with and is similar to a heavenly one? from these and similar circumstances respecting brute animals, the confessor and worshiper of nature confirms himself in favor of nature, while the confessor and worshiper of god, from the same circumstances, confirms himself in favor of the divine: for the spiritual man sees spiritual things therein, and the natural man natural; thus every one according to his quality. in regard to myself, such circumstances have been to me testimonies of an influx of what is spiritual into what is natural, or of an influx of the spiritual world into the natural world; thus of an influx from the divine wisdom of the lord. consider also, whether you can think analytically of any form of government, any civil law, any moral virtue, or any spiritual truth, unless the divine flows in from his wisdom through the spiritual world: for my own part, i never did, and still feel it to be impossible; for i have perceptibly and sensibly observed such influx now ( ) for twenty-five years continually: i therefore speak this from experience. . "can nature, let me ask, regard use as an end, and dispose uses into orders and forms? this is in the power of none but a wise being; and none but god, who is infinitely wise, can so order and form the universe. who else can foresee and provide for mankind all the things necessary for their food and clothing, producing them from the fruits of the earth and from animals? it is surely a wonderful consideration among many others, that those common insects, called silk-worms, should supply with splendid clothing all ranks of persons, from kings and queens even to the lowest servants; and that those common insects the bees, should supply wax to enlighten both our temples and palaces. these, with several other similar considerations, are standing proofs, that the lord by an operation from himself through the spiritual world, effects whatever is done in nature. . "it may be expedient here to add, that i have seen in the spiritual world those who had confirmed themselves in favor of nature by what is visible in this world, so as to become atheists, and that their understanding in spiritual light appeared open beneath but closed above, because with their thinking faculty they had looked downwards to the earth and not upwards to heaven. the super-sensual principle, which is the lowest principle of the understanding, appeared as a veil, in some cases sparkling from infernal fire, in some black as soot, and in some pale and livid as a corpse. let every one therefore beware of confirmation in favor of nature, and let him confirm himself in favor of the divine; for which confirmation there is no want of materials. . "some indeed are to be excused for ascribing certain visible effects to nature, because they have had no knowledge respecting the sun of the spiritual world, where the lord is, and of influx thence; neither have they known any thing about that world and its state, nor yet of its presence with man; and consequently they could think no other than that the spiritual principle was a purer natural principle; and thus that angels were either in the ether or in the stars; also that the devil was either man's evil, or, if he actually existed, that he was either in the air or in the deep; also that the souls of men after death were either in the inmost part of the earth, or in some place of confinement till the day of judgement; not to mention other like conceits, which sprung from ignorance of the spiritual world and its sun. this is the reason why those are to be excused, who have believed that the visible productions of nature are the effect of some principle implanted in her from creation: nevertheless those who have made themselves atheists by confirmations in favor of nature, are not to be excused, because they might have confirmed themselves in favor of the divine. ignorance indeed excuses, but does not take away the false principle which is confirmed; for this false principle agrees with evil, and evil with hell." adulterous love and its sinful pleasures. on the opposition of adulterous love and conjugial love. . at the entrance upon our subject, it may be expedient to declare what we mean in this chapter by adulterous love. by adulterous love we do not mean fornicatory love, which precedes marriage, or which follows it after the death of a married partner; neither do we mean concubinage, which is engaged in from causes legitimate, just, and excusatory; nor do we mean either the mild or the grievous kinds of adultery, whereof a man actually repents; for the latter become not opposite, and the former are not opposite, to conjugial love, as will be seen in the following pages, where each is treated of. but by adulterous love, opposite to conjugial love, we here mean the love of adultery, so long as it is such as not to be regarded as sin, or as evil, and dishonorable, and contrary to reason, but as allowable with reason. this adulterous love not only makes conjugial love the same with itself, but also overthrows, destroys, and at length nauseates it. the opposition of this love to conjugial love is the subject treated of in this chapter. that no other love is treated of (as being in such opposition), may be evident from what follows concerning fornication, concubinage, and the various kinds of adultery. but in order that this opposition may be made manifest to the rational sight, it may be expedient to demonstrate it in the following series: i. _it is not known what adulterous love is, unless it be known what conjugial love is._ ii. _adulterous love is opposed to conjugial love._ iii. _adulterous love is opposed to conjugial love, as the natural man viewed in himself is opposed to the spiritual man._ iv. _adulterous love is opposed to conjugial love, as the connubial connection of what is evil and false is opposed to the marriage of good and truth._ v. _hence adulterous love in opposed to conjugial love, as hell is opposed to heaven._ vi. _the impurity of hell is from adulterous love, and the purity of heaven from conjugial love._ vii. _the impurity and the purity in the church are similarly circumstanced._ viii. _adulterous love more and more makes a man not a man (homo), and not a man (vir), and conjugial love makes a man more and more a man (homo), and a man (vir)._ ix. _there are a sphere of adulterous love and a sphere of conjugial love._ x. _the sphere of adulterous love ascends from hell, and the sphere of conjugial love descends from heaven._ xi. _those two spheres mutually meet each other in each world; but they do not unite._ xii. _between those two spheres there is an equilibrium, and man is in it._ xiii. _a man is able to turn himself to whichever he pleases; but so far as he turns himself to the one, so far he turns himself from the other._ xiv. _each sphere brings with it delights._ xv. _the delights of adulterous love commence from the flesh and are of the flesh even in the spirit; but the delights of conjugial love commence in the spirit, and are of the spirit even in the flesh._ xvi. _the delights of adulterous love are the pleasures of insanity; but the delights of conjugial love are the delights of wisdom._ we proceed to an explanation of each article. . i. it is not known what adulterous love is, unless it be known what conjugial love is. by adulterous love we mean the love of adultery, which destroys conjugial love, as above, n. . that it is not known what adulterous love is, unless it be known what conjugial love is, needs no demonstration, but only illustration by similitudes: as for example, who can know what is evil and false, unless he know what is good and true? and who knows what is unchaste, dishonorable, unbecoming, and ugly, unless he knows what is chaste, honorable, becoming, and beautiful? and who can discern the various kinds of insanity, but he that is wise, or that knows what wisdom is? also, who can rightly perceive discordant and grating sounds, but he that is well versed in the doctrine and study of harmonious numbers? in like manner, who can clearly discern what is the quality of adultery, unless he has first clearly discerned what is the quality of marriage? and who can make a just estimate of the filthiness of the pleasures of adulterous love, but he that has first made a just estimate of the purity of conjugial love? as i have now completed the treatise on conjugial love and its chaste delights, i am enabled, from the intelligence i thence acquired, to describe the pleasures respecting adulterous love. . ii. adulterous love is opposed to conjugial love. every thing in the universe has its opposite; and opposites, in regard to each other, are not relatives, but contraries. relatives are what exist between the greatest and the least of the same thing; whereas contraries arise from an opposite in contrariety thereto; and the latter are relatives in regard to each other, as the former are in their regard one to another; wherefore also the relations themselves are opposites. that all things have their opposites, is evident from light, heat, the times of the world, affections, perceptions, sensations, and several other things. the opposite of light is darkness; the opposite of heat is cold; of the times of the world the opposites are day and night, summer and winter; of affections the opposites are joys and mourning, also gladnesses and sadnesses; of perceptions the opposites are goods and evils, also truths and falses; and of sensations the opposites are things delightful and things undelightful. hence it may be evidently concluded, that conjugial love has its opposite; this opposite is adultery, as every one may see, if he be so disposed, from all the dictates of sound reason. tell, if you can, what else is its opposite. it is an additional evidence in favor of this position, that as sound reason was enabled to see the truth of it by her own light, therefore she has enacted laws, which are called laws of civil justice, in favor of marriages and against adulteries. that the truth of this position may appear yet more manifest, i may relate what i have very often seen in the spiritual world. when those who in the natural world have been confirmed adulterers, perceive a sphere of conjugial love flowing down from heaven, they instantly either flee away into caverns and hide themselves, or, if they persist obstinately in contrariety to it, they grow fierce with rage, and become like furies. the reason why they are so affected is, because all things of the affections, whether delightful or undelightful, are perceived in that world, and on some occasions as clearly as an odor is perceived by the sense of smelling; for the inhabitants of that world have not a material body, which absorbs such things. the reason why the opposition of adulterous love and conjugial love is unknown to many in the world, is owing to the delights of the flesh, which, in the extremes, seem to imitate the delights of conjugial love; and those who are in delights only, do not know anything respecting that opposition; and i can venture to say, that should you assert, that everything has its opposite, and should conclude that conjugial love also has its opposite, adulterers will reply, that that love has not an opposite, because adulterous love cannot be distinguished from it; from which circumstance it is further manifest, that he that does not know what conjugial love is, does not know what adulterous love is; and moreover, that from adulterous love it is not known what conjugial love is, but from conjugial love it is known what adulterous love is. no one knows good from evil, but evil from good; for evil is in darkness, whereas good is in light. . iii. adulterous love is opposed to conjugial love, as the natural man viewed in himself is opposed to the spiritual man. that the natural man and the spiritual are opposed to each other, so that the one does not will what the other wills, yea, that they are at strife together, is well known in the church; but still it has not heretofore been explained. we will therefore shew what is the ground of discrimination between the spiritual man and the natural, and what excites the latter against the former. the natural man is that into which every one is first introduced as he grows up, which is effected by sciences and knowledges, and by rational principles of the understanding; but the spiritual man is that into which he is introduced by the love of doing uses, which love is also called charity: wherefore so far as any one is in charity, so far he is spiritual; but so far as he is not in charity, so far he is natural, even supposing him to be ever so quick-sighted in genius, and wise in judgement. that the latter, the natural man, separate from the spiritual, notwithstanding all his elevation into the light of reason, still gives himself without restraint to the government of his lusts, and is devoted to them, is manifest from his genius alone, in that he is void of charity; and whoever is void of charity, gives loose to all the lasciviousness of adulterous love: wherefore, when he is told, that this wanton love is opposed to chaste conjugial love, and is asked to consult his rational _lumen_, he still does not consult it, except in conjunction with the delight of evil implanted from birth in the natural man; in consequence whereof he concludes, that his reason does not see anything contrary to the pleasing sensual allurements of the body; and when he has confirmed himself in those allurements, his reason is in amazement at all those pleasures which are proclaimed respecting conjugial love; yea, as was said above, he fights against them, and conquers, and, like a conqueror after the enemy's overthrow, he utterly destroys the camp of conjugial love in himself. these things are done by the natural man from the impulse of his adulterous love. we mention these circumstances, in order that it may be known, what is the true ground of the opposition of those two loves; for, as has been abundantly shewn above, conjugial love viewed in itself is spiritual love, and adulterous love viewed in itself is natural love. . iv. adulterous love is opposed to conjugial love, as the connubial connection of what is evil and false is opposed to the marriage of good and truth. that the origin of conjugial love is from the marriage of good and truth, was demonstrated above in its proper chapter, from n. - ; hence it follows, that the origin of adulterous love is from the connubial connection of what is evil and false, and that hence they are opposite loves, as evil is opposed to good, and the false of evil to the truth of good. it is the delights of each love which are thus opposed; for love without its delight is not anything. that these delights are thus opposed to each other, does not at all appear: the reason why it does not appear is, because the delight of the love of evil in externals assumes a semblance of the delight of the love of good; but in internals the delight of the love of evil consists of mere concupiscences of evil, evil itself being the conglobated mass (or glome) of those concupiscences: whereas the delight of the love of good consists of innumerable affections of good, good itself being the co-united bundle of those affections. this bundle and that glome are felt by man only as one delight; and as the delight of evil in externals assumes a semblance of the delight of good, as we have said, therefore also the delight of adultery assumes a semblance of the delight of marriage; but after death, when everyone lays aside externals, and the internals are laid bare, then it manifestly appears, that the evil of adultery is a glome of the concupiscences of evil, and the good of marriage is a bundle of the affections of good: thus that they are entirely opposed to each other. . in reference to the connubial connection of what is evil and false, it is to be observed, that evil loves the false, and desires that it may be a one with itself, and they also unite; in like manner as good loves truth, and desires that it may be a one with itself, and they also unite: from which consideration it is evident, that as the spiritual origin of marriage is the marriage of good and truth, so the spiritual origin of adultery is the connubial connection of what is evil and false. hence, this connubial connection is meant by adulteries, whoredoms, and fornications, in the spiritual sense of the word; see the apocalypse revealed, n. . it is from this principle, that he that is in evil, and connects himself connubially with what is false, and he that is in what is false, and draws evil into a partnership of his chamber, from the joint covenant confirms adultery, and commits it so far as he dares and has the opportunity; he confirms it from evil by what is false, and he commits it from what is false by evil: and also on the other hand, that he that is in good, and marries truth, or he that is in truth, and brings good into partnership of the chamber with himself, confirms himself against adultery, and in favor of marriage, and attains to a happy conjugial life. . v. hence adulterous love is opposed to conjugial love as hell is opposed to heaven. all who are in hell are in the connubial connection of what is evil and false, and all who are in heaven are in the marriage of good and truth; and as the connubial connection of what is evil and false is also adultery, as was shewn just above, n. , , hell is also that connubial connection. hence all who are in hell are in the lust, lasciviousness, and immodesty of adulterous love, and shun and dread the chastity and modesty of conjugial love; see above, n. . from these considerations it may be seen, that those two loves, adulterous and conjugial, are opposed to each other, as hell is to heaven, and heaven to hell. . vi. the impurity of hell is from adulterous love, and the purity of heaven from conjugial love. all hell abounds with impurities, all of which originate in immodest and obscene adulterous love, the delights of that love being changed into such impurities. who can believe, that in the spiritual world, every delight of love is presented to the sight under various appearances, to the sense under various odors, and to the view under various forms of beasts and birds? the appearances under which in hell the lascivious delights of adulterous love are presented to the sight, are dunghills and mire; the odors by which they are presented to the sense, are stinks and stenches; and the forms of beasts and birds under which they are presented to the view, are hogs, serpents, and the birds called ochim and tziim. the case is reversed in regard to the chaste delights of conjugial love in heaven. the appearances under which those delights are presented to the sight, are gardens and flowery fields; the odors whereby they are presented to the sense, are the perfumes arising from fruits and the fragrancies from flowers; and the forms of animals under which they are presented to the view are lambs, kids, turtle-doves, and birds of paradise. the reason why the delights of love are changed into such and similar things is, because all things which exist in the spiritual world are correspondences: into these correspondences the internals of the minds of the inhabitants are changed, while they pass away and become external before the senses. but it is to be observed, that there are innumerable varieties of impurities, into which the lasciviousnesses of whoredoms are changed, while they pass off into their correspondences: these varieties are according to the genera and species of those lasciviousnesses, as may be seen in the following pages, where adulteries and their degrees are treated of: such impurities however do not proceed from the delights of the love of those who have repented; because they have been washed from them during their abode in the world. . vii. the impurity and the purity in the church are similarly circumstanced. the reason of this is, because the church is the lord's kingdom in the world, corresponding to his kingdom in the heavens; and also the lord conjoins them together, that they may make a one; for he distinguishes those who are in the world, as he distinguishes heaven and hell, according to their loves. those who are in the immodest and obscene delights of adulterous love, associate to themselves similar spirits from hell: whereas those who are in the modest and chaste delights of conjugial love, are associated by the lord to similar angels from heaven. while these their angels, in their attendance on man, are stationed near to confirmed and determined adulterers, they are made sensible of the direful stenches mentioned above, n. , and recede a little. on account of the correspondence of filthy loves with dunghills and bogs, it was commanded the sons of israel, "that they should carry with them a paddle with which to cover their excrement, lest jehovah god walking in the midst of their camp should see the nakedness of the thing, and should return," deut, xxiii. , . this was commanded, because the camp of the sons of israel represented the church, and those unclean things corresponded to the lascivious principles of whoredoms, and by jehovah god's walking in the midst of their camp was signified his presence with the angels. the reason why they were to cover it was, because all those places in hell, where troops of such spirits have their abode, were covered and closed up, on which account also it is said, "lest he see the nakedness of the thing." it has been granted me to see that all those places in hell are closed up, and also that when they were opened, as was the case when a new demon entered, such a horrid stench issued from them, that it infested my belly with its noisomeness; and what is wonderful, those stenches are to the inhabitants as delightful as dunghills are to swine. from these considerations it is evident, how it is to be understood, that the impurity in the church is from adulterous love, and its purity from conjugial love. . viii. adulterous love more and more makes a man (homo) not a man (homo), and a man (vir) not a man (vir), and conjugial love makes a man (homo) more and more a man (homo), and a man (vir). that conjugial love makes a man (_homo_) is illustrated and confirmed by all the considerations which were clearly and rationally demonstrated in the first part of this work, concerning love and the delights of its wisdom; as . that he that is principled in love truly conjugial, becomes more and more spiritual; and in proportion as any one is more spiritual, in the same proportion he is more a man (_homo_). . that he becomes more and more wise; and the wiser any one is, so much the more is he a man (_homo_). . that with such a one the interiors of the mind are more and more opened, insomuch that he sees or intuitively acknowledges the lord; and the more any one is in the sight or acknowledgement, the more he is a man. . that he becomes more and more moral and civil, inasmuch as a spiritual soul is in his morality and civility; and the more any one is morally civil, the more he is a man. . that also after death he becomes an angel of heaven; and an angel is in essence and form a man; and also the genuine human principle in his face shines forth from his conversation and manners: from these considerations it is manifest, that conjugial love makes a man (_homo_) more and more a man (_homo_). that the contrary is the case with adulterers, follows as a consequence from the opposition of adultery and marriage, which is the subject treated of in this chapter; as, . that they are not spiritual but in the highest degree natural; and the natural man separate from the spiritual man, is a man only as to the understanding, but not as to the will: this he immerses in the body and the concupiscences of the flesh, and at those times the understanding also accompanies it. that such a one is but half a man (_homo_), he himself may see from the reason of his understanding, in ease he elevates it. . that adulterers are not wise, except in their conversation and behaviour, when they are in the company of such as are in high station, or as are distinguished for their learning or their morals; but that when alone with themselves they are insane, setting at nought the divine and holy things of the church, and defiling the morals of life with immodest and unchaste principles, will be shewn in the chapter concerning adulteries. who does not see that such gesticulators are men only as to external figure, and not as to internal form? . that adulterers become more and more not men, has been abundantly confirmed to me by what i have myself been eye-witness to respecting them in hell: for there they are demons, and when seen in the light of heaven, appear to have their faces full of pimples, their bodies bunched out, their voice rough, and their gestures antic. but it is to be observed, that such are determined and confirmed adulterers, but not non-deliberate adulterers: for in the chapter concerning adulteries and their degrees, four kinds are treated of. determined adulterers are those who are so from the lust of the will; confirmed adulterers are those who are so from the persuasion of the understanding; deliberate adulterers are those who are so from the allurements of the senses; and non deliberate adulterers are those who have not the faculty or the liberty of consulting the understanding. the two former kinds of adulterers are those who become more and more not men; whereas the two latter kinds become men as they recede from those errors, and afterwards become wise. . that conjugial love makes a man (_homo_) more a man (_vir_), is also illustrated by what was adduced in the preceding part concerning conjugial love and its delights; as, . that the virile faculty and power accompanies wisdom, as this is animated from the spiritual things of the church, and that hence it resides in conjugial love; and that the wisdom of this love opens a vein from its fountain in the soul, and thereby invigorates, and also blesses with permanence, to the intellectual life, which is the very essential masculine life. . that hence it is, that the angels of heaven are in this permanence to eternity, according to their own declarations in the memorable relation, n. , . that the most ancient men in the golden and silver ages, were in permanent efficacy, because they loved the caresses of their wives, and abhorred the caresses of harlots, i have heard from their own mouths; see the memorable relations, n. , . that that spiritual sufficiency is also in the natural principle, and will not be wanting to those at this day, who come to the lord, and abominate adulteries as infernal, has been told me from heaven. but the contrary befalls determined and confirmed adulterers who are treated of above, n. . that the virile faculty and power with such is weakened even till it ceases; and that after this there commences cold towards the sex; and that cold is succeeded by a kind of fastidiousness approaching to loathing, is well known, although but little talked of. that this is the case with such adulterers in hell, i have heard at a distance, from the sirens, who are obsolete venereal lusts, and also from the harlots there. from these considerations it follows, that adulterous love makes a man (_homo_) more and more not a man (_homo_) and not a man (_vir_) and that conjugial love makes a man more and more a man (_homo_) and a man (_vir_). . ix. there are a sphere of adulterous love and a sphere of conjugial love. what is meant by spheres, and that they are various, and that those which are of love and wisdom proceed from the lord, and through the angelic heavens descend into the world, and pervade it even to its ultimates, was shewn above, n. - ; and n. - . that every thing in the universe has its opposites, may be seen above, n. : hence it follows, that whereas there is a sphere of conjugial love, there is also a sphere opposite to it, which is called a sphere of adulterous love; for those spheres are opposed to each other, as the love of adultery is opposed the love of marriage. this opposition has been treated of in the preceding parts of this chapter. . x. the sphere of adulterous love ascends from hell, and the sphere of conjugial love descends from heaven. that the sphere of conjugial love descends from heaven, was shewn in the places cited just above, n. ; but the reason why the sphere of adulterous love ascends from hell, is, because this love is from thence, see n. . that sphere ascends thence from the impurities into which the delights of adultery are changed with those who are of each sex there; concerning which delight see above, n. , . . xi. those two spheres meet each other in each world; but they do not unite. by each world is meant the spiritual world and the natural world. in the spiritual world those spheres meet each other in the world of spirits, because this is the medium between heaven and hell; but in the natural world they meet each other in the rational plane appertaining to man, which also is the medium between heaven and hell: for the marriage of good and truth flows into it from above, and the marriage of evil and the false flows into it from beneath. the latter marriage flows in through the world, but the former through heaven. hence it is, that the human rational principle can turn itself to either side as it pleases, and receive influx. if it turns to good, it receives it from above; and in this case the man's rational principle is formed more and more to the reception of heaven; but if it turns itself to evil, it receives that influx from beneath; and in this case the man's rational principle is formed more and more to the reception of hell. the reason why those two spheres do not unite, is, because they are opposites; and an opposite acts upon an opposite like enemies, one of whom, burning with deadly hatred, furiously assaults the other, while the other is in no hatred, but only endeavours to defend himself. from these considerations it is evident, that those two spheres only meet each other, but do not unite. the middle interstice, which they make, is on the one part from the evil not of the false, and from the false not of the evil, and on the other part from good not of truth, and from truth not of good: which two may indeed touch each other, but still they do not unite. . xii. between those two spheres there is an equilibrium, and man is in it. the equilibrium between them is a spiritual equilibrium, because it is between good and evil; from this equilibrium a man has free will, in and by which he thinks and wills, and hence speaks and acts as from himself. his rational principle consists in his having the option to receive either good or evil; consequently, whether he will freely and rationally dispose himself to conjugial love, or to adulterous love; if to the latter, he turns the hinder part of the head, and the back to the lord; if to the former, he turns the fore part of the head and the breast to the lord; if to the lord, his rationality and liberty are led by himself; but if backwards from the lord, his rationality and liberty are led by hell. . xiii. a man can turn himself to whichever sphere he pleases; but so far as he turns himself to the one, so far he turns himself from the other. man was created so that he may do whatever he does freely, according to reason, and altogether as from himself: without these two faculties he would not be a man but a beast; for he would not receive any thing flowing from heaven, and appropriate it to himself as his own, and consequently it would not be possible for anything of eternal life to be inscribed on him; for this must be inscribed on him as his, in order that it may be his own; and whereas there is no freedom on the one part, unless there be also a like freedom on the other, as it would be impossible to weigh a thing, unless the scales from an equilibrium could incline to either side: so, unless a man had liberty from reason to draw near also to evil, thus to turn from the right to the left, and from the left to the right, in like manner to the infernal sphere, which is that of adultery, as to the celestial sphere, which is that of marriage, (it would be impossible for him to receive any thing flowing from heaven, and to appropriate it to himself.) . xiv. each sphere brings with it delights; that is, both the sphere of adulterous love which ascends from hell, and the sphere of conjugial love which descends from heaven, affects the recipient man (_homo_) with delights; because the ultimate plane in which the delights of each love terminate, and where they fill and complete themselves, and which exhibits them in their own proper sensory, is the same. hence, in the extremes, adulterous caresses and conjugial caresses are perceived as similar, although in internals they are altogether dissimilar; that hence they are also dissimilar in the extremes, is a point not decided from any sense of discrimination; for dissimilitudes are not made sensible from their discriminations in the extremes, to any others than those who are principled in love truly conjugial; for evil is known from good, but not good from evil; so neither is a sweet scent perceived by the nose when a disagreeable one is present in it. i have heard from the angels, that they distinguish in the extremes what is lascivious from what is not, as any one distinguishes the fire of a dunghill or of burnt horn by its bad smell, from the fire of spices or of burnt cinnamon by its sweet smell; and that this arises from their distinction of the internal delights which enter into the external and compose them. . xv. the delights of adulterous love commence from the flesh and are of the flesh even in the spirit; but the delights of conjugial love commence in the spirit and are of the spirit even in the flesh. the reason why the delights of adulterous love commence from the flesh is, because the stimulant heats of the flesh are their beginnings. the reason why they infect the spirit and are of the flesh even in the spirit, is, because the spirit, and not the flesh, is sensible of those things which happen in the flesh. the case is the same with this sense as with the rest: as that the eye does not see and discern various particulars in objects, but they are seen and discerned by the spirit; neither does the ear hear and discern the harmonies of tunes in singing, and the concordances of the articulation of sounds in speech, but they are heard and discerned by the spirit; moreover, the spirit is sensible of every thing according to its elevation in wisdom. the spirit that is not elevated above the sensual things of the body, and thereby adheres to them, is not sensible of any other delights than those which flow in from the flesh and the world through the senses of the body: these delights it seizes upon, is delighted with, and makes its own. now, since the beginnings of adulterous love are only the stimulant fires and itchings of the flesh, it is evident, that these things in the spirit are filthy allurements, which, as they ascend and descend, and reciprocate, so they excite and inflame. in general the cupidities of the flesh are nothing but the accumulated concupiscences of what is evil and false: hence comes this truth in the church, that the flesh lusts against the spirit, that is, against the spiritual man; wherefore it follows, that the delights of the flesh, as to the delights of adulterous love, are nothing but the effervescences of lusts, which in the spirit become the ebullitions of immodesty. . but the delights of conjugial love have nothing in common with the filthy delights of adulterous love: the latter indeed are in the spirit of every man; but they are separated and removed, as the man's spirit is elevated above the sensual things of the body, and from its elevation sees their appearances and fallacies beneath: in this case it perceives fleshly delights, first as apparent and fallacious, afterwards as libidinous and lascivious, which ought to be shunned, and successively as damnable and hurtful to the soul, and at length it has a sense of them as being undelightful, disagreeable, and nauseous; and in the degree that it thus perceives and is sensible of these delights, in the same degree also it perceives the delights of conjugial love as innocent and chaste, and at length as delicious and blessed. the reason why the delights of conjugial love become also delights of the spirit in the flesh, is, because after the delights of adulterous love are removed, as was just said above, the spirit being loosed from them enters chaste into the body, and fills the breasts with the delights of its blessedness, and from the breasts fills also the ultimates of that love in the body; in consequence whereof, the spirit with these ultimates, and these ultimates with the spirits, afterwards act in full communion. . xvi. the delights of adulterous love are the pleasures of insanity; but the delights of conjugial love are the delights of wisdom. the reason why the delights of adulterous love are the pleasures of insanity is, because none but natural men are in that love, and the natural man is insane in spiritual things, for he is contrary to them, and therefore he embraces only natural, sensual, and corporeal delights. it is said that he embraces natural, sensual, and corporeal delights, because the natural principle is distinguished into three degrees: in the supreme degree are those natural men who from rational sight see insanities, and are still carried away by the delights thereof, as boats by the stream of a river; in a lower degree are the natural men who only see and judge from the senses of the body, despising and rejecting, as of no account, the rational principles which are contrary to appearances and fallacies; in the lowest degree are the natural men who without judgement are carried away by the alluring stimulant heats of the body. these last are called natural-corporeal, the former are called natural-sensual, but the first natural. with these men, adulterous love and its insanities and pleasures are of similar degrees. . the reason why the delights of conjugial love are the delights of wisdom is, because none but spiritual men are in that love, and the spiritual man is in wisdom; and hence he embraces no delights but such as agree with spiritual wisdom. the respective qualities of the delights of adulterous and of conjugial love, may be elucidated by a comparison with houses: the delights of adulterous love by comparison with a house whose walls glitter outwardly like sea shells, or like transparent stones, called selenites, of a gold color; whereas in the apartments within the walls, are all kinds of filth and nastiness: but the delights of conjugial love may be compared to a house, the walls of which are refulgent as with sterling gold, and the apartments within are resplendent as with cabinets full of various precious stones. * * * * * . to the above i shall add the following memorable relation. after i had concluded the meditations on conjugial love, and had begun those on adulterous love, on a sudden two angels presented themselves, and said, "we have perceived and understood what you have heretofore meditated upon; but the things upon which you are now meditating pass away, and we do not perceive them. say nothing about them, for they are of no value." but i replied, "this love, on which i am now meditating, is not of no value; because it exists." but they said, "how can there be any love, which is not from creation? is not conjugial love from creation; and does not this love exist between two who are capable of becoming one? how can there be a love which divides and separates? what youth can love any other maiden than the one who loves him in return? must not the love of the one know and acknowledge the love of the other, so that when they meet they may unite of themselves? who can love what is not love? is not conjugial love alone mutual and reciprocal? if it be not reciprocal, does it not rebound and become nothing?" on hearing this, i asked the two angels from what society of heaven they were? they said, "we are from the heaven of innocence; we came infants into this heavenly world, and were educated under the lord's auspices; and when i became a young man, and my wife, who is here with me, marriageable, we were betrothed and entered into a contract, and were joined under the first favorable impressions; and as we were unacquainted with any other love than what is truly nuptial and conjugial, therefore, when we were made acquainted with the ideas of your thought concerning a strange love directly opposed to our love, we could not at all comprehend it; and we have descended in order to ask you, why you meditate on things that cannot be understood? tell us, therefore, how a love, which not only is not from creation, but is also contrary to creation, could possibly exist? we regard things opposite to creation as objects of no value." as they said this, i rejoiced in heart that i was permitted to converse with angels of such innocence, as to be entirely ignorant of the nature and meaning of adultery: wherefore i was free to converse with them, and i instructed them as follows: "do you not know, that there exist both good and evil, and that good is from creation, but not evil; and still that evil viewed in itself is not nothing, although it is nothing of good? from creation there exists good, and also good in the greatest degree and in the least; and when this least becomes nothing, there rises up on the other side evil: wherefore there is no relation or progression of good to evil, but a relation and progression of good to a greater and less good, and of evil to a greater and less evil; for in all things there are opposites. and since good and evil are opposites, there is an intermediate, and in it an equilibrium, in which evil acts against good; but as it does not prevail, it stops in a _conatus_. every man is educated in this equilibrium, which, because it is between good and evil, or, what is the same, between heaven and hell, is a spiritual equilibrium, which, with those who are in it, produces a state of freedom. from this equilibrium, the lord draws all to himself; and if a man freely follows, he leads him out of evil into good, and thereby into heaven. the case is the same with love, especially with conjugial love and adultery: the latter love is evil, but the former good. every man that hears the voice of the lord, and freely follows, is introduced by the lord into conjugial love and all its delights and satisfactions; but he that does not hear and follow, introduces himself into adulterous love, first into its delights, afterwards into what is undelightful, and lastly into what is unsatisfactory." when i had thus spoken, the two angels asked me, "how could evil exist, when nothing but good had existed from creation? the existence of anything implies that it must have an origin. good could not be the origin of evil, because evil is nothing of good, being privative and destructive of good; nevertheless, since it exists and is sensibly felt, it is not nothing, but something; tell us therefore whence this something existed after nothing." to this i replied, "this arcanum cannot be explained, unless it be known that no one is good but god alone, and that there is not anything good, which in itself is good, but from god; wherefore he that looks to god, and wishes to be led by god, is in good; but he that turns himself from god, and wishes to be led by himself, is not in good; for the good which he does, is for the sake either of himself or of the world; thus it is either meritorious, or pretended, or hypocritical: from which considerations it is evident, that man himself is the origin of evil; not that that origin was implanted in him by creation; but that he, by turning from god to himself, implanted it in himself. that origin of evil was not in adam and his wife; but when the serpent said, 'in the day that ye shall eat of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, ye shall be as god' (gen. iii. ), they then made in themselves the origin of evil, because they turned themselves from god, and turned to themselves, as to god. _to eat of that tree, signifies to believe that they knew good and evil, and were wise, from themselves, and not from god._" but the two angels then asked, "how could man turn himself from god, and turn to himself, when yet he cannot will, think, and thence do anything but from god? why did god permit this?" i replied, "man was so created, that whatever he wills, thinks, and does, appears to him as in himself, and thereby from himself: without this appearance a man would not be a man; for he would be incapable of receiving, retaining, and as it were appropriating to himself anything of good and truth, or of love and wisdom: whence it follows, that without such appearance, as a living appearance, a man would not have conjunction with god, and consequently neither would he have eternal life. but if from this appearance he induces in himself a belief that he wills, thinks, and thence does good from himself, and not from the lord, although in all appearance as from himself, he turns good into evil with himself, and thereby makes in himself the origin of evil. this was the sin of adam. but i will explain this matter somewhat more clearly. the lord looks at every man in the forepart of his head, and this inspection passes into the hinder part of his head. beneath the forepart is the _cerebrum_, and beneath the hinder part is the _cerebellum_; the latter was designed for love and the goods thereof, and the former for wisdom and the truths thereof; wherefore he that looks with the face to the lord receives from him wisdom, and by wisdom love; but he that looks backward from the lord receives love and not wisdom; and love without wisdom, is love from man and not from the lord; and this love, since it conjoins itself with falses, does not acknowledge god, but acknowledges itself for god, and confirms this tacitly by the faculty of understanding and growing wise implanted in it from creation as from itself; wherefore this love is the origin of evil. that this is the case, will admit of ocular demonstration. i will call hither some wicked spirit who turns himself from god, and will speak to him from behind, or into the hinder part of the head, and you will see that the things which are said are turned into their contraries." i called such a spirit and he presented himself, and i spoke to him from behind and said, "do you know anything about hell, damnation, and torment in hell?" and presently, when he was turned to me, i asked him what he heard? he said, "i heard, 'do you know anything concerning heaven, salvation, and happiness in heaven?'" and afterwards when the latter words were said to him from behind, he said that he heard the former. it was next said to him from behind, "do you know that those who are in hell are insane from falses?" and when i asked him concerning these words what he heard, he said, "i heard, 'do you know that those who are in heaven are wise from truths?'" and when the latter words were spoken to him from behind, he said that he heard, "do you know that those who are in hell, are insane from falses?" and so in other instances: from which it evidently appears, that when the mind turns itself from the lord, it turns to itself, and then it perceives things contrary. "this, as you know, is the reason why, in this spiritual world, no one is allowed to stand behind another, and to speak to him; for thereby there is inspired into him a love, which his own intelligence favors and obeys for the sake of its delight; but since it is from man, and not from god, it is a love of evil, or a love of the false. in addition to the above, i will relate to you another similar circumstance. on certain occasions i have heard goods and truths let down from heaven into hell; and in hell they were progressively turned into their opposites, good into evil, and truth into the false; the cause of this, the same as above, because all in hell turn themselves from the lord." on hearing these two things the two angels thanked me, and said, "as you are now meditating and writing concerning a love opposite to our conjugial love, and the opposite to that love makes our minds sad, we will depart;" and when they said, "peace be unto you," i besought them not to mention that love to their brethren and sisters in heaven, because it would hurt their innocence. i can positively assert that those who die infants, grow up in heaven, and when they attain the stature which is common to young men of eighteen years old in the world, and to maidens of fifteen years, they remain of that stature; and further, that both before marriage and after it, they are entirely ignorant what adultery is, and that such a thing can exist. * * * * * on fornication. [transcriber's note: the out-of-order section number which follows is in the original text, as is the asterisk which does not seem to indicate a footnote.] .* fornication means the lust of a grown up man or youth with a woman, a harlot, before marriage; but lust with a woman, not a harlot, that is, with a maiden or with another's wife, is not fornication; with a maiden it is the act of deflowering, and with another's wife it is adultery. in what manner these two differ from fornication, cannot be seen by any rational being unless he takes a clear view of the love of the sex in its degrees and diversities, and of its chaste principles on the one part, and of its unchaste principles on the other, arranging each part into genera and species, and thereby distinguishing them. without such a view and arrangement, it is impossible there should exist in any one's idea a discrimination between the chaste principle as to more and less, and between the unchaste principle as to more and less; and without these distinctions all relation perishes, and therewith all perspicacity in matters of judgement, and the understanding is involved in such a shade, that it does not know how to distinguish fornication from adultery, and still less the milder kinds of fornication from the more grievous, and in like manner of adultery; thus it mixes evils, and of different evils makes one pottage, and of different goods one paste. in order therefore that the love of the sex may be distinctly known as to that part by which it inclines and makes advances to adulterous love altogether opposite to conjugial love, it is expedient to examine its beginning, which is fornication; and this we will do in the following series: i. _fornication is of the love of the sex._ ii. _this love commences when a youth begins to think and act from his own understanding and his voice to be masculine._ iii. _fornication is of the natural man._ iv. _fornication is lust, but not the lust of adultery._ v. _with some men the love of the sex cannot without hurt be totally checked from going forth into fornication._ vi. _therefore in populous cities public stews are tolerated._ vii. _the lust of fornication is light, so far as it looks to conjugial love, and gives this love the preference._ viii. _the lust of fornication is grievous, so far as it looks to adultery._ ix. _the lust of fornication is more grievous, as it verges to the desire of varieties and of defloration._ x. _the sphere of the lust of fornication, such as it is in the beginning, is a middle sphere between the sphere of adulterous love and the sphere of conjugial love, and makes an equilibrium._ xi. _care is to be taken, lest, by inordinate and immoderate fornications, conjugial love be destroyed._ xii. _inasmuch as the conjugial principle of one man with one wife is the jewel of human life and the reservoir of the christian religion._ xiii. _with those who, from various reasons, cannot as yet enter into marriage, and from their passion for the sex, cannot restrain their lusts, this conjugial principle may be preserved, if the vague love of the sex be confined to one mistress._ xiv. _keeping a mistress is preferable to vague amours, if only one is kept, and she be neither a maiden nor a married woman, and the love of the mistress be kept separate from conjugial love._ we proceed to an explanation of each article. . i. fornication is of the love of the sex. we say that fornication is of the love of the sex, because it is not the love of the sex but is derived from it. the love of the sex is like a fountain, from which both conjugial and adulterous love may be derived; they may also be derived by means of fornication, and also without it: for the love of the sex is in every man (_homo_), and either does or does not put itself forth: if it puts itself forth before marriage with a harlot, it is called fornication; if not until with a wife, it is called marriage; if after marriage with another woman, it is called adultery: wherefore, as we have said, the love of the sex is like a fountain, from which may flow both chaste and unchaste love: but with what caution and prudence chaste conjugial love can proceed by fornication, yet from what imprudence unchaste or adulterous love can proceed thereby, we will explain in what follows. who can draw the conclusion, that he that has committed fornication cannot be more chaste in marriage? . ii. the love of the sex, from which fornication is derived, commences when a youth begins to think and act from his own understanding, and his voice to be masculine. this article is adduced to the intent, that the birth of the love of the sex, and thence of fornication, may be known, as taking place when the understanding begins of itself to become rational, or from its own reason to discern and provide such things as are of emolument and use, whereto in such case what has been implanted in the memory from parents and masters, serves as a plane. at that time a change takes place in the mind; it before thought only from things introduced into the memory, by meditating upon and obeying them; it afterwards thinks from reason exercised upon them, and then, under the guidance of the love, it arranges into a new order the things seated in the memory, and in agreement with that order it disposes its own life, and successively thinks more and more according to its own reason, and wills from its own freedom. it is well known that the love of the sex follows the commencement of a man's own understanding, and advances according to its vigor; and this is a proof that that love ascends and descends as the understanding ascends and descends: by ascending we mean into wisdom, and by descending, into insanity; and wisdom consists in restraining the love of the sex, and insanity in allowing it a wide range: if it be allowed to run into fornication, which is the beginning of its activity, it ought to be moderated from principles of honor and morality implanted in the memory and thence in the reason, and afterwards to be implanted in the reason and in the memory. the reason why the voice also begins to be masculine, together with the commencement of a man's own understanding, is, because the understanding thinks, and by thought speaks; which is a proof that the understanding constitutes the man (_vir_), and also his male principle; consequently, that as his understanding is elevated, so he becomes a man-man (_homo vir_), and also a male man (_masculus vir_); see above, n. , . . iii. fornication is of the natural man, in like manner as the love of the sex, which, if it becomes active before marriage, is called fornication. every man (_homo_) is born corporeal, becomes sensual, afterwards natural, and successively rational; and, if in this case he does not stop in his progress, he becomes spiritual. the reason why he thus advances step by step, is, in order that planes may be formed, on which superior principles may rest and find support, as a palace on its foundations: the ultimate plane, with those that are formed upon it, may also be compared to ground, in which, when prepared, noble seeds are sown. as to what specifically regards the love of the sex, it also is first corporeal, for it commences from the flesh: next it becomes sensual, for the five senses receive delight from its common principle; afterwards it becomes natural like the same love with other animals, because it is a vague love of the sex; but as a man was born to become spiritual, it becomes afterwards natural-rational, and from natural-rational spiritual, and lastly spiritual-natural; and in this case, that love made spiritual flows into and acts upon rational love, and through this flows into and acts upon sensual love, and lastly through this flows into and acts upon that love in the body and the flesh; and as this is its ultimate plane, it acts upon it spiritually, and at the same time rationally and sensually; and it flows in and acts thus successively while the man is meditating upon it, but simultaneously while he is in its ultimate. the reason why fornication is of the natural man, is, because it proceeds proximately from the natural love of the sex; and it may become natural-rational, but not spiritual, because the love of the sex cannot become spiritual, until it becomes conjugial; and the love of the sex from natural becomes spiritual, when a man recedes from vague lust, and devotes himself to one of the sex, to whose soul he unites his own. . iv. fornication is lust, but not the lust of adultery. the reasons why fornication is lust are, . because it proceeds from the natural man, and in everything which proceeds from the natural man, there is concupiscence and lust; for the natural man is nothing but an abode and receptacle of concupiscences and lust, since all the criminal propensities inherited from the parents reside therein. . because the fornicator has a vague and promiscuous regard to the sex, and does not as yet confine his attention to one of the sex; and so long as he is in this state, he is prompted by lust to do what he does; but in proportion as he confines his attention to one of the sex, and loves to conjoin his life with hers, concupiscence becomes a chaste affection, and lust becomes human love. . that the lust of fornication is not the lust of adultery, every one sees clearly from common perception. what law and what judge imputes a like criminality to the fornicator as to the adulterer? the reason why this is seen from common perception is, because fornication is not opposed to conjugial love as adultery is. in fornication conjugial love may lie stored up within, as what is spiritual may lie stored up in what is natural; yea, what is spiritual is also actually disengaged from what is natural; and when the spiritual is disengaged, then the natural encompasses it, as bark does its wood, and a scabbard its sword, and also serves the spiritual as a defence against violence. from these considerations it is evident, that natural love, which is love to the sex, precedes spiritual love which is love to one of the sex; but if fornication comes into effect from the natural love of the sex, it may also be wiped away, provided conjugial love be regarded, desired, and sought, as the chief good. it is altogether otherwise with the libidinous and obscene love of adultery, which we have shewn to be opposite to conjugial love, and destructive thereof, in the foregoing chapter concerning the opposition of adulterous and conjugial love: wherefore if a confirmed and determined adulterer for various reasons enters into a conjugial engagement, the above case is inverted, since a natural principle lies concealed within its lascivious and obscene things, and a spiritual appearance covers it externally. from these considerations reason may see, that the lust of limited fornication is, in respect to the lust of adultery, as the first warmth is to the cold of mid-winter in northern countries. . v. with some men the love of the sex cannot without hurt be totally checked from going forth into fornication. it is needless to recount the mischiefs which may be caused and produced by too great a check of the love of the sex, with such persons as labor under a superabundant venereal heat; from this source are to be traced the origins of certain diseases of the body and distempers of the mind, not to mention unknown evils, which are not to be named; it is otherwise with those whose love of the sex is so scanty that they can resist the sallies of its lust; also with those who are at liberty to introduce themselves into a legitimate partnership of the bed while they are young, without doing injury to their worldly fortunes, thus under the first favorable impressions. as this is the case in heaven with infants, when they have grown up to conjugial age, therefore it is unknown there what fornication is: but the case is different in the world where matrimonial engagements cannot be contracted till the season of youth is past, and where, during that season, the generality live within forms of government, where a length of time is required to perform duties, and to acquire the property necessary to support a house and family, and then first a suitable wife is to be courted. [footnote: this, like some other of the author's remarks, is not so applicable to english laws and customs as to those of several of the continental states, especially germany, where men are not allowed to marry till they have attained a certain age, or can show that they possess the means of supporting a wife and family.] . vi. therefore in populous cities public stews are tolerated. this is adduced as a confirmation of the preceding article. it is well known that they are tolerated by kings, magistrates, and thence by judges, inquisitors, and the people, at london, amsterdam, paris, vienna, venice, naples, and even at rome, besides many other places: among the reasons of this toleration are those also above mentioned. . vii. fornication is (comparatively) light so far as it looks to conjugial love and gives this love the preference. there are degrees of the qualities of evil, as there are degrees of the qualities of good; wherefore every evil is lighter and more grievous, as every good is better and more excellent. the case is the same with fornication; which, as being a lust, and a lust of the natural man not yet purified, is an evil; but as every man (_homo_) is capable of being purified, therefore so far as it approaches a purified state, so far that evil becomes lighter, for so far it is wiped away; thus so far as fornication approaches conjugial love, which is a purified state of the love of the sex, (so far it becomes a lighter evil): that the evil of fornication is more grievous, so far as it approaches the love of adultery, will be seen in the following article. the reason why fornication is light so far as it looks to conjugial love, is, because it then looks from the unchaste state wherein it is, to a chaste state; and so far as it gives a preference to the latter, so far also it is in it as to the understanding; and so far as it not only prefers it, but also pre-loves it, so far also it is in it as to the will, thus as to the internal man; and in this case fornication, if the man nevertheless persists in it, is to him a necessity, the causes whereof he well examines in himself. there are two reasons which render fornication light with those who prefer and pre-love the conjugial state; the first is, that conjugial life is their purpose, intention, or end, the other is, that they separate good from evil with themselves. in regard to the first,--that conjugial life is their purpose, intention, or end, it has the above effect, inasmuch as every man is such as he is in his purpose, intention, or end, and is also such before the lord and the angels; yea, he is likewise regarded as such by the wise in the world; for intention is the soul of all actions, and causes innocence and guilt in the world, and after death imputation. in regard to the other reason,--that those who prefer conjugial love to the lust of fornication, separate evil from good, thus what is unchaste from what is chaste, it has the above effect, inasmuch as those who separate those two principles by perception and intention, before they are in good or the chaste principle, are also separated and purified from the evil of that lust, when they come into the conjugial state. that this is not the case with those who in fornication look to adultery, will be seen in the next article. . viii. the lust of fornication is grievous, so far as it looks to adultery. in the lust of fornication all those look to adultery who do not believe adulteries to be sins, and who think similarly of marriage and of adulteries, only with the distinction of what is allowed and what is not; these also make one evil out of all evils, and mix them together, like dirt with eatable food in one dish, and like things vile and refuse with wine in one cup, and thus eat and drink: in this manner they act with the love of the sex, fornication and keeping a mistress, with adultery of a milder sort, of a grievous sort, and of a more grievous sort, yea with ravishing or defloration: moreover, they not only mingle all those things, but also mix them in marriages, and defile the latter with a like notion; but where it is the case, that the latter are not distinguished from the former, such persons, after their vague commerce with the sex, are overtaken by colds, loathings, and nauseousness, at first in regard to a married partner, next in regard to women in other characters, and lastly in regard to the sex. it is self-evident that with such persons there is no purpose, intention, or end, of what is good or chaste, that they may be exculpated, and no separation of evil from good, or of what is unchaste from what is chaste, that they may be purified, as in the case of those who from fornication look to conjugial love, and give the latter the preference, (concerning whom, see the foregoing article, n. ). the above observations i am allowed to confirm by this new information from heaven: i have met with several, who in the world had lived outwardly like others, wearing rich apparel, feasting daintily, trading like others with money, borrowed upon interest, frequenting stage exhibitions, conversing jocosely on love affairs as from wantonness, besides other similar things: and yet the angels charged those things upon some as evils of sin, and upon others as not evils, and declared the latter guiltless, but the former guilty; and on being questioned why they did so, when the deeds were alike, they replied, that they regard all from purpose, intention, or end, and distinguish accordingly; and that on this account they excuse and condemn those whom the end excuses and condemns, since all in heaven are influenced by a good end, and all in hell by an evil end; and that this, and nothing else, is meant by the lord's words, _judge not, that ye be not judged_, matt. vii. i. . ix. the lust of fornication is more grievous as it verges to the desire of varieties and of defloration. the reason of this is, because these two desires are accessories of adulteries, and thus aggravations of it: for there are mild adulteries, grievous adulteries, and most grievous; and each kind is estimated according to its opposition to, and consequent destruction of, conjugial love. that the desire of varieties and the desire of defloration, strengthened by being brought into act, destroy conjugial love, and drown it as it were in the bottom of the sea, will be seen presently, when those subjects come to be treated of. . x. the sphere of the lust of fornication, such as it is in the beginning, is a middle sphere between the sphere of adulterous love and the sphere of conjugial love, and makes an equilibrium. the two spheres, of adulterous love and conjugial love, were treated of in the foregoing chapter, where it was shewn that the sphere of adulterous love ascends from hell, and the sphere of conjugial love descends from heaven, n. ; that those two spheres meet each other in each world, but do not unite, n. ; that between those two spheres there is an equilibrium, and that man is in it, n. ; that a man can turn himself to whichever sphere he pleases; but that so far as he turns himself to the one, so far he turns himself from the other, n. : for the meaning of spheres, see n. , and the passages there cited. the reason why the sphere of the lust of fornication is a middle sphere between those two spheres, and makes an equilibrium, is, because while any one is in it, he can turn himself to the sphere of conjugial love, that is, to this love, and also to the sphere of the love of adultery, that is, to the love of adultery; but if he turns himself to conjugial love, he turns himself to heaven; if to the love of adultery, he turns himself to hell: each is in the man's free determination, good pleasure, and will, to the intent that he may act freely according to reason, and not from instinct: consequently that he may be a man, and appropriate to himself influx, and not a beast, which appropriates nothing thereof to itself. it is said the lust of fornication such as it is in the beginning, because at that time it is in a middle state. who does not know that whatever a man does in the beginning, is from concupiscence, because from the natural man? and who does not know that that concupiscence is not imputed, while from natural he is becoming spiritual? the case is similar in regard to the lust of fornication, while a man's love is becoming conjugial. . xi. care is to be taken lest, by immoderate and inordinate fornications, conjugial love be destroyed. by immoderate and inordinate fornications, whereby conjugial love is destroyed, we mean fornications by which not only the strength is enervated, but also all the delicacies of conjugial love are taken away; for from unbridled indulgence in such fornications, not only weakness and consequent wants, but also impurities and immodesties are occasioned, by reason of which conjugial love cannot be perceived and felt in its purity and chastity, and thus neither in its sweetness and the delights of its prime; not to mention the mischiefs occasioned to both the body and the mind, and also the disavowed allurements, which not only deprive conjugial love of its blessed delights, but also take it away, and change it into cold, and thereby into loathing. such fornications are the violent excesses whereby conjugial sports are changed into tragic scenes: for immoderate and inordinate fornications are like burning flames which, arising out of ultimates, consume the body, parch the fibres, defile the blood, and vitiate the rational principles of the mind; for they burst forth like a fire from the foundation into the house, which consumes the whole. to prevent these mischiefs is the duty of parents; for a grown up youth, inflamed with lust, cannot as yet from reason impose restraint upon himself. . xii. inasmuch as the conjugial principle of one man with one wife is the jewel of human life and the reservoir of the christian religion. these two points have been demonstrated universally and singularly in the whole preceding part of conjugial love and its chaste delights. the reason why it is the jewel of human life is, because the quality of a man's life is according to the quality of that love with him; since that love constitutes the inmost of his life; for it is the life of wisdom dwelling with its love, and of love dwelling with its wisdom, and hence it is the life of the delights of each; in a word, a man is a soul living by means of that love: hence, the conjugial tie of one man with one wife is called the jewel of human life. this is confirmed from the following articles adduced above: only with one wife there exists truly conjugial friendship, confidence, and potency, because there is a union of minds, n. , : in and from a union with one wife there exist celestial blessednesses, spiritual satisfactions, and thence natural delights, which from the beginning have been provided for those who are in love truly conjugial, n. . that it is the fundamental love of all celestial, spiritual, and derivative natural loves, and that into that love are collected all joys and delights from first to last, n. - : and that viewed in its origin, it is the sport of wisdom and love, has been fully demonstrated in the conjugial love and its chaste delights, which constitutes the first part of this work. . the reason why that love is the reservoir of the christian religion is, because this religion unites and dwells with that love; for it was shewn, that none come into that love, and can be in it, but those who approach the lord, and do the truths of his church and its goods; n. , : that that love is from the only lord, and that hence it exists with those who are of the christian religion; n. , , : that that love is according to the state of the church, because it is according to the state of wisdom with man; n. . that these things are so, was fully confirmed in the chapter on the correspondence of that love with the marriage of the lord and the church; n. , ; and in the chapter on the origin of that love from the marriage of good and truth; n. - . . xiii. with those who, from various reasons, cannot as yet enter into marriage, and from their passion for the sex, cannot moderate their lusts, this conjugial principle may be preserved, if the vague love of the sex be confined to one mistress. that immoderate and inordinate lust cannot be entirely checked by those who have a strong passion for the sex, is what reason sees and experience proves: with a view therefore that such lust may be restrained, in the case of one whose passions are thus violent, and who for several reasons cannot precipitately enter into marriage, and that it may be rendered somewhat moderate and ordinate, there seems to be no other refuge, and as it were asylum, than the keeping of a woman, who in french is called _maitresse_. it is well known that in kingdoms, where certain forms and orders are to be observed, matrimonial engagements cannot be contracted by many till the season of youth is past; for duties are first to be performed, and property to be acquired for the support of a house and family, and then first a suitable wife is to be courted; and yet in the previous season of youth few are able to keep the springing fountain of manliness closed, and reserved for a wife: it is better indeed that it should be reserved; but if this cannot be done on account of the unbridled power of lust, a question occurs, whether there may not be an intermediate means, by which conjugial love may be prevented from perishing in the mean time. that keeping a mistress is such a means appears reasonable from the following considerations: i. that by this means promiscuous inordinate fornications are restrained and limited, and thus a less disorderly state is induced, which more resembles conjugial life. ii. that the ardor of venereal propensities, which in the beginning is boiling hot, and as it were burning, is appeased and mitigated; and thereby the lascivious passion for the sex, which is filthy, is tempered by somewhat analogous to marriage. iii. by this means too the strength is not cast away, neither are weaknesses contracted, as by vague and unlimited amours. iv. by this means also disease of the body and insanity of mind are avoided. v. in like manner by this means adulteries, which are whoredoms with wives, and debaucheries, which are violations of maidens, are guarded against; to say nothing of such criminal acts as are not to be named; for a stripling does not think that adulteries and debaucheries are different from fornications; thus he conceives that the one is the same with the other; nor is he able from reason to resist the enticements of some of the sex, who are proficients in meretricious arts: but in keeping a mistress, which is a more ordinate and safer fornication, he can learn and see the above distinctions. vi. by keeping a mistress, also no entrance is afforded to the four kinds of lusts, which are in the highest degree destructive of conjugial love,--the lust of defloration, the lust of varieties, the lust of violation, and the lust of seducing innocences, which are treated of in the following pages. these observations, however, are not intended for those who can check the tide of lust; nor for those who can enter into marriage during the season of youth, and offer and impart to their wives the first fruits of their manliness. . xiv. keeping a mistress is preferable to vague amours, provided only one is kept and she be neither a maiden nor a married woman, and the love of the mistress be kept separate from conjugial love. at what time and with what persons keeping a mistress is preferable to vague amours, has been pointed out just above. i. the reason why only one mistress is to be kept, is, because if more than one be kept, a polygamical principle gains influence, which induces in a man a merely natural state, and thrusts him down into a sensual state, so much so that he cannot be elevated into a spiritual state, in which conjugial love must be; see n. , . ii. the reason why this mistress must not be a maiden, is because conjugial love with women acts in unity with their virginity, and hence constitutes the chastity, purity, and sanctity of that love; wherefore when a woman makes an engagement and allotment of her virginity to any man, it is the same thing as giving him a certificate that she will love him to eternity: on this account a maiden cannot, from any rational consent, barter away her virginity, unless when entering into the conjugial covenant: it is also the crown of her honor: wherefore to seize it without a covenant of marriage, and afterwards to discard her, is to make a courtezan of a maiden, who might have been a bride or a chaste wife, or to defraud some man; and each of these is hurtful. therefore whoever takes a maiden and unites her to himself as a mistress, may indeed dwell with her, and thereby initiate her into the friendship of love, but still with a constant intention, if he does not play the whoremaster, that she shall be or become his wife. iii. that the kept mistress must not be a married woman, because this is adultery, is evident. iv. the reason why the love of a mistress is to be kept separate from conjugial love, is because those loves are distinct, and therefore ought not to be mixed together: for the love of a mistress is an unchaste, natural, and external love; whereas the love of marriage is chaste, spiritual, and internal. the love of a mistress keeps the souls of two persons distinct, and unites only the sensual principles of the body; but the love of marriage unites souls, and from their union conjoins also the sensual principles of the body, until from two they become as one, which is one flesh. v. the love of a mistress enters only into the understanding and the things which depend on it; but the love of marriage enters also into the will and the things which depend on it, consequently into every thing appertaining to man (_homo_); wherefore if the love of a mistress becomes the love of marriage, a man cannot retract from any principle of right, and without violating the conjugial union; and if he retracts and marries another woman, conjugial love perishes in consequence of the breach thereof. it is to be observed, that the love of a mistress is kept separate from conjugial love by this condition, that no engagement of marriage be made with the mistress, and that she be not induced to form any such expectation. nevertheless it is far better that the torch of the love of the sex be first lighted with a wife. * * * * * . to the above i shall add the following memorable relation. i was once conversing with a novitiate spirit who, during his abode in the world, had meditated much about heaven and hell. (novitiate spirits are men newly deceased, who are called spirits, because they are then spiritual men.) as soon as he entered into the spiritual world he began to meditate in like manner about heaven and hell, and seemed to himself, when meditating about heaven, to be in joy, and when about hell, in sorrow. when he observed that he was in the spiritual world, he immediately asked where heaven and hell were, and also their nature and quality? and he was answered, "heaven is above your head, and hell beneath your feet; for you are now in the world of spirits, which is immediate between heaven and hell; but what are their nature and quality we cannot describe in a few words." at that instant, as he was very desirous of knowing, he fell upon his knees, and prayed devoutly to god that he might be instructed; and lo! an angel appeared at his right hand, and having raised him, said, "you have prayed to be instructed concerning heaven and hell; inquire and learn what delight is, and you will know;" and having said this, the angel was taken up. then the novitiate spirit said within himself, "_what does this mean, inquire and learn what delight is, and you will know the nature and quality of heaven and hell?_" and leaving that place, he wandered about, and accosting those he met, said, "tell me, if you please, what delight is?" some said, "what a strange question! who does not know what delight is? is it not joy and gladness? wherefore delight is delight; one delight is like another; we know no distinction." others said, that delight was the laughter of the mind; for when the mind laughs, the countenance is cheerful, the discourse is jocular, the behaviour sportive, and the whole man is in delight. but some said, "delight consists in nothing but feasting, and delicate eating and drinking, and in getting intoxicated with generous wine, and then in conversing on various subjects, especially on the sports of venus and cupid." on hearing these relations, the novitiate spirit being indignant, said to himself; "these are the answers of clowns, and not of well-bred men: these delights are neither heaven nor hell; i wish i could meet with the wise." he then took his leave of them, and inquired where he might find the wise? at that instant he was seen by a certain angelic spirit, who said, "i perceive that you have a strong desire to know what is the universal of heaven and of hell; and since this is delight, i will conduct you up a hill, where there is every day an assembly of those who scrutinize effects, of those who investigate causes, and of those who explore ends. there are three companies; those who scrutinize effects are called spirits of knowledges, and abstractedly knowledges; those who investigate causes are called spirits of intelligence, and abstractedly intelligences; and those who explore ends are called spirits of wisdom, and abstractedly wisdoms. directly above them in heaven are angels, who from ends see causes, and from causes effects; from these angels those three companies are enlightened." the angelic spirit then taking the novitiate spirit by the hand, led him up the hill to the company which consisted of those who explore ends, and are called wisdoms. to these the novitiate spirit said, "pardon me for having ascended to you: the reason is, because from my childhood i have meditated about heaven and hell, and lately came into this world, where i was told by some who accompanied me, that here heaven was above my head, and hell beneath my feet; but they did not tell me the nature and quality of either; wherefore, becoming anxious from my thoughts being constantly employed on the subject, i prayed to god; and instantly an angel presented itself, and said, '_inquire and learn what delight is, and you will know._' i have inquired, but hitherto in vain: i request therefore that you will teach me, if you please, what delight is." to this the wisdoms replied, "delight is the all of life to all in heaven and all in hell: those in delight have the delight of good and truth, but those in hell have the delight of what is evil and false; for all delight is of love, and love is the _esse_ of a man's life; therefore as a man is a man according to the quality of his love, so also is he according to the quality of his delight. the activity of love makes the sense of delight; its activity in heaven is with wisdom, and in hell with insanity; each in its objects presents delight: but the heavens and the hells are in opposite delights, because in opposite loves; the heavens in the love and thence in the delight of doing good, but the hells in the love and thence in the delight of doing evil; if therefore you know what delight is, you will know the nature and quality of heaven and hell. but inquire and learn further what delight is from those who investigate causes, and are called intelligences: they are to the right from hence." he departed, and came to them, and told them the reason of his coming, and requested that they would teach him what delight is? and they, rejoicing at the question, said, "it is true that he that knows what delight is, knows the nature and quality of heaven and hell. the will-principle, by virtue whereof a man is a man, cannot be moved at all but by delight; for the will-principle, considered in itself, is nothing but an affect and effect of some love, thus of some delight; for it is somewhat pleasing, engaging, and pleasurable, which constitutes the principle of willing; and since the will moves the understanding to think, there does not exist the least idea of thought but from the influent delight of the will. the reason of this is, because the lord by influx from himself actuates all things of the soul and the mind with angels, spirits, and men; which he does by an influx of love and wisdom; and this influx is the essential activity from which comes all delight, which in its origin is called blessed, satisfactory, and happy, and in its derivation is called delightful, pleasant, and pleasurable, and in a universal sense, good. but the spirits of hell invert all things with themselves; thus they turn good into evil, and the true into the false, their delights continually remaining: for without the continuance of delight, they would have neither will nor sensation, thus no life. from these considerations may be seen the nature and origin of the delight of hell, and also the nature and origin of the delight of heaven." having heard this, he was conducted to the third company, consisting of those who scrutinize effects, and are called knowledges. these said, "descend to the inferior earth, and ascend to the superior earth: in the latter you will perceive and be made sensible of the delights of the angels of heaven, and in the former of the delights of the spirits of hell." but lo! at that instant, at a distance from them, the ground cleft asunder, and through the cleft there ascended three devils, who appeared on fire from the delight of their love; and as those who accompanied the novitiate spirit perceived that the three ascended out of hell by _proviso_, they said to them, "do not come nearer; but from the place where you are, give some account of your delights." whereupon they said, "know, then, that every one, whether he be good or evil, is in his own delight; the good in the delight of his good, and the evil in the delight of his evil." they were then asked, "what is your delight?" they said. "the delight of whoring, stealing, defrauding, and blaspheming." again they were asked, "what is the quality of those delights?" they said, "to the senses of others they are like the stinks arising from dunghills, the stenches from dead bodies, and the scents from stale urine." and it was asked them, "are those things delightful to you?" they said, "most delightful." and reply was made, "then you are like unclean beasts which wallow in such things." to which they answered, "if we are, we are: but such things are the delights of our nostrils." and on being asked, "what further account can you give?" they said, "every one is allowed to be in his delight, even the most unclean, as it is called, provided he does not infest good spirits and angels; but since, from our delight, we cannot do otherwise than infest them, therefore we are cast together into workhouses, where we suffer direfully. the witholding and keeping back our delights in those houses is what is called hell-torments: it is also interior pain." it was then asked them, "why have you infested the good?" they replied, that they could not do otherwise: "it is," said they, "as if we were seized with rage when we see any angel, and are made sensible of the divine sphere about him." it was then said to them, "herein also you are like wild beasts." and presently, when they saw the novitiate spirit with the angel, they were overpowered with rage, which appeared like the fire of hatred; wherefore, in order to prevent their doing mischief, they were sent back to hell. after these things, appeared the angels who from ends see causes, and by causes effects, who were in the heaven above those three companies. they were seen in a bright cloud, which rolling itself downwards by spiral flexures, brought with it a circular garland of flowers, and placed it on the head of the novitiate spirit; and instantly a voice said to him from thence, "this wreath is given you because from your childhood you have meditated on heaven and hell." * * * * * on concubinage. . in the preceding chapter, in treating on fornication, we treated also on keeping a mistress; by which was understood the connection of an unmarried man with a woman under stipulated conditions: but by concubinage we here mean the connection of a married man with a woman in like manner under stipulated conditions. those who do not distinguish genera, use the two terms promiscuously, as if they had one meaning, and thence one signification: but as they are two genera, and the term keeping a mistress is suitable to the former, because a kept mistress is a courtezan, and the term concubinage to the latter, because a concubine is a substituted partner of the bed, therefore for the sake of distinction, ante-nuptial stipulation with a woman is signified by keeping a mistress, and post-nuptial by concubinage. concubinage is here treated of for the sake of order; for from order it is discovered what is the quality of marriage on the one part, and of adultery on the other. that marriage and adultery are opposites has already been shewn in the chapter concerning their opposition; and the quantity and quality of their opposition cannot be learnt but from their intermediates, of which concubinage is one; but as there are two kinds of concubinage, which are to be carefully distinguished, therefore this section, like the foregoing, shall be arranged into its distinct parts as follows; i. _there are two kinds of concubinage, which differ exceedingly from each other, the one conjointly with a wife, the other apart from a wife._ ii. _concubinage conjointly with a wife, is altogether unlawful for christians, and detestable._ iii. _that it is polygamy which has been condemned, and is to be condemned, by the christian world._ iv. _it is an adultery whereby the conjugial principle, which is the most precious jewel of the christian life, is destroyed._ v. _concubinage apart from a wife, when it is engaged in from causes legitimate, just, and truly excusatory, is not unlawful._ vi. _the legitimate causes of this concubinage are the legitimate causes of divorce, while the wife is nevertheless retained at home._ vii. _the just causes of this concubinage are the just causes of reparation from the bed._ viii. _of the excusatory causes of this concubinage some are real and some not._ ix. _the really excusatory causes are such as are grounded in what is just._ x. _the excusatory causes which are not real are such as are not grounded in what is just, although in the appearance of what is just._ xi. _those who from causes legitimate, just, and really excusatory, are engaged in this concubinage, may at the same time be principled in conjugial love._ xii. _while this concubinage continues, actual connection with a wife is not allowable._ we proceed to an explanation of each article. . i. there are two kinds of concubinage, which differ exceedingly from each other, the one conjointly with a wife, the other apart from a wife. that there are two kinds of concubinage, which differ exceedingly from each other, and that the one kind consists in taking a substituted partner to the bed and living conjointly and at the same time with her and with a wife; and that the other kind is when, after a legitimate and just separation from a wife, a man engages a woman in her stead as a bed-fellow; also that these two kinds of concubinage differ as much from each other as dirty linen from clean, may be seen by those who take a clear and distinct view of things, but not by those whose view of things is confused and indistinct: yea, it may be seen by those who are in conjugial love, but not by those who are in the love of adultery. the latter are in obscurity respecting all the derivations of the love of the sex, whereas the former are enlightened respecting them: nevertheless, those who are in adultery, can see those derivations and their distinctions, not indeed in and from themselves, but from others when they hear them: for an adulterer has a similar faculty with a chaste husband of elevating his understanding; but an adulterer, after he has acknowledged the distinctions which he has heard from others, nevertheless forgets them, when he immerses his understanding in his filthy pleasure; for the chaste and the unchaste principles, and the sane and the insane, cannot dwell together; but, when separated, they may be distinguished by the understanding. i once inquired of those in the spiritual world who did not regard adulteries as sins, whether they knew a single distinction between fornication, keeping a mistress, the two kinds of concubinage, and the several degrees of adultery? they said they were all alike. i then asked them whether marriage was distinguishable? upon this they looked around to see whether any of the clergy were present, and as there were not, they said, that in itself it is like the rest. the case was otherwise with those who in the ideas of their thought regarded adulteries as sins: these said, that in their interior ideas, which are of the perception, they saw distinctions, but had not yet studied to discern and know them asunder. this i can assert as a fact, that those distinctions are perceived by the angels in heaven as to their minutiae. in order therefore that it may be seen, that there are two kinds of concubinage opposite to each other, one whereby conjugial love is destroyed, the other whereby it is not, we will first describe the kind which is condemnatory, and afterwards that which is not. . ii. concubinage conjointly with a wife is altogether unlawful for christians, and detestable. it is unlawful, because it is contrary to the conjugial covenant; and it is detestable, because it is contrary to religion; and what is contrary to religion, and at the same time to the conjugial covenant, is contrary to the lord: wherefore, as soon as any one, without a really conscientious cause, adjoins a concubine to a wife, heaven is closed to him; and by the angels he is no longer numbered among christians. from that time also he despises the things of the church and of religion, and afterwards does not lift his face above nature, but turns himself to her as a deity, who favors his lust, from whose influx his spirit thenceforward receives animation. the interior cause of this apostasy will be explained in what follows. that this concubinage is detestable is not seen by the man himself who is guilty of it; because after the closing of heaven he becomes a spiritual insanity: but a chaste wife has a clear view of it, because she is a conjugial love, and this love nauseates such concubinage; wherefore also many such wives refuse actual connection with their husbands afterwards, as that which would defile their chastity by the contagion of lust adhering to the men from their courtezans. . iii. it is polygamy which has been condemned, and is to be condemned, by the christian world. that simultaneous concubinage, or concubinage conjoined with a wife, is polygamy, although not acknowledged to be such, because it is not so declared, and thus not so called by any law, must be evident to every person of common discernment; for a woman taken into keeping, and made partaker of the conjugial bed is like a wife. that polygamy has been condemned, and is to be condemned by the christian world, has been shewn in the chapter on polygamy, especially from these articles therein: a christian is not allowed to marry more than one wife; n. : if a christian marries several wives, he commits not only natural, but also spiritual adultery; n. : the israelitish nation was permitted to marry several wives, because the christian church was not with them; n. . from these considerations it is evident, that to adjoin a concubine to a wife, and to make each a partner of the bed, is filthy polygamy. . iv. it is an adultery whereby the conjugial principle, which is the most precious jewel of the christian life is destroyed. that it is more opposed to conjugial love than simple adultery; and that it is a deprivation of every faculty and inclination to conjugial life, which is implanted in christians from birth, may be evinced by arguments which will have great weight with the reason of a wise man. in regard to the first position,--that simultaneous concubinage, or concubinage conjoined with a wife, is more opposed to conjugial love than simple adultery, it may be seen from these considerations: that in simple adultery there is not a love analogous to conjugial love; for it is only a heat of the flesh, which presently cools, and sometimes does not leave any trace of love behind it towards its object; wherefore this effervescing lasciviousness, if it is not from a purposed or confirmed principle, and if the person guilty of it repents, detracts but little from conjugial love. it is otherwise in the case of polygamical adultery: herein there is a love analogous to conjugial love; for it does not cool and disperse, or pass off into nothing after being excited, like the foregoing; but it remains, renews and strengthens itself, and so far takes away from love to the wife, and in the place thereof induces cold towards her; for in such case it regards the concubine courtezan as lovely from a freedom of the will, in that it can retract if it pleases; which freedom is begotten in the natural man: and because this freedom is thence grateful, it supports that love; and moreover, with a concubine the unition with allurements is nearer than with a wife; but on the other hand it does not regard a wife as lovely, by reason of the duty of living with her enjoined by the covenant of life, which it then perceives as far more constrained in consequence of the freedom enjoyed with another woman. it is plain that love for a wife grows cold, and she herself grows vile, in the same degree that love for a courtezan grows warm, and she is held in estimation. in regard to the second position--that simultaneous concubinage, or concubinage conjoined with a wife, deprives a man of all faculty and inclination to conjugial life, which is implanted in christians from birth, it may be seen from the following considerations: that so far as love to a wife is changed into love to a concubine, so far the former love is rent, exhausted, and emptied, as has been shewn just above: that this is effected by a closing of the interiors of the natural mind, and an opening of its inferior principles, may appear from the seat of the inclination with christians to love one of the sex, as being in the inmost principles, and that this seat may be closed, but cannot be destroyed. the reason why an inclination to love one of the sex, and also a faculty to receive that love, is implanted in christians from birth, is, because that love is from the lord alone, and is esteemed religious, and in christendom the lord's divine is acknowledged and worshipped, and religion is from his word; hence there is a grafting, and also a transplanting thereof, from generation to generation. we have said, that the above christian conjugial principle perishes by polygamical adultery: we thereby mean, that with the christian polygamist it is closed and intercepted; but still it is capable of being revived in his posterity, as is the case with the likeness of a grandfather or a great-grandfather returning in a grandson or a great-grandson. hence, that conjugial principle is called the most precious jewel of the christian life, and (see above, n. , ,) the storehouse of human life, and the reservoir of the christian religion. that that conjugial principle is destroyed with the christian who practises polygamical adultery, is manifest from this consideration; that he cannot like a mahometan polygamist, love a concubine and a wife equally; but so far as he loves a concubine, or is warm towards her, so far he does not love his wife, but is cold towards her; and, what is yet more detestable, so far he also in heart acknowledges the lord only as a natural man, and the son of mary, and not at the same time as the son of god, and likewise so far he makes light of religion. it is, however, well to be noted, that this is the case with those who add a concubine to a wife, and connect themselves actually with each; but it is not at all the case with those, who from legitimate, just, and truly excusatory causes, separate themselves, and keep apart from a wife as to actual love, and have a woman in keeping. we now proceed to treat of this kind of concubinage. . v. concubinage apart from a wife, when it is engaged in from causes legitimate, just, and truly excusatory, is not unlawful. what causes we mean by legitimate, what by just, and what by truly excusatory, shall be shewn in their order: the bare mention of the causes is here premised, that this concubinage, which we are about to treat of, may be distinguished from that which we have previously described. (see note to no. , and the preliminary note.) . vi. the legitimate causes of this concubinage are the legitimate causes of divorce, while the wife is nevertheless retained at home. by divorce is meant the annulling of the conjugial covenant, and thence an entire separation, and after this a full liberty to marry another wife. the one only cause of this total separation or divorce, is adultery, according to the lord's precept, matt. xix. . to the same cause are to be referred manifest obscenities, which bid defiance to the restraints of modesty, and fill and infest the house with flagitious practices of lewdness, giving birth to adulterous immodesty, and rendering the whole mind abandoned. to these things may be added malicious desertion, which involves adultery, and causes a wife to commit whoredom, and thereby to be divorced, matt. v. . these three causes, being legitimate causes of divorce,--the first and third before a public judge, and the middle one before the man himself, as judge, are also legitimate causes of concubinage, when the adulterous wife is retained at home. the reason why adultery is the one only cause of divorce is, because it is diametrically opposite to the life of conjugial love, and totally destroys and annihilates it; see above, n. . . the reasons why, by the generality of men, the adulterous wife is still retained at home, are, . because the man is afraid to produce witnesses in a court of justice against his wife, to accuse her of adultery, and thereby to make the crime public; for unless eye-witnesses, or evidences to the same amount, were produced to convict her, he would be secretly reproached in companies of men, and openly in companies of women. . he is afraid also lest his adulteress should have the cunning to clear her conduct, and likewise lest the judges should show favor to her, and thus his name suffer in the public esteem. . moreover, there may be domestic reasons, which may make separation from the house unadvisable: as in case there are children, towards whom also the adulteress has natural love; in case they are bound together by mutual services which cannot be put an end to; in case the wife is connected with and dependent upon her relatives, whether on the father's or mother's side, and there is a hope of receiving an increase of fortune from them; in case he lived with her in the beginning in habits of agreeable intimacy; and in case she, after she became meretricious, has the skill to soothe the man with engaging pleasantry and pretended civility, to prevent blame being imputed to herself; not to mention other cases, which, as in themselves they are legitimate causes of divorce, are also legitimate causes of concubinage; for the causes of retaining the wife at home do not take away the cause of divorce, supposing her guilty of adultery. who, but a person of vile character, can fulfil the duties of the conjugial bed, and at the same time have commerce with a strumpet? if instances of this sort are occasionally to be met with, no favorable conclusions are to be drawn from them. . vii. the just causes of this concubinage are the just causes of separation from the bed. there are legitimate causes of separation, and there are just causes: legitimate causes are enforced by the decisions of judges, and just causes by the decisions come to by the man alone. the causes both legitimate and just of separation from the bed, and also from the house, were briefly enumerated above, n. , ; among which are vitiated states of the body, including diseases whereby the whole body is so far infected, that the contagion may prove fatal: of this nature are malignant and pestilential fevers, leprosies, the venereal disease, cancers; also diseases whereby the whole body is so far weighed down, as to admit of no sociability, and from which exhale dangerous effluvia and noxious vapors, whether from the surface of the body, or from its inward parts, in particular from the stomach and the lungs: from the surface of the body proceed malignant pocks, warts, pustules, scorbutic pthisis, virulent scab, especially if the face is disfigured by it; from the stomach proceed foul, stinking, and rank eructations; from the lungs, filthy and putrid exhalations arising from imposthumes, ulcers or abscesses, or from vitiated blood or serum. besides these there are also other various diseases; as _lipothamia_, which is a total faintness of body, and defect of strength; _paralysis_, which is a loosening and relaxation of the membranes and ligaments which serve for motion; epilepsy; permanent infirmity arising from apoplexy; certain chronical diseases; the iliac passion; rupture; besides other diseases, which the science of pathology teaches. vitiated states of the mind, which are just causes of separation from the bed and the house, are madness, frenzy, furious wildness, actual foolishness and idiocy, loss of memory, and the like. that these are just causes of concubinage, since they are just causes of separation, reason sees without the help of a judge. . viii. of the excusatory causes of this concubinage some are real and some are not. since besides the just causes which are just causes of separation, and thence become just causes of concubinage, there are also excusatory causes, which depend on judgement and justice with the man, therefore these also are to be mentioned: but as the judgements of justice may be perverted and be converted by confirmations into the appearances of what is just, therefore these excusatory causes are distinguished into real and not real, and are separately described. . ix. the really excusatory causes are such as are grounded in what is just. to know these causes, it may be sufficient to mention some of them; such as having no natural affection towards the children, and a consequent rejection of them, intemperance, drunkenness, uncleanliness, immodesty, a desire of divulging family secrets, of disputing, of striking, of taking revenge, of doing evil, of stealing, of deceiving; internal dissimilitude, whence comes antipathy; a froward requirement of the conjugial debt, whence the man becomes as cold as a stone; being addicted to magic and witchcraft; an extreme degree of impiety; and other similar evils. . there are also milder causes, which are really excusatory and which separate from the bed, and yet not from the house; as a cessation of prolification on the part of the wife, in consequence of advanced age, and thence a reluctance and opposition to actual love, while the ardor thereof still continues with the man; besides similar cases in which rational judgement sees what is just, and which do not hurt the conscience. . x. the excusatory causes which are not real are such as are not grounded in what is just, although in the appearance of what is just. these are known from the really excusatory causes above mentioned, and, if not rightly examined, may appear to be just, and yet are unjust; as that times of abstinence are required after the bringing forth of children, the transitory sicknesses of wives, from these and other causes a check to prolification, polygamy permitted to the israelites, and other like causes of no weight as grounded in justice. these are fabricated by the men after they have become cold, when unchaste lusts have deprived them of conjugial love, and have infatuated them with the idea of its likeness to adulterous love. when such men engage in concubinage, they, in order to prevent defamation, assign such spurious and fallacious causes as real and genuine,--and very frequently also falsely charge them against their wives, their companions often favorably assenting and applauding them. . xi. those who from causes legitimate, just, and really excusatory, are engaged in this concubinage, may at the same time be principled in conjugial love. we say that such may at the same time be principled in conjugial love; and we thereby mean, that they may keep this love stored up in themselves; for this love, in the subject in which it is, does not perish, but is quiescent. the reasons why conjugial love is preserved with those who prefer marriage to concubinage, and enter into the latter from the causes above mentioned, are these; that this concubinage is not repugnant to conjugial love; that it is not a separation from it; that it is only a clothing encompassing it; that this clothing is taken away from them after death. . that this concubinage is not repugnant to conjugial love, follows from what was proved above; that such concubinage, when engaged in from causes legitimate, just, and really excusatory, is not unlawful, n. - . . that this concubinage is not a separation from conjugial love; for when causes legitimate, or just, or really excusatory, arise, and persuade and compel a man, then, conjugial love with marriage is not separated, but only interrupted; and love interrupted, and not separated, remains in the subject. the case in this respect is like that of a person, who, being engaged in a business which he likes, is detained from it by company, by public sights, or by a journey; still he does not cease to like his business: it is also like that of a person who is fond of generous wine, and who, when he drinks wine of an inferior quality, does not lose his taste and appetite for that which is generous. . the reason why the above concubinage is only a clothing of conjugial love encompassing it, is, because the love of concubinage is natural, and the love of marriage spiritual; and natural love is a veil or covering to spiritual, when the latter is interrupted: that this is the case, is unknown to the lover; because spiritual love is not made sensible of itself, but by natural love, and it is made sensible as delight, in which there is blessedness from heaven: but natural love by itself is made sensible only as delight. . the reason why this veil is taken away after death, is, because then a man from natural becomes spiritual, and instead of a material body enjoys a substantial one, wherein natural delight grounded in spiritual is made sensible in its perfection. that this is the case, i have heard from communication with some in the spiritual world, even from kings there, who in the natural world had engaged in concubinage from really excusatory causes. . xii. while this concubinage continues, actual connection with a wife is not allowable. the reason of this is, because in such case conjugial love, which in itself is spiritual, chaste, pure, and holy, becomes natural, is defiled and disregarded, and thereby perishes; wherefore in order that this love may be preserved, it is expedient that concubinage grounded in really excusatory causes, n. , , be engaged in with one only, and not with two at the same time. * * * * * . to the above i will add the following memorable relation. i heard a certain spirit, a youth, recently deceased, boasting of his libertinism, and eager to establish his reputation as a man of superior masculine powers; and in the insolence of his boasting he thus expressed himself; "what is more dismal than for a man to imprison his love, and to confine himself to one woman? and what is more delightful than to set the love at liberty? who does not grow tired of one? and who is not revived by several? what is sweeter than promiscuous liberty, variety, deflorations, schemes to deceive husbands, and plans of adulterous hypocrisy? do not those things which are obtained by cunning, deceit, and theft, delight the inmost principles of the mind!" on hearing these things, the bystanders said, "speak not in such terms; you know not where and with whom you are; you are but lately come hither. hell is beneath your feet, and heaven over your head; you are now in the world which is between those two, and is called the world of spirits. all who depart out of the world, come here, and being assembled are examined as to their quality; and here they are prepared, the wicked for hell, and the good for heaven. possibly you still retain what you have heard from priests in the world, that whoremongers and adulterers are cast down into hell, and that chaste married partners are raised to heaven." at this the novitiate laughed, saying, "what are heaven and hell? is it not heaven where any one is free; and is not he free who is allowed to love as many as he pleases? and is not it hell where any one is a servant: and is not he a servant who is obliged to keep to one?" but a certain angel, looking down from heaven, heard what he said, and broke off the conversation, lest it should proceed further and profane marriages; and he said to him, "come up here, and i will clearly shew you what heaven and hell are, and what the quality of the latter is to continued adulterers." he then shewed him the way, and he ascended: after he was admitted he was led first into the paradisiacal garden, where were fruit-trees and flowers, which from their beauty, pleasantness and fragrance, tilled the mind with the delights of life. when he saw these things, he admired them exceedingly; but he was then in external vision, such as he had enjoyed in the world when he saw similar objects, and in this vision he was rational; but in the internal vision, in which adultery was the principal agent, and occupied every point of thought, he was not rational; wherefore the external vision was closed, and the internal opened; and when the latter was opened, he said, "what do i see now? is it not straw and dry wood? and what do i smell now? is it not a stench? what is become of those paradisiacal objects?" the angel said, "they are near at hand and are present; but they do not appear before your internal sight, which is adulterous, for it turns celestial things into infernal, and sees only opposites. every man has an internal and an external mind, thus an internal and an external sight: with the wicked the internal mind is insane, and the external wise; but with the good the internal mind is wise, and from this also the external; and such as the mind is, so a man in the spiritual world sees objects." after this the angel, from the power which was given him, closed his internal sight, and opened the external, and led him away through gates towards the middle point of the habitations: there he saw magnificent palaces of alabaster, marble, and various precious stones, and near them porticos, and round about pillars overlaid and encompassed with wonderful ornaments and decorations. when he saw these things, he was amazed, and said, "what do i see? i see magnificent objects in their own real magnificence, and architectonic objects in their own real art." at that instant the angel again closed his external sight, and opened the internal, which was evil because filthily adulterous: hereupon he exclaimed, "what do i now see? where am i? what is become of those palaces and magnificent objects? i see only confused heaps, rubbish, and places full of caverns." but presently he was brought back again to his external sight, and introduced into one of the palaces; and he saw the decorations of the gates, the windows, the walls, and the ceilings, and especially of the utensils, over and round about which were celestial forms of gold and precious stones, which cannot be described by any language, or delineated by any art; for they surpassed the ideas of language and the notions of art. on seeing these things he again exclaimed, "these are the very essence of whatever is wonderful, such as no eye had ever seen." but instantly, as before, his internal sight was opened, the external being closed, and he was asked what he then saw? he replied, "nothing but decayed piles of bulrushes in this place, of straw in that, and of fire brands in a third." once again he was brought into an external state of mind, and some maidens were introduced, who were extremely beautiful, being images of celestial affection; and they, with the sweet voice of their affection, addressed him; and instantly, on seeing and hearing them, his countenance changed, and he returned of himself into his internals, which were adulterous; and since such internals cannot endure any thing of celestial love, and neither on the other hand can they be endured by celestial love, therefore both parties vanished,--the maidens out of sight of the man, and the man out of sight of the maidens. after this, the angel informed him concerning the ground and origin of the changes of the state of his sights; saying, "i perceive that in the world, from which you are come, you have been two-fold, in internals having been quite a different man from what you were in externals; in externals you have been a civil, moral, and rational man; whereas in internals, you have been neither civil, moral, nor rational, because a libertine and an adulterer: and such men, when they are allowed to ascend into heaven, and are there kept in their externals, can see the heavenly things contained therein; but when their internals are opened, instead of heavenly things they see infernal. know, however, that with every one in this world, externals are successively closed, and internals are opened, and thereby they are prepared for heaven or hell; and as the evil of adultery defiles the internals of the mind above every other evil, you must needs be conveyed down to the defiled principles of your love, and these are in the hells, where the caverns are full of stench arising from dunghills. who cannot know from reason, that an unchaste and lascivious principle in the world of spirits, is impure and unclean, and thus that nothing more pollutes and defiles a man, and induces in him an infernal principle? wherefore take heed how you boast any longer of your whoredoms, as possessing masculine powers therein above other men. i advertise you before hand, that you will become feeble, so that you will scarce know where your masculine power is. such is the lot which awaits those who boast of their adulterous ability." on hearing these words he descended, and returned into the world of spirits, to his former companions, and converse with them modestly and chastely, but not for any considerable length of time. * * * * * on adulteries and their genera and degrees. . none can know that there is any evil in adultery, who judge of it only from its externals; for in these it resembles marriage. such external judges, when they hear of internals, and are told that externals thence derive their good or their evil, say with themselves, "what are internals? who sees them? is not this climbing above the sphere of every one's intelligence?" such persons are like those who accept all pretended good as genuine voluntary good, and who decide upon a man's wisdom from the elegance of his conversation; or who respect the man himself from the richness of his dress and the magnificence of his equipage, and not from his internal habit, which is that of judgement grounded in the affection of good. this also is like judging of the fruit of a tree, and of any other eatable thing, from the sight and touch only, and not of its goodness from a knowledge of its flavor: such is the conduct of all those who are unwilling to perceive any thing respecting man's internal. hence comes the wild infatuation of many at this day, who see no evil in adulteries, yea, who unite marriages with them in the same chamber, that is, who make them altogether alike; and this only on account of their apparent resemblance in externals. that this is the case, was shewn me by this experimental proof: on a certain time, the angels assembled from europe some hundreds of those who were distinguished for their genius, their erudition, and their wisdom, and questioned them concerning the distinction between marriage and adultery, and in treated them to consult the rational powers of their understandings: and after consultation, all, except ten, replied, that the judicial law constitutes the only distinction, for the sake of some advantage; which distinction may indeed be known, but still be accommodated by civil prudence. they were next asked, whether they saw any good in marriage, and any evil in adultery? they returned for answer, that they did not see any rational evil and good. being questioned whether they saw any sin in it? they said, "where is the sin? is not the act alike?" at these answers the angels were amazed, and exclaimed, oh, the gross stupidity of the age! who can measure its quality and quantity? on hearing this exclamation, the hundreds of the wise ones turned themselves, and said one among another with loud laughter, "is this gross stupidity? is there any wisdom that can bring conviction that to love another person's wife merits eternal damnation?" but that adultery is spiritual evil, and thence moral and civil evil, and diametrically contrary to the wisdom of reason; also that the love of adultery is from hell and returns to hell, and the love of marriage is from heaven and returns to heaven, has been demonstrated in the first chapter of this part, concerning the opposition of adulterous and conjugial love. but since all evils, like all goods, partake of latitude and altitude, and according to latitude have their genera, and according to altitude their degrees, therefore, in order that adulteries may be known as to each dimension, they shall first be arranged into their genera, and afterwards into their degrees; and this shall be done in the following series: i. _there are three genera of adulteries,--simple, duplicate, and triplicate._ ii. _simple adultery is that of an unmarried man with another's wife, or of an unmarried woman with another's husband._ iii. _duplicate adultery is that of a husband with another's wife, or of a wife with another's husband._ iv. _triplicate adultery is with relations by blood._ v. _there are four degrees of adulteries, according to which they have their predications, their charges of blame, and after death their imputations._ vi. _adulteries of the first degree are adulteries of ignorance, which are committed by those who cannot as yet, or cannot at all, consult the understanding, and thence check them._ vii. _in such cases adulteries are mild._ viii. _adulteries of the second degree are adulteries of lust, which are committed by those who indeed are able to consult the understanding, but from accidental causes at the moment are not able._ ix. _adulteries committed by such persons are imputatory, according as the understanding afterwards favors them or not._ x. _adulteries of the third degree are adulteries of the reason, which are committed by those who with the understanding confirm themselves in the persuasion that they are not evils of sin._ xi. _the adulteries committed by such persons are grievous, and are imputed to them according to confirmations._ xii. _adulteries of the fourth degree are adulteries of the will, which are committed by those who make them lawful and pleasing, and who do not think them of importance enough, to consult the understanding respecting them._ xiii. _the adulteries committed by these persons are exceedingly grievous, and are imputed to them as evils of purpose, and remain with them as guilt._ xiv. _adulteries of the third and fourth degrees are evils of sin, according to the quantity and quality of understanding and will in them, whether they are actually committed or not._ xv. _.adulteries grounded in purpose of the will, and adulteries grounded in confirmation of the understanding render men natural, sensual, and corporeal._ xvi. _and this to such a degree, that at length they reject from themselves all things of the church and of religion._ xvii. _nevertheless they have the powers of human rationality like other men._ xviii. _but they use that rationality while they are in externals, but abuse it while in their internals._ we proceed to an explanation of each article. . i. there are three genera of adulteries,--simple, duplicate, and triplicate. the creator of the universe has distinguished all the things which he has created into genera, and each genus into species, and has distinguished each species, and each distinction in like manner, and so forth, to the end that an image of what is infinite may exist in a perpetual variety of qualities. thus the creator of the universe has distinguished goods and their truths, and in like manner evils and their falses, after they arose. that he has distinguished all things in the spiritual world into genera, species, and differences, and has collected together into heaven all goods and truths, and into hell all evils and falses, and has arranged the latter in an order diametrically opposite to the former, may appear from what is explained in a work concerning heaven and hell, published in london in the year . that in the natural world he has also thus distinguished and does distinguish goods and truths, and likewise evils and falses, appertaining to men, and thereby men themselves, may be known from their lot after death, in that the good enter into heaven, and the evil into hell. now, since all things relating to good, and all things relating to evil, are distinguished into genera, species, and so forth, therefore marriages are distinguished into the same, and so are their opposites, which are adulteries. . ii. simple adultery is that of an unmarried man with another's wife, or an unmarried woman with another's husband. by adultery here and in the following pages we mean the adultery which is opposite to marriage; it is opposite because it violates the covenant of life contracted between married partners: it rends asunder their love, and defiles it, and closes the union which was begun at the time of betrothing, and strengthened in the beginning of marriage: for the conjugial love of one man with one wife, after engagement and covenant, unites their souls. adultery does not dissolve this union, because it cannot be dissolved; but it closes it, as he that stops up a fountain at its source, and thence obstructs its stream, and fills the cistern with filthy and stinking waters: in like manner conjugial love, the origin of which is a union of souls, is daubed with mud and covered by adultery; and when it is so daubed with mud there arises from beneath the love of adultery; and as this love increases, it becomes fleshly, and rises in insurrection against conjugial love, and destroys it. hence comes the opposition of adultery and marriage. . that it may be further known how gross is the stupidity of this age, in that those who have the reputation of wisdom do not see any sin in adultery, as was discovered by the angels (see just above, n. ), i will here add the following memorable relation. there were certain spirits who, from a habit they had acquired in the life of the body, infested me with peculiar cunning, and this they did by a sottish and as it were waving influx, such as is usual with well-disposed spirits; but i perceived that they employed craftiness and similar means, to the intent that they might engage attention and deceive. at length i entered into conversation with one of them who, it was told me, had while he lived in the world been the general of an army: and as i perceived that in the ideas of his thought there was a lascivious principle, i conversed with him by representatives in the spiritual language which fully expresses what is intended to be said, and even several things in a moment. he said that, in the life of the body in the former world, he had made no account of adulteries: but it was granted me to tell him, that adulteries are wicked, although from the delight attending them, and from the persuasion thence resulting, they appear to the adulterer as not wicked but allowable; which also he might know from this consideration, that marriages are the seminaries of the human race, and thence also the seminaries of the heavenly kingdom, and therefore that they ought not to be violated, but to be accounted holy; also from this consideration, that he ought know, as being in the spiritual world, and in a state of perception, that conjugial love descends from the lord through heaven, and that from that love, as a parent, is derived mutual love, which is the main support of heaven; and further from this consideration, that adulterers, whenever they only approach the heavenly societies, are made sensible of their own stench, and throw themselves headlong thence towards hell: at least he might know, that to violate marriages is contrary to the divine laws, to the civil laws of all kingdoms, also to the genuine light of reason, and thereby to the right of nations, because contrary to order both divine and human; not to mention other considerations. but he replied, that he entertained no such thoughts in the former life: he wished to reason whether the case was so or not; but he was told that truth does not admit of reasonings, since they favor the delights of the flesh against those of the spirit, the quality of which latter delights he was ignorant of; and that he ought first to think about the things which i had told him, because they are true; or to think from the well-known maxim, that no one should do to another what he is unwilling another should do to him; and thus, if any one had in such a manner violated his wife, whom he had loved, as is the case in the beginning of every marriage, and he had then been in a state of wrath, and had spoken from that state, whether he himself also would not then have detested adulteries, and being a man of strong parts, would not have confirmed himself against them more than other men, even to condemning them to hell; and being the general of an army, and having brave companions, whether he would not, in order to prevent disgrace, either have put the adulterer to death, or have driven the adulteress from his house. . iii. duplicate adultery is that of a husband with another's wife, or of a wife with another's husband. this adultery is called duplicate, because it is committed by two, and on each side the marriage-covenant is violated; wherefore also it is twofold more grievous than the former. it was said above, n. , that the conjugial love of one man with one wife, after engagement and covenant, unites their souls, and that such union is that very love in its origin; and that this origin is closed and stopped up by adultery, as the source and stream of a fountain. that the souls of two unite themselves together, when love to the sex is confined to one of the sex, which is the case when a maiden engages herself wholly to a youth, and on the other hand a youth engages himself wholly to a maiden, is clearly manifest from this consideration, that the lives of both unite themselves, consequently their souls, because souls are the first principles of life. this union of souls can only take place in monogamical marriages, or those of one man with one wife, but not in polygamical marriages, or those of one man with several wives; because in the latter case the love is divided, in the former it is united. the reason why conjugial love in its supreme abode is spiritual, holy, and pure, is because the soul of every man from its origin is celestial; wherefore it receives influx immediately from the lord, for it receives from him the marriage of love and wisdom, or of good and truth; and this influx makes him a man, and distinguishes him from the beasts. from this union of souls, conjugial love, which is there in its spiritual sanctity and purity, flows down into the life of the whole body, and fills with blessed delights, so long as its channel remains open; which is the case with those who are made spiritual by the lord. that nothing but adultery closes and stops up this abode of conjugial love, thus its origin or fountain and its channel, is evident from the lord's words, that it is not lawful to put away a wife and marry another, except on account of adultery: matt. xix. - ; and also from what is said in the same passage, that he that marries her that is put away commits adultery, verse . when therefore, as was said above, that pure and holy fountain is stopped up, it is clogged about with filthiness of sundry kinds, as a jewel with ordure, or bread with vomit; which things are altogether opposite to the purity and sanctity of that fountain, or of conjugial love: from which opposition comes conjugial cold, and according to this cold is the lascivious voluptuousness of adulterous love, which consumes itself of its own accord. the reason why this is an evil of sin is because the holy principle is covered and thereby its channel into the body is obstructed, and in the place thereof a profane principle succeeds, and its channel into the body is opened, whence a man from celestial becomes infernal. . to the above i will add some particulars from the spiritual world, which are worthy to be recorded. i have been informed in that world, that some married men are inflamed with the lust of committing whoredom with maidens or virgins; some with those who are not maidens but harlots; some with married women or wives; some with women of the above description who are of noble descent; and some with such as are not of noble descent: that this is the case, was confirmed to me by several instances from the various kingdoms in that world. while i was meditating concerning the variety of such lusts, i asked whether there are any who find all their delight with the wives of others, and none with unmarried women? wherefore to convince me that there are some such spirits, several were brought to me from a certain kingdom, who were obliged to speak according to their libidinous principles. these declared that it was, and still is their sole pleasure and delight to commit whoredom with the wives of others; and that they look out for such as are beautiful, and hire them for themselves at a great price according to their wealth, and in general bargain about the price with the wife alone. i asked, why they do not hire for themselves unmarried women? they said, that they consider this would be cheap and worthless, and therefore undelightful to them. i asked also, whether those wives afterwards return to their husbands and live with them? they replied, that they either do not return, or they return cold, having become courtezans. afterwards i asked them seriously, whether they ever thought, or now think, that this is twofold adultery, because they commit this at the time they have wives of their own, and that such adultery deprives a man of all spiritual good? but at this several who were present laughed, saying, "what is spiritual good?" nevertheless i was still urgent, and said, "what is more detestable than for a man to mix his soul with the soul of a husband in his wife? do you not know, that the soul of a man is in his seed?" hereupon they turned themselves away and muttered, "what harm can this do her?" at length i said, "although you do not fear divine laws, do you not fear civil laws?" they replied, "no, we only fear certain of the ecclesiastical order; but we conceal this in their presence; and if we cannot conceal it, we keep upon good terms with them." i afterwards saw the former divided into companies, and some of the latter cast into hell. . iv. triplicate adultery is with relations by blood. this adultery is called triplicate, because it is threefold more grievous than the two former. the relations, or remains of the flesh, which are not to be approached, are mentioned in levit. xviii. - . there are internal and external reasons why these adulteries are threefold more grievous than the two above-mentioned: the internal reasons are grounded in the correspondence of those adulteries with the violation of spiritual marriage, which is that of the lord and the church, and thence of good and truth; and the external reasons are for the sake of guards, to prevent a man's becoming a beast. we have no leisure, however, to proceed to the further disclosure of these reasons. . v. there are four degrees of adulteries, according to which they have their predications, their charges of blame, and after death their imputations. these degrees are not genera, but enter into each genus, and cause its distinctions between more and less evil or good; in the present case, deciding whether adultery of every genus from the nature of the circumstances and contingencies, is to be considered milder or more grievous. that circumstances and contingencies vary every thing is well known. nevertheless things are considered in one way by a man from his rational light, in another by a judge from the law, and in another by the lord from the state of a man's mind: wherefore we mention predications, charges of blame, and after death imputations; for predications are made by a man according to his rational light, charges of blame are made by a judge according to the law, and imputations are made by the lord according to the state of the man's mind. that these three differ exceedingly from each other, may be seen without explanation: for a man, from rational conviction according to circumstances and contingencies, may acquit a person, whom a judge, when he sits in judgement, cannot acquit from the law: and also a judge may acquit a person, who after death is condemned. the reason of this is, because a judge gives sentence according to the actions done, whereas after death every one is judged according to the intentions of the will and thence of the understanding, and according to the confirmations of the understanding and thence of the will. these intentions and confirmations a judge does not see; nevertheless each judgement is just; the one for the sake of the good of civil society, the other for the sake of the good of heavenly society. . vi. adulteries of the first degree are adulteries of ignorance, which are committed by those who cannot as yet, or cannot at all, consult the understanding, and thence check them. all evils, and thus also all adulteries, viewed in themselves, are at once of the internal and the external man; the internal intends them, and the external does them; such therefore as the internal man is in the deeds done by the external, such are the deeds viewed in themselves: but since the internal man with his intention, does not appear before man, every one must be judged in a human court from deeds and words according to the law in force and its provisions: the interior sense of the law is also to be regarded by the judge. but to illustrate the case by example: if adultery be committed by a youth, who does not as yet know that adultery is a greater evil than fornication; if the like be committed by a very simple man; if it be committed by a person who is deprived by disease of the full powers of judgement; or by a person, as is sometimes the case, who is delirious by fits, and is at the time in a state of actual delirium; yet further, if it be committed in a fit of insane drunkenness, and so forth, it is evident, that in such cases, the internal man, or mind, is not present in the external, scarcely any otherwise than in an irrational person. adulteries in these instances are predicated by a rational man according to the above circumstances; nevertheless the perpetrator is charged with blame by the same rational man as a judge, and is punished by the law; but after death those adulteries are imputed according to the presence, quality, and faculty of understanding in the will of the perpetrators. . vii. in such cases adulteries are mild. this is manifest from what was said just above, n. , without further confirmation; for it is well known that the quality of every deed and in general the quality of every thing, depends upon circumstances, and which mitigate or aggravate it; but adulteries of this degree are mild at the first times of their commission; and also remain mild so far as the offending party of either sex, in the future course of life, abstains from them for these reasons;--because they are evils against god, or against the neighbour, or against the goods of the state, and because, in consequence of their being such evils, they are evils against reason; but on the other hand, if they are not abstained from for one of the abovementioned reasons, they are reckoned amongst grievous adulteries; thus it is according to the divine law, ezek. xviii, , , , and in other places: but they cannot, from the above circumstances, be pronounced either blameless or culpable, or be predicated and judged as mild or grievous, because they do not appear before man, neither are they within the province of his judgement; wherefore it is meant, that after death they are so accounted or imputed. . viii. adulteries of the second degree are adulteries of lust, which are committed by those who indeed are able to consult the understanding, but from accidental causes at the moment are not able. there are two things which, in the beginning, with every man who from natural is made spiritual, are at strife together, which are commonly called the spirit and the flesh; and since the love of marriage is of the spirit, and the love of adultery is of the flesh, in such case there is also a combat between those loves. if the love of marriage conquers, it gains dominion over and subjugates the love of adultery, which is effected by its removal; but if it happens that the lust of the flesh is excited to a heat greater than what the spirit can control from reason, it follows that the state is inverted, and the heat of lust infuses allurements into the spirit, to such a degree, that it is no longer master of its reason, and thence of itself: this is meant by adulteries of the second degree, which are committed by those who indeed are able to consult the understanding, but by reason of accidental causes at the moment are not able. but the matter may be illustrated by particular cases; as in case a meretricious wife by her craftiness captivates a man's mind (_animum_), enticing him into her chamber, and inflaming his passions to such a degree as to leave him no longer master of his judgement; and especially if, at the same time, she also threatens to expose him if he does not consent: in like manner, in case any meretricious wife is skilled in deceitful allurements, or by powerful stimulants inflames the man to such a degree, that the raging lust of the flesh deprives the understanding of the free use of reason: in like manner, in case a man, by powerful enticements, so far works upon another's wife, as to leave her no longer mistress of herself, by reason of the fire kindled in her will; besides other like cases. that these and similar accidental circumstances lessen the grievousness of adultery, and give a milder turn to the predications of the blame thereof in favor of the party seduced, is agreeable to the dictates and conclusions of reason. the imputation of this degree of adultery comes next to be treated of. . ix. adulteries committed by such persons are imputatory, according as the understanding afterwards favors them or not. so far as the understanding favors evils, so far a man appropriates them to himself and makes them his own. favor implies consent; and consent induces in the mind a state of the love of them: the case is the same with adulteries, which in the beginning were committed without the consent of the understanding, and are favored: the contrary comes to pass if they are not favored. the reason of this is, because evils or adulteries, which are committed in the blindness of the understanding, are committed from the concupiscence of the body; and such evils or adulteries have a near resemblance to the instincts of beasts: with man (_homo_) indeed the understanding is present, while they are committing, but in a passive or dead potency and not in active and living potency. from these considerations it follows of course, that such things are not imputed, except so far as they are afterwards favored or not. by imputation we here mean accusation after death, and hence judication, which takes place according to the state of a man's spirit: but we do not mean inculpation by a man before a judge; for this does not take place according to the state of a man's spirit, but of his body in the deed; and unless there was a difference herein, those would be acquitted after death who are acquitted in the world, and those would be condemned who are condemned in the world; and thus the latter would be without any hope of salvation. . x. adulteries of the third degree are adulteries of the reason, which are committed by those who with the understanding confirm themselves in the persuasion that they are not evils of sin. every man knows that there exist such principles as the will and the understanding; for in his common speaking he says, "this i will, and this i understand;" but still he does not distinguish them, but makes the one the same as the other; because he only reflects upon the things which belong to the thought grounded in the understanding, and not upon those which belong to the love grounded in the will; for the latter do not appear in light as the former. nevertheless, he that does not distinguish between the will and the understanding, cannot distinguish between evils and goods, and consequently he must remain in entire ignorance concerning the blame of sin. but who does not know that good and truth are two distinct principles, like love and wisdom? and who cannot hence conclude, while he is in rational illumination, that there are two faculties in man, which distinctly receive and appropriate to themselves those principles, and that the one is the will and the other the understanding, by reason that what the will receives and reproduces is called good, and what the understanding receives is called truth; for what the will loves and does, is called truth, and what the understanding perceives and thinks, is called truth? now as the marriage of good and truth was treated of in the first part of this work, and in the same place several considerations were adduced concerning the will and the understanding, and the various attributes and predicates of each, which, as i imagine, are also perceived by those who had not thought at all distinctly concerning the understanding and the will, (for human reason is such, that it understands truths from the light thereof, although it has not heretofore distinguished them); therefore, in order that the distinctions of the understanding and the will may be more clearly perceived, i will here mention some particulars on the subject, that it may be known what is the quality of adulteries of the reason and the understanding, and afterwards what is the quality of adulteries of the will. the following points may serve to illustrate the subject: . that the will of itself does nothing; but whatever it does, it does by the understanding. . on the other hand also, that the understanding alone of itself does nothing; but whatever it does, it does from the will. . that the will flows into the understanding but not the understanding into the will; yet that the understanding teaches what is good and evil, and consults with the will, that out of those two principles it may choose and do what is pleasing to it. . that after this there is effected a twofold conjunction; one, in which the will acts from within, and the understanding from without; the other in which the understanding acts from within, and the will from without: thus are distinguished the adulteries of the reason, which are here treated of, from the adulteries of the will, which are next to be treated of. they are distinguished, because one is more grievous than the other; for the adultery of the reason is less grievous than that of the will; because in adultery of the reason, the understanding acts from within, and the will from without; whereas in adultery of the will, the will acts from within, and the understanding from without; and the will is the man himself, and the understanding is the man as grounded in the will; and that which acts within has dominion over that which acts without. . xi. the adulteries committed by such persons are grievous, and are imputed to them according to confirmations. it is the understanding alone that confirms, and when it confirms, it engages the will to its party, and sets it about itself, and thus compels it to compliance. confirmations are affected by reasonings, which the mind seizes for its use, deriving them either from its superior region or from its inferior; if from the superior region, which communicates with heaven, it confirms marriages and condemns adulteries; but if from the inferior region, which communicates with the world, it confirms adulteries and makes light of marriages. every one can confirm evil just as well as good; in like manner what is false and what is true; and the confirmation of evil is perceived with more delight than the confirmation of good, and the confirmation of what is false appears with greater lucidity than the confirmation of what is true. the reason of this is, because the confirmation of what is evil and false derives its reasonings from the delights, the pleasures, the appearances, and the fallacies of the bodily senses; whereas the confirmation of what is good and true derives its reasons from the region above the sensual principles of the body. now, since evils and falses can be confirmed just as well as goods and truths, and since the confirming understanding draws the will to its party, and the will together with the understanding forms the mind, it follows that the form of the human mind is according to confirmations, being turned to heaven if its confirmations are in favor of marriage, but to hell if they are in favor of adulteries; and such as the form of a man's mind is such is his spirit; consequently such is the man. from these considerations then it is evident, that adulteries of this degree after death are imputed according to confirmations. . xii. the adulteries of the fourth degree are adulteries of the will which are committed by those who make them lawful and pleasing, and who do not think them of importance enough to consult the understanding respecting them. these adulteries are distinguished from the foregoing from their origins. the origin of these adulteries is from the depraved will connate to man, or from hereditary evil, which a man blindly obeys after he is capable of exercising his own judgement, not at all considering whether they are evils or not; wherefore it is said, that he does not think them of importance enough to consult the understanding respecting them: but the origin of the adulteries which are called adulteries of reason, is from a perverse understanding; and these adulteries are committed by those who confirm themselves in the persuasion that they are not evils of sin. with the latter adulterers, the understanding is the principal agent; with the former the will. the distinctions in these two cases do not appear to any man in the natural world; but they appear plainly to the angels in the spiritual world. in the latter world all are in general distinguished according to the evils which originate in the will and in the understanding, and which are accepted and appropriated; they are also separated in hell according to those evils: those who are in evil from the understanding, dwell there in front, and are called satans; but those who are in evil from the will, dwell at the back, and are called devils. it is on account of this universal distinction that mention is made in the word of satan and the devil. with those wicked ones, and also those adulterers, who are called satans, the understanding is the principal agent; but with those who are called devils, the will is the principal agent. it is not however possible to explain these distinctions, so as to render them visible to the understanding, unless the distinctions of the will and the understanding be first known; and also unless a description be given of the formation of the mind from the will by the understanding, and of its formation from the understanding by the will. the knowledge of these subjects is necessary, before the distinctions above-mentioned can be seen by reason; but to express this knowledge on paper would require a volume. . xiii. the adulteries committed by these persons are exceedingly grievous, and are imputed to them as evils of purpose, and remain in them as guilt. the reason why they are exceedingly grievous, and more grievous than the foregoing, is, because in them the will is the principal agent, whereas in the foregoing the understanding is the principal agent, and a man's life essentially is his will, and formally is his understanding: the reason of this is, because the will acts in unity with the love, and love is the essence of a man's life, and forms itself in the understanding by such things as are in agreement with it: wherefore the understanding viewed in itself is nothing but a form of the will; and since love is of the will, and wisdom of the understanding, therefore wisdom is nothing but a form of love; in like manner truth is nothing but a form of good. that which flows from the very essence of a man's life, thus which flows from his will or his love, is principally called purpose; but that which flows from the form of his life, thus from the understanding and its thought is called intention. guilt also is principally predicated of the will: hence comes the common observation, that everyone has the guilt of evil from inheritance, but that the evil is from the man. hence these adulteries of the fourth degree are imputed as evils of purpose, and remain in as guilt. . xiv. adulteries of the third and fourth degrees are evils of sin, according to the quantity and quality of understanding and will in them, whether they are actually committed or not. that adulteries of the reason or the understanding, which are of the third degree, and adulteries of the will, which are of the fourth, are grievous, consequently evils of sin, according to the quality of the understanding and of the will in them, may be seen from the comment above concerning them, n. - . the reason of this is, because a man (_homo_) is a man by virtue of the will and the understanding; for from these two principles exist not only all the things which are done in the mind, but also all those which are done in the body. who does not know, that the body does not act of itself, but the will by the body? also that the mouth does not speak of itself, but the thought by the mouth? wherefore if the will were to be taken away, action would instantly be at a stand, and if thought were to be taken away, the speech of the mouth would instantly cease. hence it is clearly manifest, that adulteries which are actually committed, are grievous according to the quantity and quality of the understanding of the will in them. that they are in like manner grievous, if the same are not actually committed, appears from the lord's words: _it was said by them of old time, thou shalt not commit adultery; but i say unto you, that if any one hath looked at another's woman, to lust after her, he hath already committed adultery with her in heart_; matt. v. , : to commit adultery in the heart is to commit it in the will. there are many reasons which operate to prevent an adulterer's being an adulterer in act, while he is still so in will and understanding: for there are some who abstain from adulteries as to act through fear of the civil law and its penalties; through fear of the loss of reputation and thence of honor; through fear of disease thence arising; through fear of quarrels at home on the part of a wife, and the consequent loss of tranquillity; through fear of revenge on the part of the husband and the next of kin; thus also through fear of being beaten by the servants; through poverty or avarice; through imbecility arising from disease, from abuse, from age, or from impotence, and consequent shame: if any one restrains himself from actual adulteries, under the influence of these and like reasons, and yet favors them in his will and understanding, he is still an adulterer: for he believes nevertheless that they are not sins, and he does not make them unlawful before god in his spirit; and thus he commits them in spirit, although not in body before the world; wherefore after death, when he becomes a spirit, he speaks openly in favor of them. . xv. adulteries grounded in purpose of the will, and adulteries grounded in confirmation of the understanding, render men natural, sensual, and corporeal. a man (_homo_) is a man, and is distinguished from the beasts, by this circumstance, that his mind is distinguished into three regions, as many as the heavens are distinguished into: and that he is capable of being elevated out of the lowest region into the next above it, and also from this into the highest, and thus of becoming an angel of one heaven, and even of the third: for this end, there has been given to man a faculty of elevating the understanding thitherto; but if the love of his will is not elevated at the same time, he does not become spiritual, but remains natural: nevertheless he retains the faculty of elevating the understanding. the reason why he retains this faculty is, that he may be reformed; for he is reformed by the understanding: and this is effected by the knowledges of good and truth, and by a rational intuition grounded therein, if he views those knowledges rationally, and lives according to them, then the love of the will is elevated at the same time, and in that degree the human principle is perfected, and the man becomes more and more a man. it is otherwise if he does not live according to the knowledges of good and truth: in this case the love of his will remains natural, and his understanding by turns becomes spiritual: for it raises itself upwards alternately, like an eagle, and looks down upon what is of its love beneath; and when it sees this, it flies down to it, and conjoins itself with it: if therefore it loves the concupiscences of the flesh, it lets itself down to these from its height, and in conjunction with them, derives delight to itself from their delights; and again in quest of reputation, that it may be believed wise, it lifts itself on high, and thus rises and sinks by turns, as was just now observed. the reason why adulterers of the third and fourth degree, who are such as from purpose of the will and continuation of the understanding have made themselves adulterers, are absolutely natural, and progressively become sensual and corporeal, is, because they have immersed the love of their will, and together with it their understanding, in the impurities of adulterous love, and are delighted therewith, as unclean birds and beasts are with stinking and dunghill filth as with dainties and delicacies: for the effluvia arising from their flesh fill the recesses of the mind with their dregs, and cause that the will, perceives nothing more dainty and desirable. it is these who after death become corporeal spirits, and from whom flow the unclean things of hell and the church, spoken of above n. , . . there are three degrees of the natural man; in the first degree are those who love only the world, placing their heart on wealth; these are properly meant by the natural: in the second degree are those who love only the delights of the senses, placing their heart on every kind of luxury and pleasure; these are properly meant by the sensual: in the third degree are those who love only themselves, placing their heart on the quest of honor; these are properly meant by the corporeal, because they immerse all things of the will, and consequently of the understanding, in the body, and look backward at themselves from others, and love only what belongs to themselves: but the sensual immerse all things of the will and consequently of the understanding in the allurements and fallacies of the senses, indulging in these alone; whereas the natural pour forth into the world all things of the will and understanding, covetously and fraudulently acquiring wealth, and regarding no other use therein and thence but that of possession. the above-mentioned adulteries change men in these degenerate degrees, one into this, another into that, each according to his favorite taste for what is pleasurable, in which taste his peculiar genius is grounded. . xvi. and this to such a degree that at length they reject from themselves all things of the church and of religion. the reason why determined and continued adulterers reject from themselves all things of the church and religion is, because the love of marriage and the love of adultery are opposite, n. , and the love of marriage acts in unity with the church and religion; see n. , and throughout the former part; hence the love of adultery, as being opposite, acts in unity with those things which are contrary to the church. a further reason why those adulterers reject from themselves all things of the church and of religion, is, because the love of marriage and the love of adultery are opposite, as the marriage of good and truth is opposite to the connection of evil and the false: see n. , ; and the marriage of good and truth constitutes the church, whereas the connection of evil and the false constitutes the anti-church. a further reason why those adulterers reject from themselves all things of the church and of religion, is because the love of marriage and the love of adultery are as opposite as heaven and hell, n. ; and in heaven there is the love of all things of the church, whereas in hell there is hatred against them. a further reason why those adulterers reject from themselves all things of the church and of religion, is, because, their delights commence from the flesh, and are of the flesh also in the spirit, n. , ; and the flesh is contrary to the spirit, that is, contrary to the spiritual things of the church: hence also the delights of adulterous love are called the pleasures of insanity. if you desire demonstration in this case, go, i pray, to those whom you know to be such adulterers, and ask them privately, what they think concerning god, the church, and eternal life, and you will hear. the genuine reason is, because as conjugial love opens the interiors of the mind; and thereby elevates them above the sensual principles of the body, even into the light and heat of heaven, so, on the other hand, the love of adultery closes the interiors of the mind, and thrusts down the mind itself, as to its will, into the body, even into all things which its flesh lusts after; and the deeper it is so thrust down, the further it is removed and set at a distance from heaven. . xvii. nevertheless they have the powers of human rationality like other men. that the natural man, the sensual, and the corporeal, is equally rational, in regard to understanding, as the spiritual man, has been proved to me from satans and devils arising by leave out of hell, and conversing with angelic spirits in the world of spirits; concerning whom, see the memorable relations throughout; but as the love of the will makes the man, and this love draws the understanding into consent, therefore such are not rational except in a state removed from the love of the will; when they return again into this love, they are more dreadfully insane than wild beasts. but a man, without the faculty of elevating the understanding above the love of the will, would not be a man but a beast; for a beast does not enjoy that faculty; consequently neither would he be able to choose any thing, and from choice to do what is good and expedient, and thus he would not be in a capacity to be reformed, and to be led to heaven, and to live for ever. hence it is, that determined and confirmed adulterers, although they are merely natural, sensual, and corporeal, still enjoy, like other men, the powers of understanding or rationality: but when they are in the lust of adultery, and think and speak from that lust concerning it, they do not enjoy that rationality; because then the flesh acts on the spirit, and not the spirit on the flesh. it is however to be observed, that these at length after death become stupid; not that the faculty of growing wise is taken away from them, but that they are unwilling to grow wise, because wisdom is undelightful to them. . xviii. but they use that rationality while they are in externals, but abuse it while they are in internals. they are in externals when they converse abroad and in company, but in their internals when at home or with themselves. if you wish, make the experiment; bring some person of this character, as, for example, one of the order called jesuits, and cause him to speak in company, or to teach in a temple, concerning god, the holy things of the church, and heaven and hell, and you will hear him a more rational zealot than any other; perhaps also he will force you to sighs and tears for your salvation; but take him into your house, praise him excessively, call him the father of wisdom, and make yourself his friend, until he opens his heart, and you will hear what he will then preach concerning god, the holy things of the church, and heaven and hell,--that they are mere fancies and delusions, and thus bonds invented for souls, whereby great and small, rich and poor, may be caught and bound, and kept under the yoke of their dominion. let these observations suffice for illustration of what is meant by natural men, even to corporeal, enjoying the powers of human rationality like others, and using it when they are in externals, but abusing it when in their internals. the conclusion to be hence deduced is, that no one is to be judged of from the wisdom of his conversation, but of his life in union therewith. * * * * * . to the above i will add the following memorable relation. on a certain time in the spiritual world i heard a great tumult: there were some thousands of people gathered together, who cried out, let them be punished, let them be punished: i went nearer, and asked what the cry meant? a person that was separate from the crowd, said to me, "they are enraged against three priests, who go about and preach every where against adulterers, saying, that adulterers have no acknowledgement of god, and that heaven is closed to them and hell open; and that in hell they are filthy devils, because they appear there at a distance like swine wallowing in mire, and that the angels of heaven abominate them." i inquired, "where are the priests? and why is there such a vociferation on that account?" he replied, "the three priests are in the midst of them, guarded by attendants; and those who are gathered together are of those who believe adulteries not to be sins, and who say, that adulterers have an acknowledgement of god equally with those who keep to their wives. they are all of them from the christian world; and the angels have been to see how many there were there who believe adulteries to be sins; and out of a thousand they did not find a hundred." he then told me that the nine hundred say concerning adulteries, "who does not know that the delight of adultery is superior to the delight of marriage; that adulterers are in continual heat, and thence in alacrity, industry, and active life, superior to those who live with only one woman; and that on the other hand, love with a married partner grows cold, and sometimes to such a degree, that at length scarce a single expression or act of fellowship with her is alive; that it is otherwise with harlots; that the mortification of life with a wife, arising from defect of ability, is recruited and vivified by adulteries; and is not that which recruits and vivifies of more consequence than that which mortifies? what is marriage but allowed adultery? who knows any distinction between them? can love be forced? and yet love with a wife is forced by a covenant and laws. is not love with a married partner the love of the sex, which is so universal that it exists even among birds and beasts? what is conjugial love but the love of the sex? and the love of the sex is free with every woman. the reason why civil laws are against adulteries is, because lawgivers have believed that to prohibit adultery was connected with the public good; and yet lawgivers and judges sometimes commit adultery, and say among themselves, 'let him that is without sin cast the first stone.' who does not know that the simple and religious alone believe adulteries to be sins, and that the intelligent think otherwise, who like us view them by the light of nature? are not adulteries as prolific as marriages? are not illegitimate children as alert and qualified for the discharge of offices and employments as the legitimate? moreover families, otherwise barren, are provided with offspring; and is not this an advantage and not a loss? what harm can come to a wife from admitting several rivals? and what harm can come to a man? to say that it brings disgrace upon a man, is a frivolous idea grounded in mere fancy. the reason why adultery is against the laws and statutes of the church, is owing to the ecclesiastic order for the sake of power; but what have theological and spiritual things to do with a delight merely corporeal and carnal? are not there instances of adulterous presbyters and monks? and are they incapable on that account of acknowledging and worshipping god? why therefore do those three priests preach that adulterers have no acknowledgement of god? we cannot endure such blasphemies; wherefore let them be judged and punished." afterwards i saw that they called judges, whom they requested to pass sentence of punishment upon them: but the judges said, "this is no part of our jurisdiction; for the point in question is concerning the acknowledgement of god, and concerning sin, and thus concerning salvation and damnation; and sentence in these cases must come from heaven: but we will suggest a method to you, whereby you may know whether these three priests have preached truths. there are three places which we judges know, where such points are examined and revealed in a singular manner: one place is, where a way into heaven is open to all; but when they come into heaven, they themselves perceive their own quality as to the acknowledgement of god: the second is, where also a way is open into heaven; but no one can enter into that way unless he has heaven in himself: and the third is where there is a way to hell; and those who love infernal things enter that way of their own accord, because from delight. we judges charge all to go to those places who require judgement from us concerning heaven and hell." on hearing this, those who were gathered together, said, "let us go to those places;" and while they were going to the first, where a way into heaven is open to all, it suddenly became dark; wherefore some of them lighted torches and carried them before. the judges who were with them said, "this happens to all who go to the first place; as they approach, the fire of the torches becomes more dim, and is extinguished in that place by the light of heaven flowing in, which is a sign that they are there; the reason of this is, because at first heaven is closed to them, and afterwards is opened." they then came to that place, and when the torches were extinguished of themselves, they saw a way tending obliquely upwards into heaven: this those entered who were enraged against the priests; among the first, these who were determined adulterers, after them those who were confirmed adulterers; and as they ascended, the first cried out, "follow;" and those who followed cried out, "make haste;" and they pressed forward. after near an hour, when they were all within in the heavenly society, there appeared a gulph between them and the angels; and the light of heaven above the gulph flowing into their eyes, opened the interiors of their minds, whereby they were bound to speak as they interiorly thought; and then they were asked by the angels, whether they acknowledged that god is? the first, who were determined adulterers, replied, "what is god?" and they looked at each other, and said, "which of you has seen him?" the second, who were confirmed adulterers, said, "are not all things of nature? what is there above nature but the sun?" and instantly the angels said to them, "depart from us; now you yourselves perceive that you have no acknowledgement of god: when you descend, the interiors of your mind will be closed and its exteriors opened, and then you can speak against the interiors, and say that god is. be assured that as soon as a man actually becomes an adulterer, heaven is closed to him; and when heaven is closed, god is not acknowledged. hear the reason; every filthy principle of hell is from adulterers, and it stinks in heaven like putrid mire of the streets." on hearing these things they turned themselves and descended by three ways; and when they were below, the first and second groups conversing together said, "the priests have conquered there; but we know that we can speak of god equally with them: and when we say that he is, do we not acknowledge him? the interiors and exteriors of the mind, of which the angels told us, are devised fictions. but let us go to the second place pointed out by the judges, where a way is open into heaven to those who have heaven in themselves, thus to those who are about to come into heaven." when they were come thither, a voice proceeded from that heaven, saying, "shut the gates; there are adulterers at hand." then suddenly the gates were shut, and the keepers with sticks in their hands drove them away; and they delivered the three priests, against whom they had been tumultuous, from the hands of their keepers, and introduced them into heaven: and instantly, when the gates were open for the priests, there issued from heaven upon the rebels the delightful principle of marriage, which, from its being chaste and pure, almost deprived them of animation; wherefore, for fear of fainting away through suffocation, they hastened to the third place, concerning which the judges said, that thence there was a way to hell; and instantly there issued from thence the delight of adultery, whereby those who were either determined or confirmed adulterers, were so vivified, that they descended as it were dancing, and there like swine immersed themselves in filth. * * * * * on the lust of defloration. . the lusts treated of in the four following chapters, are not only lusts of adultery, but are more grievous than those since they exist only from adulteries, being taken to after adulteries are become loathsome; as the lust of defloration, which is first treated of, and which cannot previously exist with any one; in like manner the lust of varieties, the lust of violation, and the lust of seducing innocencies, which are afterwards treated of. they are called lusts, because according to the quantity and quality of the lust for those things, such and so great is their appropriation. in reference specifically to the lust of defloration, its infamous villany shall be made manifest from the following considerations: i. _the state of a maiden or undeflowered woman before and after marriage._ ii. _virginity is the crown of chastity, and the certificate of conjugial love._ iii. _defloration, without a view to marriage as an end, is the villany of a robber._ iv. _the lot of those who have confirmed themselves in the persuasion that the lust of defloration is not an evil of sin, after death is grievous._ we proceed to explain them. . i. the state of a maiden or undeflowered woman before and after marriage. what is the quality of the state of a maiden, before she has been instructed concerning the various particulars of the conjugial torch, has been made known to me by wives in the spiritual world, who have departed out of the natural world in their infancy, and have been educated in heaven. they said, that when they arrived at a marriageable state, from seeing conjugial partners they began to love the conjugial life, but only for the end that they might be called wives, and might maintain friendly and confidential society with one man; and also, that being removed from the house of obedience, they might become their own mistresses: they also said, that they thought of marriage only from the blessedness of mutual friendship and confidence with a husband, and not at all from the delight of any flame; but that their maiden state after marriage was changed into a new one, of which they previously had not the least knowledge: and they declared, that this was a state of the expansion of all things of the life of their body from first principles to last, to receive the gifts of their husband, and to unite these gifts to their own life, that thus they might become his love and his wife; and that this state commenced from the moment of defloration, and that after this the flame of love burned to the husband alone, and that they were sensible of the heavenly delights of that expansion; and further, that as each wife was introduced into this state by her own husband, and as it is from him, and thereby his in herself, it is altogether impossible for her to love any other than him alone. from this account it was made manifest what is the quality of the state of maidens before and after marriage in heaven. that the state of maidens and wives on earth, whose first attachments prove successful, is similar to this of the maidens in heaven, is no secret. what maiden can know that new state before she is in it? inquire, and you will hear. the case is different with those who before marriage catch allurement from being taught. . ii. virginity is the crown of chastity and the certificate of conjugial love. virginity is called the crown of chastity, because it crowns the chastity of marriage: it is also the badge of chastity; wherefore the bride at the nuptials wears a crown on her head: it is also a badge of the sanctity of marriage; for the bride, after the maiden flower, gives and devotes herself wholly to the bridegroom, at that time the husband, and the husband in his turn gives and devotes himself wholly to the bride, at that time the wife. virginity is also called the certificate of conjugial love, because a certificate has relation to a covenant; and the covenant is, that love may unite them into one man, or into one flesh. the men themselves also before marriage regard the virginity of the bride as a crown of her chastity, and as a certificate of conjugial love, and as the very dainty from which the delights of that love are about to commence and to be perpetuated. from these and the foregoing considerations, it is manifest, that after the zone is taken away, and the virginity is sipped, a maiden becomes a wife, and if not a wife, she becomes a harlot; for the new state into which she is then introduced, is a state of love for her husband, and if not for her husband, it is a state of lust. . iii. defloration, without a view to marriage as an end, is the villany of a robber. some adulterers are impelled by the cupidity of deflowering maidens, and thence also of deflowering young girls in their state of innocence: the enticements offered are either persuasions suggested by pimps, or presents made by the men, or promises of marriage; and those men after defloration leave them, and continually seek for others: moreover, they are not delighted with the objects they have left, but with a continual supply of new ones; and this lust increases even till it becomes the chief of the delights of their flesh. they add also to the above this abominable deed, that by various cunning artifices they entice maidens about to be married or immediately after marriage, to offer them the first-fruits of marriage, which also they thus filthily defile. i have heard also, that when that heat with its potency has failed, they glory in the number of virginities, as in so many golden fleeces of jason. this villany, which is that of committing a rape, since it was begun in an age of strength, and afterwards confirmed by boastings, remains rooted in, and thereby infixed after death. what the quality of this villany is, appears from what was said above, that virginity is the crown of chastity, the certificate of future conjugial love, and that a maiden devotes her soul and life to him to whom she devotes it; conjugial friendship and the confidence thereof are also founded upon it. a woman likewise, deflowered by a man of the above description, after this door of conjugial love is broken through, loses all shame, and becomes a harlot, which is likewise to be imputed to the robber as the cause. such robbers, if, after having run through a course of lewdness and profanation of chastity, they apply their minds (_animus_) to marriage, have no other object in their mind (_mens_) than the virginity of her who is to be their married partner; and when they have attained this object, they loathe both bed and chamber, yea also the whole female sex, except young girls: and whereas such are violators of marriage, and despisers of the female sex, and thereby spiritual robbers, it is evident that the divine nemesis pursues them. . iv. the lot of those who have confirmed themselves in the persuasion that the lust of defloration is not an evil of sin, after death is grievous. their lot is this: after they have passed the first time of their stay in the spiritual world, which is a time of modesty and morality, because spent in company with angelic spirits, they are next, from their externals, led into their internals, and in this case into the concupiscences with which they had been ensnared in the world, and the angelic spirits into theirs, to the intent that it may appear in what degree they had been ensnared; and if a lesser degree, that after they have been let into them, they may be let out again, and may be covered with shame. but those who had been principled in this malignant lust to such a degree as to be made sensible of its eminent delight, and to make a boast of those thefts as of the choicest spoils, do not suffer themselves to be drawn away from it; wherefore they are let into their freedom, and then they instantly wander about, and inquire after brothels, and also enter them when they are pointed out; (these brothels are on the sides of hell:) but when they meet with none but prostitutes there, they go away, and inquire where there are maidens; and then they are carried to harlots, who by phantasy can assume supereminent beauty, and a florid girlish complexion, and boast themselves of being maidens; and on seeing these they burn with desire towards them as they did in the world: wherefore they bargain with them; but when they are about to enjoy the bargain, the phantasy induced from heaven is taken away, and then those pretended maidens appear in their own deformity, monstrous and dark, to whom nevertheless they are compelled to cleave for a time: those harlots are called sirens. but if by such fascinations they do not suffer themselves to be draw away from that wild lust, they are cast down into the hell lying to the south and west, beneath the hell of the crafty courtezans, and there they are associated with their companions. i have also been permitted to see them in that hell, and have been told that many of noble descent, and the more opulent, are therein; but as they had been such in the world, all remembrance of their descent and of the dignity derived from their opulence is taken from them, and a persuasion is induced on them that they have been vile slaves, and thence were unworthy of all honor. among themselves indeed they appear as men: but when seen by others, who are allowed to look in thither, they appear as apes, with a stern look instead of a courteous one, and a horrid countenance instead of one of pleasantry. they walk with their loins contracted, and thereby bent, the upper part of the body hanging forward in front, as if they were ready to fall, and they emit a disagreeable smell. they loathe the sex, and turn away from those they see; for they have no desire towards them. such they appear when seen near at hand; but when viewed from afar, they appear like dogs of indulgences, or whelps of delight; and there is also heard somewhat like barking in the tone of their speech. * * * * * on the lust of varieties. . the lust of varieties here treated of, does not mean the lust of fornication, which was treated of above in its proper chapter: the latter lust, notwithstanding its being usually promiscuous and vague, still does not occasion the lust of varieties, unless when it is immoderate, and the fornicator looks to number, and boasts thereof from a principle of cupidity. this idea causes a beginning of this lust; but what its quality is as it advances, cannot be distinctly perceived, unless in some such series as the following: i. _by the lust of varieties is meant the entirely dissolute lust of adultery._ ii. _that lust is love and at the same time loathing in regard to the sex._ iii. _that lust altogether annihilates conjugial love appertaining to itself._ iv. _the lot of those (who have been addicted to that lust), after death, is miserable, since they have not the inmost principle of life._ we proceed to an explanation of each article. . i. by the lust of varieties is meant the entirely dissolute lust of adultery. this lust insinuates itself with those who in youth have relaxed the bonds of modesty, and have had opportunities of association with many loose women, especially if they have not wanted the means of satisfying their pecuniary demands. they implant and root this lust in themselves by immoderate and unlimited adulteries, and by shameless thoughts concerning the love of the female sex, and by confirming themselves in the idea that adulteries are not evils, and not at all sins. this lust increases with them as it advances, so much so that they desire all the women in the world, and wish for whole troops, and a fresh one every day. whereas this love separates itself from the common love of the sex implanted in every man, and altogether from the love of one of the sex, which is conjugial love, and inserts itself into the exteriors of the heart as a delight of love separate from those loves, and yet derived from them; therefore it is so thoroughly rooted in the cuticles, that it remains in the touch when the powers are decayed. persons addicted to this lust make light of adulteries; wherefore they think of the whole female sex as of a common harlot, and of marriage as of a common harlotry, and thereby mix immodesty in modesty, and from the mixture grow insane. from these considerations it is evident what is here meant by the lust of varieties, that it is the lust of entirely dissolute adultery. . ii. that lust is love and at the same time loathing in regard to the sex. persons addicted to that lust have a love for the sex, because they derive variety from the sex; and they have a loathing for the sex, because after enjoying a woman they reject her and lust after others. this obscene lust burns towards a fresh woman, and after burning, it grows cold towards her; and cold is loathing. that this lust is love and at the same time loathing in regard to the sex, may be illustrated as follows: set on the left side a company of the women whom they have enjoyed, and on the right side a company of those whom they have not; would not they look at the latter company from love, but at the former from loathing? and yet each company is the sex. . iii. that lust altogether annihilates conjugial love appertaining to itself. the reason of this is, because that lust is altogether opposite to conjugial love, and so opposite, that it not only rends it asunder, but as it were grinds it to powder, and thereby annihilates it: for conjugial love is confined to one of the sex; whereas that lust does not stop at one, but within an hour or a day is as intensely cold as it was before hot towards her; and since cold is loathing, the latter by forced cohabitation and dwelling together is so accumulated as to become nauseous, and thus conjugial love is consumed to such a degree that nothing of it is left. from these considerations it may be seen, that this lust is fatal to conjugial love; and as conjugial love constitutes the inmost principle of life with man, that it is fatal to his life; and that that lust, by successive interceptions and closings of the interiors of the mind, at length becomes cuticular, and thus merely alluring; while the faculty of understanding or rationality still remains. . iv. the lot of those (who have been addicted to that lust) after death is miserable, since they have not the inmost principle of life. every one has excellence of life according to his conjugial love; for that excellence conjoins itself with the life of the wife, and by conjunction exalts itself; but as with those of whom we are speaking there does not remain the least principle of conjugial love, and consequently not anything of the inmost principle of life, therefore their lot after death is miserable. after passing a certain period of time in their externals, in which they converse rationally and act civilly, they are let into their internals, and in this case into a similar lust and its delights, in the same degree as in the world: for every one after death is let into the same state of life which he had appropriated to himself, to the intent that he may be withdrawn from it; for no one can be withdrawn from this evil, unless he has first been led into it; if he were not to be led into it, the evil would conceal itself, and defile the interiors of the mind, and spread itself as a plague, and would next burst through all barriers and destroy the external principles of the body. for this end there are opened to them brothels, which are on the side of hell, where there are harlots with whom they have an opportunity of varying their lusts; but this is granted with the restriction to one harlot in a day, and under a penalty in case of communication with more than one on the same day. afterwards, when from examination it appears that that lust is so inbred that they cannot be withdrawn from it, they are conveyed to a certain place which is next above the hell assigned for them, and then they appear to themselves as if they fall into a swoon, and to others as if they fall down with the face upward; and also the ground beneath their backs is actually opened, and they are absorbed, and sink down into hell among their like; thus they are gathered to their own. i have been permitted to see them there, and likewise to converse with them. among themselves they appear as men, which is granted them lest they should be a terror to their companions; but at a certain distance they seem to have white faces consisting only of skin, and this because they have no spiritual life in them, which every one has according to the conjugial principle sown in him. their speech is dry, parched, and sorrowful: when they are hungry, they lament; and their lamentations are heard as a peculiar clashing noise. their garments are tattered, and their lower garments are drawn above the belly round about the breast; because they have no loins, but their ankles commence from the region of the bottom of the belly: the reason of this is, because the loins with men (_homines_) correspond to conjugial love, and they are void of this love. they said that they loathe the sex on account of their having no potency. nevertheless, among themselves they can reason as from rationality; but since they are cutaneous, they reason from the fallacies of the senses. this hell is in the western quarter towards the north. these same persons, when seen from afar, appear not as men or as monsters, but as frozen substances. it is however to be observed, that those become of this description who have indulged in the above lust to such a degree as to rend and annihilate in themselves the conjugial human principle. * * * * * on the lust of violation. . the lust of violation does not mean the lust of defloration, which is the violation of virginities, but not of maidens when it is effected from consent; whereas the lust of violation, which is here treated of, retreats in consequence of consent, and is sharpened in consequence of refusal; and it is the passion of violating all women whatever, who altogether refuse, and violently resist, whether they be maidens, or widows, or wives. persons addicted to this lust are like robbers and pirates, who are delighted with spoil and plunder, and not with what is given and justly acquired; and they are like malefactors, who covet what is disallowed and forbidden, and despise what is allowed and granted. these violators are altogether averse to consent, and are set on fire by resistance, which if they observe to be not internal, the ardor of their lust is instantly extinguished, as fire is by water thrown upon it. it is well known, that wives do not spontaneously submit themselves to the disposal of their husbands as to the ultimate effects of love, and that from prudence they resist as they would resist violation, to the end that they may take away from their husbands the cold arising from the consideration of enjoyments being cheap in consequence of being continually allowed, and also in consequence of an idea of lasciviousness on their part. these repugnancies, although they enkindle, still are not the causes, but only the beginnings of this lust: its cause is, that after conjugial love and also adulterous love have grown insipid by practice, they are willing, in order that those loves may be repaired, to be set on fire by absolute repugnances. this lust thus begun, afterwards increases, and as it increases it despises and breaks through all bounds of the love of the sex, and exterminates itself, and from a lascivious, corporeal, and fleshly love, becomes cartilaginous and bony; and then, from the periosteurns, which have an acute feeling, it becomes acute. nevertheless this lust is rare, because it exists only with those who had entered into the married state, and then had lived in the practice of adulteries until they became insipid. besides this natural cause of this lust, there is also a spiritual cause, of which something will be said in what follows. . the lot of persons of this character after death is as follows: these violators then separate themselves from those who are in the limited love of the sex, and altogether from those who are in conjugial love, thus from heaven: afterwards they are sent to the most cunning harlots, who not only by persuasion, but also by imitation perfectly like that of a stage-player, can feign and represent as if they were chastity itself. these harlots clearly discern those who are principled in the above lust: in their presence they speak of chastity and its value; and when the violator comes near and touches them, they are full of wrath, and fly away as through terror into a closet, where there is a couch and a bed, and slightly close the door after them, and recline themselves; and hence by their art they inspire the violator with an ungovernable desire of breaking down the door, of rushing in, and attacking them; and when this is effected, the harlot raising herself erect with the violator begins to fight with her hands and nails, tearing his face, rending his clothes, and with a furious voice crying to the harlots her companions, as to her female servants, for assistance, and opening the window with a loud outcry of thief, robber, and murderer; and when the violator is at hand she bemoans herself and weeps: and after violation she prostrates herself, howls, and calls out that she is undone, and at the same time threatens in a serious tone, that unless he expiates the violation by paying a considerable sum, she will attempt his destruction. while they are engaged in these venereal scenes, they appear at a distance like cats, which nearly in like manner before their conjunctions combat together, run forward, and make an outcry. after some such brothel-contests, they are taken away, and conveyed into a cavern, where they are forced to some work: but as their smell is offensive, in consequence of having rent asunder the conjugial principle, which is the chief jewel of human life, they are sent to the borders of the western quarters, where at a certain distance they appear lean, as if consisting of bones covered over with skin only; but when seen at a distance they appear like panthers. when i was permitted to see them nearer, i was surprised that some of them held books in their hands, and were reading; and i was told that this is the case, because in the world they said various things concerning the spiritual things of the church, and yet defiled them by adulteries, even to their extremities, and that such was the correspondence of this lust with the violation of spiritual marriage. but it is to be observed, that the instances of those who are principled in this lust are rare: certain it is, that women, because it is unbecoming for them to prostitute love, are repugnant thereto, and that repugnance enervates; nevertheless this is not from any lust of violation. * * * * * the lust of seducing innocencies. . the lust of seducing innocencies is neither the lust of defloration, nor the lust of violation, but is peculiar and singular by itself; it prevails more especially with the deceitful. the women, who appear to them as innocencies, are such as regard the evil of adultery as an enormous sin, and who therefore highly prize chastity, and at the same time piety: these women are the objects which set them on fire. in roman catholic countries there are maidens devoted to the monastic life; and because they believe these maidens to be pious innocencies above the rest of their sex, they view them as the dainties and delicacies of their lust. with a view of seducing either the latter or the former because they are deceitful, they first devise arts, and next, when they have well digested them, without receiving any check from shame, they practise them as from nature. these arts are principally pretences of innocence, love, chastity, and piety; by these and other cunning stratagems, they enter into the interior friendship of such women, and thence into their love, which they change from spiritual into natural by various persuasions and at the same time by insinuations, and afterwards into corporeal-carnal by irritations, and then they take possession of them at pleasure; and when they have attained this end, they rejoice in heart, and make a mock of those whom they have violated. . the lot of these seducers after death is sad, since such seduction is not only impiety, but also malignity. after they have passed through their first period in the spiritual world, which is in externals, wherein they excel many others in the elegance of their manners and the courteousness of their speech, they are reduced to another period of their life, which is in internals, wherein their lust is set at liberty, and commences its sport; and then they are first conveyed to women who had made vows of chastity, and with these they are examined as to the quality of their malignant concupiscence, to the intent that they may not be judged except on conviction: when they are made sensible of the chastity of those women, their deceit begins to act, and to attempt its crafty arts; but as this is to no purpose, they depart from them. they are afterwards introduced to women of genuine innocence; and when they attempt to deceive these in like manner, by virtue of a power given to those women, they are heavily fined; for they occasion in their hands and feet a grievous numbness; likewise in their necks, and at length make them feel as it were a swoon; and when they have inflicted this punishment, they run away and escape from the sufferers. after this there is a way opened to them to a certain company of courtezans, who have been versed in the art of cunningly feigning innocence: and these first expose them to laughter among themselves, and at length after various engagements suffer themselves to be violated. after some such scenes, a third period takes place, which is that of judgement; and in this case, being convicted, they sink down, and are gathered to their like in the hell which is in the northern quarter, and there they appear at a distance like weasels; but if they have allured by deceit, they are conveyed down from this hell to that of the deceitful, which is in the western quarter at a depth to the back; in this hell they appear at a distance like serpents of various kinds; and the most deceitful like vipers: but in the hell into which i was permitted to look, they appeared to me as if they were ghastly pale, with faces of chalk: and as they are mere concupiscences, they do not like to speak: and if they do speak, they only mutter and stammer various things, which are understood by none but their companions who are near them; but presently, as they sit or stand, they make themselves unseen, and fly about in the cavern like phantoms; for on this occasion they are in phantasy, and phantasy appears to fly: after flying they rest themselves, and then, what is wonderful, one does not know another; the cause of this is, because they are principled in deceit, and deceit does not believe another, and thereby withdraws itself. when they are made sensible of any thing proceeding from conjugial love, they fly away into hiding places and conceal themselves. they are also void of all love of the sex, and are real impotencies, and are called infernal genii. * * * * * on the correspondence of adulteries with the violation of spiritual marriage. . i should here say something, in the way of preface, concerning correspondence; but the subject does not properly belong to the present work. the nature and meaning of correspondence may be seen in a brief summary above, n. , and n. ; and fully in the apocalypse revealed, from beginning to end, that it is between the natural sense of the word and the spiritual sense. that in the word there is a natural and a spiritual sense, and a correspondence between them, has been demonstrated in the doctrine of the new jerusalem concerning the sacred scripture, and especially, n. - . . the spiritual marriage means the marriage of the lord and the church, spoken of above, n. - ; and hence also the marriage of good and truth, likewise spoken of above, n. - ; and as this marriage of the lord and the church, and the consequent marriage of good and truth, is in everything of the word, it is the violation of this which is here meant by the violation of the spiritual marriage; for the church is from the word, and the word is the lord: the lord is the word, because he is divine good and divine truth therein. that the word is that marriage, may be seen fully confirmed in the doctrine of the new jerusalem concerning the sacred scripture, n. - . . since therefore the violation of the spiritual marriage is the violation of the word, it is evident that this violation is the adulteration of good and the falsification of truth, for the spiritual marriage is the marriage of good and truth; whence it follows, that when the good of the word is adulterated, and its truth falsified, the above marriage is violated. how this violation is effected, and by whom, is in some measure evident from what follows. . above, in treating of the marriage of the lord and the church, n. , and the following numbers, and in treating of the marriage of good and truth, n. , and the following numbers, it was shewn, that that marriage corresponds to marriages in the world: hence it follows, that the violation of that marriage corresponds to whoredoms and adulteries. that this is the case, is very manifest from the word itself, in that whoredoms and adulteries there signify the falsifications of truth and the adulterations of good, as may be plainly seen from numerous passages adduced out of the word in the apocalypse revealed, n. . . the word is violated by those in the christian church who adulterate its goods and truths; and those do this who separate truth from good and good from truth; also, who assume and confirm appearances of truth and fallacies for genuine truths; and likewise, who know truths of doctrine derived from the word, and live evil lives, not to mention other like cases. these violations of the word and the church correspond to the prohibited degrees, mentioned in levit, chap. xviii. . as the natural principle and the spiritual appertaining to every man (_homo_), cohere as soul and body, (for a man without the spiritual principle which flows into and vivifies his natural principle, is not a man), it hence follows, that whoever is in spiritual marriage is also in happy natural marriage; and on the contrary, that whoever is in spiritual adultery is also in natural adultery, and whoever is in natural adultery is also in spiritual adultery. now since all who are in hell are in the nuptial connection of evil and the false, and this is essential spiritual adultery; and all who are in heaven are in the marriage of good and truth, and this is essential marriage; therefore hell in the total is called adultery, and heaven in the total is called marriage. * * * * * . to the above shall be added this memorable relation. my sight being opened, i saw a shady forest, and therein a crowd of satyrs: the satyrs as to their breasts were rough and hairy, and as to their feet some were like calves, some like panthers, and some like wolves, and they had beasts' claws instead of toes. these were running to and fro like wild beasts, crying out, "where are the women?" and instantly i saw some harlots who were expecting them, and who in various ways were monstrous. the satyrs ran towards them, and laid hold of them, dragging them into a cavern, which was in the midst of the forest deep beneath the earth; and upon the ground round about the cavern lay a great serpent in spiral foldings, breathing poison into the cavern: in the branches of the forest above the serpent dismal birds of night croaked and screeched. but the satyrs and harlots did not see these things, because they were the correspondences of their lasciviousnesses, and therefore their usual appearances at a distance. afterwards they came out of the cavern, and entered a certain low cottage, which was a brothel; and then being separated from the harlots they talked together, and i listened; for conversation in the spiritual world may be heard by a distant person as if he was present, the extent of space in that world being only an appearance. they talked about marriages, nature, and religion. those who as to the feet appeared like calves, spoke concerning marriages, and said, "what are marriages but licit adulteries? and what is sweeter than adulterous hypocrisies, and the making fools of husbands?" at this the rest clapped their hands with a loud laugh. the satyrs who as to the feet appeared as panthers, spoke concerning nature, and said, "what is there but nature? what distinction is there between a man and a beast, except that a man can speak articulately and a beast sonorously? does not each derive life from heat, and understanding from light, by the operation of nature?" hereupon the rest exclaimed, "admirable! you speak from judgement." those who as to the feet appeared like wolves, spoke concerning religion, saying, "what is god or a divine principle, but the inmost principles of nature in action? what is religion but a device to catch and bind the vulgar?" hereupon the rest vociferated, "bravo!" after a few minutes they rushed forth, and in so doing they saw me at a distance looking attentively at them. being provoked at this, they ran out from the forest, and with a threatening countenance directed their course hastily towards me, and said, "what are you doing here, listening to our whispers?" i replied, "why should i not? what is to hinder me? you were only talking together:" and i related what i had heard from them. hereupon their minds (_animi_) were appeased, which was through fear lest their sentiments should be divulged; and then they began to speak modestly and to act bashfully; from which circumstance i knew that they were not of mean descent but of honorable birth; and then i told them, how i saw them in the forest as satyrs, twenty as calf-satyrs, six as panther-satyrs, and four as wolf-satyrs; they were thirty in number. they were surprised at this, because they saw themselves there as men, and nothing else, in like manner as they saw themselves here with me. i then taught them, that the reason of their so appearing was from their adulterous lust, and that this satyr-like form was a form of dissolute adultery, and not a form of a person. this happened, i said, because every evil concupiscence presents a likeness of itself in some form, which is not perceived by those who are in the concupiscence, but by those who are at a distance: i also said, "to convince you of it, send some from among you into that forest, and do you remain here, and look at them." they did so, and sent away two; and viewing them from near the above brothel-cottage, they saw them altogether as satyrs; and when they returned, they saluted those satyrs, and said, "oh what ridiculous figures!" while they were laughing, i jested a good deal with them, and told them that i had also seen adulterers as hogs; and then i recollected the fable of ulysses and the circe, how she sprinkled the companions and servants of ulysses with poisonous herbs, and touched them with a magic wand, and turned them into hogs,--perhaps into adulterers, because she could not by any art turn any one into a hog. after they had made themselves exceedingly merry on this and other like subjects, i asked them whether they then knew to what kingdoms in the world they had belonged? they said, they had belonged to various kingdoms, and they named italy, poland, germany, england, sweden; and i enquired, whether they had seen any one from holland of their party? and they said, not one. after this i gave the conversation a serious turn, and asked them, whether they had ever thought that adultery is sin? they replied, "what is sin? we do not know what it means." i then inquired, whether they ever remembered that adultery was contrary to the sixth commandment of the decalogue. [footnote: according to the division of the commandments adopted by the church of england, it is the _seventh_ that is here referred to.] they replied, "what is the decalogue? is not it the catechism? what have we men to do with that childish pamphlet?" i asked them, whether they had ever thought at all about hell. they replied, "who ever came up thence to give us information?" i asked, whether they had ever thought at all in the world about a life after death. they said, "just as much as about the future life of beasts, and at times as about phantoms, which exhale from dead bodies and float about." i further asked them, whether they had heard any thing from the priests on any of these subjects. they replied, that they had attended only to the sound of their voices, and not to the matter; and what is it? being astonished at these answers, i said to them, "turn your faces, and direct your eyes to the midst of the forest, where the cavern is in which you have been;" and they turned themselves, and saw that great serpent around the cavern in spiral foldings, breathing poison, and also the doleful birds in the branches over the serpents. i then asked them, "what do you see?" but being much terrified, they did not answer; and i said, "do you see the dreadful sight? know then that this is a representative of adultery in the baseness of its lust." suddenly at that instant an angel presented himself, who was a priest, and opened the hell in the western quarter into which such spirits are at length collected; and he said, "look thither:" and they saw that firy lake, and knew there some of their friends in the world, who invited them to themselves. having seen and heard these things, they turned themselves away, and rushed out of my sight, and retired from the forest; but i observed their steps, that they only pretended to retire, and that by winding ways they returned into the forest. . after this i returned home, and the next day, from a recollection of these sad scenes, i looked to the same forest, and saw that it had disappeared, and in its place there was a sandy plain, and in the midst thereof a lake, in which were some red serpents. but some weeks after when i was looking thither again, i saw on its right side some fallow land, and upon it some husbandmen; and again, after some weeks i saw springing out of that fallow land some tilled land surrounded with shrubs; and i then heard a voice from heaven, "enter into your chamber, and shut the door, and apply to the work begun on the apocalypse, and finish it within two years." * * * * * on the imputation of each love, adulterous and conjugial. . the lord saith, judge not, that ye be not condemned, matt. vii. ; which cannot in any wise mean judgement respecting any one's moral and civil life in the world, but respecting his spiritual and celestial life. who does not see, that unless a man was allowed to judge respecting the moral life of those who live with him in the world, society would perish? what would society be if there were no public judicature, and if every one did not exercise his judgement respecting another? but to judge what is the quality of the interior mind, or soul, thus what is the quality of any one's spiritual state, and thence what his lot is after death, is not allowed; for that is known only to the lord: neither does the lord reveal this till after the person's decease, to the intent that every one may act freely in whatever he does, and thereby that good or evil may be from him, and thus be in him, and that thence he may live to himself and live his own to eternity. the reason why the interiors of the mind, which are kept hid in the world, are revealed after death is, because this is of importance and advantage to the societies into which the man then comes; for in them all are spiritual. that those interiors are then revealed, is plain from these words of the lord: _there is nothing concealed, which shall not be revealed, or hidden, which shall not be known: therefore whatsoever things ye have said in darkness, shall be heard in light: and that which ye have spoken into the ear in closets shall be preached on the house-tops_, luke xii. , . a common judgement, as this for instance,--"if you are such in internals as you appear to be in externals, you will be saved or condemned," is allowed; but a particular judgement, as this, for instance,--"you are such in internals, therefore you will be saved or condemned," is not allowed. judgement concerning the spiritual life of a man, or the internal life of the soul, is meant by the imputation which is here treated of. can any human being know and decide who is in heart an adulterer, and who a conjugial partner? and yet the thoughts of the heart, which are the purposes of the will, judge every one. but we will explain this subject in the following order: i. _the evil in which every one is principled is imputed to him after death; and so also the good._ ii. _the transference of the good of one person into another is impossible._ iii. _imputation, if by it is meant such transference, is a frivolous term._ iv. _evil is imputed to every one according to the quality of his will and his understanding; in like manner good._ v. _thus adulterous love is imputed to every one._ vi. _in like manner conjugial love._ we proceed to the explanation of each article. . i. the evil in which every one is principled, is imputed to him after death; and so also the good. to make this proposition in some degree evident, it shall be considered according to the following arrangement: . that every one has a life peculiar to himself. . that every one's life remains with him after death. . that to an evil person is then imputed the evil of his life, and to a good person the good of his life. as to the first point,--that everyone has a life peculiar to himself, thus distinct from that of another, it is well known; for there is a perpetual variety, and there is not any thing the same as another, consequently everyone has his own peculiar principle. this is evident from men's faces, the faces of no two persons being absolutely alike, nor can there be two alike to eternity: the reason of this is, because there are no two minds (_animi_) alike, and faces are derived from minds; for the face, as it is said, is a type of the mind, and the mind derives its origin and form from the life. unless a man (_homo_) had a life peculiar to himself, as he has a mind and a face peculiar to himself, he would not have any life after death, separate from that of another; yea, neither would there be a heaven, for heaven consists of perpetual varieties; its form is derived solely from the varieties of souls and minds arranged into such an order as to make a one; and they make a one from the one, whose life is in every thing therein as the soul is in a man: unless this was the case, heaven would be dispersed, because form would be dissolved. the one from whom all things have life, and from whom form coheres, is the lord. in general every form consists of various things, and is such as is their harmonic co-ordination and arrangement to a one: such is the human form; and hence it is that a man, consisting of so many members, viscera, and organs, is not sensible of any thing in himself and from himself but as of a one. as to the second point,--that every one's life remains with him after death, it is known in the church from these passages of the word: _the son of man will come and will then render to every one according to his deeds_, matt. xvi. . _i saw the books open; and all were judged according to their works_, rev. xx. . _in the day of judgement god will render to every one according to his works_, rom. ii. ; cor. v. . the works, according to which it will be rendered to every one, are the life, because the life does the works, and they are according to the life. as i have been permitted for several years to be associated with angels, and to converse with the deceased, i can testify for certain, that every one is then examined as to the quality of the life which he has led, and that the life which he has contracted in the world abides with him to eternity. i have conversed with those who lived ages ago, whose life i have been acquainted with from history, and i have known it to be like the description given of it; and i have heard from the angels, that no one's life after death can be changed, because it is organized according to his love and consequent works; and that if it were changed the organization would be rent asunder, which cannot be done in any case; also that a change of organization can only be effected in the material body, and is utterly impossible in the spiritual body, after the former has been laid aside. in regard to the third point--that to an evil person is then imputed the evil of his life, and to a good person the good of his life, it is to be observed, that the imputation of evil is not accusation, inculpation, and judication, as in the world, but evil itself produces this effect; for the evil freely separate themselves from the good, since they cannot remain together. the delights of the love of evil are different from those of the love of good; and delights exhale from every one, as odors do from every vegetable in the world; for they are not absorbed and concealed by the material body as heretofore, but flow freely from their loves into the spiritual _aura_; and as evil is there made sensible as in its odor, it is in this which accuses, fixes blame, and judges,--not before any judge, but before every one who is principled in good; and this is what is meant by imputation. moreover, an evil person chooses companions with whom he may live in his delights; and because he is averse from the delight of good, he spontaneously betakes himself to his own in hell. the imputation of good is effected in like manner, and takes place with those who in the world have acknowledged that all good in them is from the lord, and nothing from themselves. these, after they have been prepared, are let into the interior delights of good, and then there is opened to them a way into heaven, to the society where its homogeneous delights are: this is effected by the lord. . ii. the transference of the good of one person to another is impossible. the evidence of this proposition may also be seen from the following points: . that every man is born in evil. . that he is led into good by regeneration from the lord. . that this is effected by a life according to his precepts. . wherefore good, when it is thus implanted, cannot be transferred. the first point,--that every man is born in evil, is well known in the church. it is generally said that this evil is derived hereditarily from adam; but it is from a man's parents. every one derives from his parents his peculiar temper, which is his inclination. that this is the case, is evinced both by reason and experience; for the likenesses of parents as to face, genius, and manners, appear extant in their immediate offspring and in their posterity; hence families are known by many, and a judgement is also formed concerning their minds (_animi_); wherefore the evils which parents themselves have contracted, and which they have transmitted to their offspring, are the evils in which men are born. the reason why it is believed that the guilt of adam is inscribed on all the human race, is, because few reflect upon any evil with themselves, and thence know it; wherefore they suppose that it is so deeply hid as to appear only in the sight of god. in regard to the second point,--that a man is led into good by regeneration from the lord, it is to be observed that there is such a thing as regeneration, and that unless a person be regenerated, he cannot enter into heaven, as appears clearly from the lord's words in john iii. , . the regeneration consists in purification from evils, and thereby renovation of life, cannot be unknown in the christian world; for reason also sees this when it acknowledges that every one is born in evil, and that evil cannot be washed and wiped away like filth by soap and water, but by repentance. as to the third point,--that a man is led into good by the lord, by a life according to his precepts, it is plain from this consideration, that there are live precepts of regeneration; see above, n. ; among which are these,--that evils are to be shunned, because they are of and from the devil, and that goods are to be done, because they are of and from god; and that men ought to go to the lord, in order that he may lead them to do the latter. let any one consult himself and consider, whether a man derives good from any other source; and if he has not good, he has not salvation. in regard to the fourth point,--that good, when it is thus implanted, cannot be transferred, (that is, the good of one person into another,) it is evident from what has been already said; for from that it follows, that a man by regeneration is made altogether new as to his spirit, which is effected by a life according to the lord's precepts. who does not see that this renewing can only be effected from time to time, in nearly the same manner as a tree successively takes root and grows from a seed, and is perfected? those who have other perceptions of regeneration, do not know any thing about the state of man, or about evil and good, which two are altogether opposite, and that good can only be implanted so far as evil is removed; nor do they know, that so long as any one is in evil, he is averse from the good which in itself is good; wherefore if the good of one should be transferred into any one who is in evil, it would be as if a lamb should be cast before a wolf, or as if a pearl should be tied to a swine's snout: from which considerations it is evident, that any such transfer is impossible. . iii. imputation, if by it is meant such transference, is a frivolous term. that the evil in which every one is principled, is imputed to him after death, and so also the good, was proved above, n. ; hence it is evident what is meant by imputation: but if by imputation is meant the tranference of good into any one that is in evil, it is a frivolous term, because any such transference is impossible, as was also proved above, in . in the world, merits may as it were be transferred by men; that is, good may be done to children for the sake of their parents, or to the friends of any client out of favor; but the good of merit cannot be inscribed on their souls, but only be externally adjoined. the like is not possible with men as to their spiritual life: this, as was shewn above, must be implanted; and if it is not implanted by a life according to the lord's precepts, as above-mentioned, a man remains in the evil in which he was born. before such implantation, it is impossible for any good to reach him, or if it reaches him, it is instantly struck back and rebounds like an elastic ball falling upon a rock, or it is absorbed like a diamond thrown into a bog. a man not reformed as to the spirit, is like a panther or an owl, and may be compared to a bramble and a nettle; but a man regenerated is like a sheep or a dove, and may be compared to an olive and a vine. consider, i pray, if you are so disposed, how can a man-panther be changed into a man-sheep, or an owl into a dove, or a bramble into an olive, or a nettle into a vine, by any imputation, if by it is meant transference? in order that such a change may be effected is it not necessary that the ferine principle of the panther and the owl, or the noxious principle of the bramble and the nettle, be first taken away, and thereby the truly human and innocent principle be implanted? how this is effected, the lord also teaches in john, chap. xv. - . . iv. evil or good is imputed to every one according to the quality of his will and his understanding. it is well known that there are two principles which make a man's life, the will and the understanding; and that all things which a man does, are done from his will and his understanding; and that without these acting principles he would have neither action nor speech other than as a machine; hence it is evident, that such as are a man's will and understanding, such is the man; and further, that a man's action in itself is such as is the affection of his will which produces it, and that a man's conversation in itself is such as is the thought of his understanding which produces it: wherefore several men may act and speak alike, and yet they act and speak differently: one from a depraved will and thought, the other from an upright will and thought. from these considerations it is evident that by the deeds or works according to which every one will be judged, are meant the will and the understanding; consequently that evil works means the works of an evil will, whatever has been their appearance in externals, and that good works mean the works of a good will, although in externals they have appeared like the works done by an evil man. all things which are done from a man's interior will, are done from purpose, since that will proposes to itself what it acts by its intention; and all things which are done from the understanding, are done from confirmation, since the understanding confirms. from these considerations it may appear, that evil or good is imputed to every one according to the quality of his will therein, and of his understanding concerning them. these observations i am allowed to confirm by the following relation: in the spiritual world i have met several who in the natural world had lived like others, being sumptuous in their dress, giving costly entertainments, frequenting the exhibitions of the stage, jesting loosely on love topics, with other similar practices; and yet the angels accounted those things as evils of sin to some, and not to others, declaring the latter guiltless, and the former guilty. being questioned why they did so, when all had done alike, they replied that they regard all from their purpose, intention, or end, and distinguish accordingly; and that therefore they excuse or condemn those whom the end either excuses or condemns, since an end of good influences all in heaven, and an end of evil all in hell. . to the above i will add the following observation: it is said in the church that no one can fulfil the law, and the less so, because he that offends against one precept of the decalogue, offends against all: but this form of speaking is not such as it sounds; for it is to be understood thus, that he who, from purpose or confirmation, acts against one precept, acts against the rest; since to act so from purpose or confirmation is to deny that it is a sin; and he who denies that it is a sin, makes nothing of acting against the rest of the precepts. who does not know, that he that is an adulterer is not on that account a murderer, a thief, and a false witness, or wishes to be so? but he that is a determined and confirmed adulterer makes no account of anything respecting religion, thus neither does he make any account of murder, theft, and false witness; and he abstains from these evils, not because they are sins, but because he is afraid of the law and of the loss of reputation. that determined and confirmed adulterers make no account of the holy things of the church and religion, may be seen above, n. - , and in the two memorable relations, n. , , : it is a similar case, if any one, from purpose or confirmation, acts against any other precept of the decalogue; he also acts against the rest because he does not regard anything as sin. . the case is similar with those who are principled in good from the lord: if these from will and understanding, or from purpose and confirmation, abstain from any one evil because it is a sin, they abstain from all evil, and the more so still if they abstain from several; for as soon as any one, from purpose or confirmation, abstains from any evil because it is a sin, he is kept by the lord in the purpose of abstaining from the rest: wherefore, if unwittingly, or from any prevailing bodily concupiscence, he does evil, still this is not imputed to him, because he did not purpose it to himself, and does not confirm it with himself. a man comes into this purpose, if once or twice in a year he examines himself, and repents of the evils which he discovers in himself: it is otherwise with him who never examines himself. from these considerations it evidently appears to whom sin is not imputed, and to whom it is. . v. thus adulterous love is imputed to every one;--not according to his deeds, such as they appear externally before men, nor either such as they appear before a judge, but such as they appear internally before the lord, and from him before the angels, which is according to the quality of a man's will and of his understanding therein. various circumstances exist in the world which mitigate and excuse crimes, also which aggravate and charge them upon the perpetrator: nevertheless, imputations after death take place, not according to the external circumstances of the deed, but according to the internal circumstances of the mind; and these are viewed according to the state of the church with every one: as for example, a man impious in will and understanding, that is, who has no fear of god or love of his neighbour, and consequently no reverence for any sanctity of the church,--he, after death, becomes guilty of all the crimes which he did in the body; nor is there any remembrance of his good actions, since his heart, from whence as from a fountain those things flowed, was averse from heaven, and turned to hell; and deeds flow from the place of the habitation of every one's heart. in order that this may be understood, i will mention an arcanum: heaven is distinguished into innumerable societies, and so is hell, from an opposite principle; and the mind of every man, according to his will and consequent understanding, actually dwells in one society, and intends and thinks like those who compose the society. if the mind be in any society of heaven, it then intends and thinks like those who compose that society; if it be in any society of hell, it intends and thinks like those who are in the same society; but so long as a man lives in the world, so long he wanders from one society to another, according to the changes of the affections of his will and of the consequent thoughts of his mind: but after death his wanderings are collected into one, and a place is accordingly allotted him, in hell if he is evil, in heaven if he is good. now since all in hell are influenced by a will of evil, all there are viewed from that will; and since all in heaven are influenced by will of good, all there are viewed from that will; wherefore imputations after death take place according to the quality of every one's will and understanding. the case is similar with adulteries, whether they be fornications, whoredoms, concubinages, or adulteries; for those things are imputed to every one, not according to the deeds themselves, but according to the state of the mind in the deeds; for deeds follow the body into the tomb, whereas the mind rises again. . vi. thus conjugial love is imputed to every one. there are marriages in which conjugial love does not appear, and yet is: and there are marriages in which conjugial love appears and yet is not: there are several causes in both cases, which may be known in part from what was related concerning love truly conjugial, n. - ; concerning the cause of colds and separations, n. - ; and concerning the causes of apparent love and friendship in marriages, n. - : but external appearances decide nothing concerning imputation; the only thing which decides is the conjugial principle, which abides in every one's will, and is guarded, in whatever state of marriage a man is. the conjugial principle is like a scale, in which that love is weighed; for the conjugial principle of one man with one wife is the storehouse of human life, and the reservoir of the christian religion, as was shewn above, n. , ; and this being the case, it is possible that that love may exist with one married partner, and not at the same time with the other; and that it may lie deeper hid than that the man (_homo_) himself can observe any thing concerning it; and also it may be inscribed in a successive progress of the life. the reason of this is, because that love in its progress accompanies religion, and religion, as it is the marriage of the lord and the church, is the beginning and inoculation of that love; wherefore conjugial love is imputed to every one after death according to his spiritual rational life; and for him to whom that love is imputed, a marriage in heaven is provided after his decease, whatever has been his marriage in the world. from these considerations then results this short concluding observation, that no inference is to be drawn concerning any one, from appearances of marriages or of adulteries, whereby to decide that he has conjugial love, or not; wherefore _judge not, lest ye be condemned_. matt. vii. . * * * * * . to the above i will add the following memorable relation. i was once raised, as to my spirit, into one of the societies of the angelic heaven; and instantly some of the wise men of the society came to me, and said, "what news from the earth?" i replied, "this is new; the lord has revealed arcana which in point of excellence surpass all the arcana heretofore revealed since the beginning of the church." they asked, "what are they?" i said, "the following: . that in every part of the word there is a spiritual sense corresponding to the natural sense; and that by means of the former sense the men of the church have conjunction with the lord and consociation with angels; and that the sanctity of the word resides therein. . that the correspondences are discovered of which the spiritual sense of the word consists." the angels asked, "have the inhabitants of the earth had no previous knowledge respecting correspondences?" i said, "none at all;" and that the doctrine of correspondences had been concealed for some thousands of years, ever since the time of job; and that with those who lived at that time, and before it, the science of correspondences was their chief science, whence they derived wisdom, because they derived knowledge respecting the spiritual things of heaven and the church; but that this science, on account of its being made idolatrous, was so extirpated and destroyed by the divine providence of the lord that no visible traces of it were left remaining; that nevertheless at this time it has been again discovered by the lord, in order that the men of the church may have conjunction with him, and consociation with the angels; which purposes are effected by the word, in which all things are correspondences. the angels rejoiced exceedingly to hear that it has pleased the lord to reveal this great arcanum, which had lain so deeply hid for some thousands of years; and they said it was done in order that the christian church, which is founded on the word, and is now at its end, may again revive and draw breath through heaven from the lord. they inquired whether by that science it is at this day discovered what are signified by baptism and the holy supper, which have heretofore given birth to so many various conjectures about their true meaning. i replied, that it is. . i said further, that a revelation has been made at this day by the lord concerning the life of man after death? the angels said, "what concerning the life after death? who does not know that a man lives after death?" i replied, "they know it, and they do not know it: they say that it is not the man that lives after death, but his soul, and that this lives a spirit; and the idea they have of a spirit is as of wind or ether, and that it does not live a man till after the day of the last judgement, at which time the corporeal parts, which had been left in the world, will be recollected and again fitted together into a body, notwithstanding their having been eaten by worms, mice, and fish; and that thus men will rise again." the angels said, "what a notion is this! who does not know that a man lives a man after death, with this difference alone, that he then lives a spiritual man, and that a spiritual man sees a spiritual man, as a material man sees a material man, and that they know no distinction, except that they are in a more perfect state?" . the angels inquired, "what do they know concerning our world, and concerning heaven and hell?" i said, "nothing at all; but at this day it has been revealed by the lord, what is the nature and quality of the world in which angels and spirits live, thus what is the quality of heaven and of hell; and further, that angels and spirits are in conjunction with men; besides many wonderful things respecting them." the angels were glad to hear that it has pleased the lord to reveal such things, that men may no longer be in doubt through ignorance respecting their immortality. . i further said, that at this day it has been revealed from the lord, that in your world there is a sun, different from that of our world, and that the sun of your world is pure love, and the sun of our world is pure fire; and that on this account, whatever proceeds from your sun, since it is pure love, partakes of life, and whatever proceeds from our sun, since it is pure fire, does not partake of life; and that hence is the difference between spiritual and natural, which difference, heretofore unknown, has been also revealed: hereby also is made known the source of the light which enlightens the human understanding with wisdom, and the source of the heat which kindles the human will with heat. . it has been further discovered, that there are three degrees of life, and that hence there are three heavens; and that the human mind is distinguished into those degrees, and that hence man (_homo_) corresponds to the three heavens. the angels said, "did not they know this heretofore?" i answered, "they were acquainted with a distinction of degrees in relation to greater and less, but not in relation to prior and posterior." . the angels inquired whether any other things have been revealed? i replied "several; namely, concerning the last judgement: concerning the lord, that he is god of heaven and earth; that god is one both in person and essence, in whom there is a divine trinity; and that he is the lord: also concerning the new church to be established by him, and concerning the doctrine of that church; concerning the sanctity of the sacred scripture; that the apocalypse also has been revealed, which could not be revealed even as to a single verse except by the lord; moreover concerning the inhabitants of the planets, and the earths in the universe; besides several memorable and wonderful relations from the spiritual world, whereby several things relating to wisdom have been revealed from heaven." . the angels were exceedingly rejoiced at this information; but they perceived that i was sorrowful, and asked the cause of my sorrow. i said, because the above arcana, at this day revealed by the lord, although in excellence and worth exceeding all the knowledges heretofore published, are yet considered on earth as of no value. the angels wondered at this, and besought the lord that they might be allowed to look down into the world: they did so, and lo! mere darkness was therein: and they were told, that those arcana should be written on a paper, which should be let down to the earth, and they would see a prodigy: and it was done so; and lo! the paper on which those arcana were written, was let down from heaven, and in its progress, while it was in the world of spirits, it shone as a bright star; but when it descended into the natural world, the light disappeared, and it was darkened in the degree to which it fell: and while it was let down by the angels in companies consisting of men of learning and erudition, both clergy and laity, there was heard a murmur from many, in which were these expressions, "what have we here? is it any thing or nothing? what matters it whether we know these things or not? are they not mere creatures of the brain?" and it appeared as if some of them took the paper and folded it, rolling and unrolling it with their fingers, that they might deface the writing; and it appeared as if some tore it in pieces, and some were desirous to trample it under their feet: but they were prevented by the lord from proceeding to such enormity, and charge was given to the angels to draw it back and secure it: and as the angels were affected with sadness, and thought with themselves how long this was to be the case, it was said, _for a time, and times, and half a time_, rev. xii. . . after this i conversed with the angels, informing them that somewhat further is revealed in the world by the lord. they asked, "what?" i said, "concerning love truly conjugial and its heavenly delights." the angels said, "who does not know that the delights of conjugial love exceed those of all other loves? and who cannot see, that into some love are collected all the blessednesses, satisfactions, and delights, which can possibly be conferred by the lord, and that the receptacle thereof is love truly conjugial, which is capable of receiving and perceiving them fully and sensibly?" i replied, "they do not know this, because they have not come to the lord, and lived according to his precepts, by shunning evils as sins and doing goods; and love truly conjugial with its delights is solely from the lord, and is given to those who live according to his precepts; thus it is given to those who are received into the lord's new church, which is meant in the apocalypse by the new jerusalem." to this i added, "i am in doubt whether in the world at this day they are willing to believe that this love in itself is a spiritual love, and hence grounded in religion, because they entertain only a corporeal idea respecting it." then they said to me, "write respecting it, and follow revelation; and afterwards the book written respecting it shall be sent down from us out of heaven, and we shall see whether the things contained in it are received; and at the same time whether they are willing to acknowledge, that that love is according to the state of religion with man, spiritual with the spiritual, natural with the natural, and merely carnal with adulterers." . after this i heard an outrageous murmur from below, and at the same time these words, "do miracles; and we will believe you." and i asked, "are not the things above-mentioned miracles?" answer was made, "they are not." i again asked, "what miracles then do you mean?" and it was said, "disclose and reveal things to come; and we will have faith." but i replied, "such disclosures and revelation are not granted from heaven; since in proportion as a man knows things to come, in the same proportion his reason and understanding, together with his wisdom and prudence, fall into an indolence of inexertion, grow torpid, and decay." again i asked, "what other miracles shall i do?" and a cry was made, "do such miracles as moses did in egypt." to this i answered, "possibly you may harden your hearts against them as pharaoh and the egyptians did." and reply was made, "we will not." but again i said, "assure me of a certainty, that you will not dance about a golden calf and adore it, as the posterity of jacob did within a month after they had seen the whole mount sinai on fire, and heard jehovah himself speaking out of the fire, thus after the greatest of all miracles;" (a golden calf in the spiritual sense denotes the pleasure of the flesh;) and reply was made from below, "we will not be like the posterity of jacob." but at that instant i heard it said to them from heaven, "if ye believe not moses and the prophets,--that is, the word of the lord, ye will not believe from miracles, any more than the sons of jacob did in the wilderness, nor any more than they believed when they saw with their own eyes the miracles done by the lord himself, while he was in the world." general index. part the first. preliminary relations respecting the joys of heaven and nuptials there, n. - . on marriages in heaven, n. - . a man lives a man after death, n. - . in this case a male is a male, and a female a female, n. , . every one's peculiar love remains with him after death, n. - . the love of the sex especially remains; and with those who go to heaven, which is the case with all who become spiritual here on earth, conjugial love remains, n. , . these things fully confirmed by ocular demonstration, n. . consequently there are marriages in heaven, n. . spiritual nuptials are to be understood by the lord's words, "after the resurrection they are not given in marriage," n. . on the state of married partners after death, n. - . the love of the sex remains with every man after death, according to its interior quality; that is, such as it had been in his interior will and thought in the world, n. , . conjugial love in like manner remains such as it has been anteriorly; that is, such as it had been in the man's interior will and thought in the world, n. . married partners most commonly meet after death, know each other, again associate, and for a time live together: this is the case in the first state, thus while they are in externals as in the world, n. *. but successively, as they put off their externals and enter into their internals, they perceive what had been the quality of their love and inclination for each other, and consequently whether they can live together or not, n. *. if they can live together, they remain married partners; but if they cannot, they separate, sometimes the husband from the wife, sometimes the wife from the husband, and sometimes each from the other, n. . in this case there is given to the man a suitable wife, and to the woman a suitable husband, n. . married pairs enjoy similar communications with each other as in the world, but more delightful and blessed, yet without prolification; in the place of which they experience spiritual prolification, which is that of love and wisdom, n. , . this is the case with those who go to heaven; but it is otherwise with those who go to hell, n. , . on love truly conjugial, n. - . there exists a love truly conjugial, which at this day is so rare, that it is not known what is its quality, and scarcely that it exists, n. , . this love originates in the marriage of good and truth, n. , . there is a correspondence of this love with the marriage of the lord and the church, n. , . this love, from its origin and correspondence, is celestial, spiritual, holy, pure, and clean, above every other love imparted by the lord to the angels of heaven and the men of the church, n. . it is also the foundation love of all celestial and spiritual loves, and thence of all natural loves, n. - . into this love are collected all joys and delights from first to last, n. , . none, however, come into this love, and can remain in it, but those who approach the lord, and love the truths of the church, and practise its goods, n. - . this love was the love of loves with the ancients, who lived in the golden, silver, and copper ages, n. . on the origin of conjugial love as grounded in the marriage of good and truth n. - . good and truth are the universals of creation, and thence are in all created things; but they are in created subjects according to the form of each, n. - . there is neither solitary good nor solitary truth; but in all cases they are conjoined, n. . there is the truth of good, and from this the good of truth; or truth grounded in good, and good grounded in that truth; and in those two principles is implanted from creation an inclination to join themselves together into a one, n. , . in the subjects of the animal kingdom, the truth of good, or truth grounded in good, is male (or masculine); and the good of that truth, or good grounded in that truth, is female (or feminine), n. , . from the influx of the marriage of good and truth from the lord, the love of the sex and conjugial love are derived, n. , . the love of the sex belongs to the external or natural man; and hence it is common to every animal, n. . but conjugial love belongs to the internal or spiritual man; and hence this love is peculiar to man, n. , . with man conjugial love is in the love of the sex as a gem in its matrix, n. . the love of the sex with man is not the origin of conjugial love, but its first rudiment; thus it is like an external natural principle, in which an internal spiritual principle is implanted, n. . during the implantation of conjugial love, the love of the sex inverts itself, and becomes the chaste love of the sex, n. . the male and the female were created to be the essential form of the marriage of good and truth, n. . married partners are that form in their inmost principles, and thence in what is derived from those principles, in proportion as the interiors of their minds are opened, n. , . on the marriage of the lord and the church, and its correspondence, n. - . the lord in the word is called the bridegroom and husband, and the church the bride and wife; and the conjunction of the lord with the church, and the reciprocal conjunction of the church with the lord, is called a marriage, n. . the lord is also called a father, and the church, a mother, n. , . the offspring derived from the lord as a husband and father, and from the church as a wife and mother, are all spiritual; and in the spiritual sense of the word are understood by sons and daughters, brothers and sisters, sons-in-law and daughters-in-law, and by other names of relations, n. . the spiritual offspring which are born from the lord's marriage with the church, are truths and goods; truths, from which are derived understanding, perception, and all thought; and goods, from which are derived love, charity, and all affection, n. . from the marriage of good and truth, which proceeds from the lord in the way of influx, man receives truth, and the lord conjoins good thereto; and thus the church is formed by the lord with man, n. - . the husband does not represent the lord, and the wife the church; because both together, the husband and the wife, constitute the church, n. . therefore there is not a correspondence of the husband with the lord, and of the wife with the church, in the marriages of the angels in the heavens, and of men on earth, n. . but there is a correspondence with conjugial love, semination, prolification, the love of infants, and similar things which exist in marriages and are derived from them, n. . the word is the medium of conjunction, because it is from the lord, and thereby is the lord, n. . the church is from the lord, and exists with those who come to him and live according to his precepts, n. . conjugial love is according to the state of the church, because it is according to the state of wisdom with man, n. . and as the church is from the lord, conjugial love is also from him, n. . on the chaste principle and the non-chaste, n. - . the chaste principle and the non-chaste are predicated only of marriages and of such things as relate to marriages, n. , . the chaste principle is predicated only of monogamical marriages, or of the marriage of one man with one wife, n. . the christian conjugial principle alone is chaste, n. . love truly conjugial is essential chastity, n. . all the delights of love truly conjugial, even the ultimate, are chaste, n. . with those who are made spiritual by the lord, conjugial love is more and more purified and rendered chaste, n. , . the chastity of marriage exists by a total renunciation of whoredoms from a principle of religion, n. - . chastity cannot be predicated of infants, or of boys and girls, or of young men and maidens before they feel in themselves a love of the sex, n. . chastity cannot be predicated of eunuchs so made, n. . chastity cannot be predicated of those who do not believe adulteries to be evils in regard to religion; and still less of those who do not believe them to be hurtful to society, n. . chastity cannot be predicated of those who abstain from adulteries only for various external reasons, n. . chastity cannot be predicated of those who believe marriages to be unchaste, n. . chastity cannot be predicated of those who have renounced marriage by vows of perpetual celibacy, unless there be and remain in them the love of a life truly conjugial, n. . a state of marriage is to be preferred to a state of celibacy, n. . on the conjunction of souls and minds by marriage, which is meant by the lord's words,--they are no longer two but one flesh, n. *- . from creation there is implanted in each sex a faculty and inclination, whereby they are able and willing to be joined together as it were into a one, n. . conjugial love conjoins two souls, and thence two minds, into a one, n. . the will of the wife conjoins itself with the understanding of the man, and thence the understanding of the man with the will of the wife, n. . the inclination to unite the man to herself is constant and perpetual with the wife, but inconstant and alternate with the man, n. . conjunction is inspired into the man from the wife according to her love, and is received by the man according to his wisdom, n. . this conjunction is effected successively from the first days of marriage; and with those who are principled in love truly conjugial, it is effected more and more thoroughly to eternity, n. . the conjunction of the wife with the rational wisdom of the husband is effected from within, but with his moral wisdom from without, n. - . for the sake of this conjunction as an end, the wife has a perception of the affections of her husband, and also the utmost prudence in moderating them, n. . wives conceal this perception with themselves, and hide it from their husbands for reasons of necessity, in order that conjugial love, friendship, and confidence, and thereby the blessedness of dwelling together, and the happiness of life may be secured, n. . this perception is the wisdom of the wife, and is not communicable to the man; neither is the rational wisdom of the man communicable to the wife, n. . the wife from a principle of love is continually thinking about the man's inclination to her, with the purpose of joining him to herself; it is otherwise with the man, n. . the wife conjoins herself to the man by applications to the desires of his will, n. . the wife is conjoined to her husband by the sphere of her life flowing from the love of him, n. . the wife is conjoined to the husband by the appropriation of the powers of his virtue; which however is effected according to their mutual spiritual love, n. . thus the wife receives in herself the image of her husband, and thence perceives, sees, and is sensible of his affections, n. . there are duties proper to the husband, and others proper to the wife; and the wife cannot enter into the duties proper to the husband, nor the husband into the duties proper to the wife, so as to perform them aright, n. , . these duties also, according to mutual aid, conjoin the two into a one, and at the same time constitute one house, n. . married partners, according to these conjunctions, become one man more and more, n. . those who are principled in love truly conjugial, are sensible of their being a united man, as it were one flesh, n. . love truly conjugial, considered in itself, is a union of souls, a conjunction of minds, and an endeavour towards conjunction in the bosoms, and thence in the body, n. . the states of this love are innocence, peace, tranquillity, inmost friendship, full confidence, and a mutual desire of mind and heart to do every good to each other; and the states derived from these are blessedness, satisfaction, delight, and pleasure; and from the eternal enjoyment of these is derived heavenly felicity, n. . these things can only exist in the marriage of one man with one wife, n. . on the change of the state of life which takes place with men and women by marriage, n. - the state of a man's life, from infancy even to the end of his life, and afterwards to eternity, is continually changing, n. . in like manner a man's internal form, which is that of his spirit, is continually changing n. . these changes differ in the case of men and of women; since men from creation are forms of knowledge, intelligence, and wisdom, and women are forms of the love of those principles as existing with men, n. . with men there is an elevation of the mind into superior light, and with women an elevation of the mind into superior heat; and the woman is made sensible of the delights of her heat in the man's light, n. , . with both men and women, the states of life before marriage are different from what they are afterwards, n. . with married partners the states of life after marriage are changed, and succeed each other according to the conjunctions of their minds by conjugial love, n. . marriage also induces other forms in the souls and minds of married partners, n. . the woman is actually formed into a wife, according to the description in the book of creation, n. . this formation is effected on the part of the wife by secret means: and this is meant by the woman's being created while the man slept, n. . this formation on the part of the wife, is effected by the conjunction of her own will with the internal will of the man, n. . the end herein is, that the will of both may become one, and that thus both may become one man, n. . this formation (on the part of the wife) is effected by an appropriation of the affections of the husband, n. . this formation (on the part of the wife) is effected by a reception of the propagations of the soul of the husband, with the delight arising from her desire to be the love of her husband's wisdom, n. . thus a maiden is formed into a wife, and a youth into a husband, n. . in the marriage of one man with one wife, between whom there exists love truly conjugial, the wife becomes more and more a wife, and the husband more and more a husband, n. . thus also their forms are successively perfected and ennobled from within, n. . children born of parents who are principled in love truly conjugial, derive from them the conjugial principle of good and truth, whence they have an inclination and faculty, if sons, to perceive the things relating to wisdom; and if daughters, to love those things which wisdom teaches, n. - . the reason of this is, because the soul of the offspring is from the father, and its clothing from the mother, n. . universals respecting marriages, n. - . the sense proper to conjugial love is the sense of touch, n. . with those who are in love truly conjugial, the faculty of growing wise increases; but with those who are not, it decreases, n. , . with those who are in love truly conjugial, the happiness of dwelling together increases; but with those who are not, it decreases, n. . with those who are in love truly conjugial, conjunction of minds increases, and therewith friendship; but with those who are not, they both decrease, n. . those who are in love truly conjugial, continually desire to be one man; but those who are not in conjugial love, desire to be two, n. . those who are in love truly conjugial, in marriage have respect to what is eternal; but with those who are not, the case is reversed, n. . conjugial love resides with chaste wives; but still their love depends on the husbands, n. *. wives love the bonds of marriage, if the men do, n. . the intelligence of women is in itself modest, elegant, pacific, yielding, soft, tender; but the intelligence of men is in itself grave, harsh, hard, daring, fond of licentiousness, n. . wives are in no excitation as men are; but they have a state of preparation for reception, n. . men have abundant store according to the love of propagating the truths of wisdom, and to the love of doing uses, n. . determination is in the good pleasure of the husband, n. . the conjugial sphere flows from the lord through heaven into everything in the universe, even to its ultimates, n. . this sphere is received by the female sex, and through that is transferred to the male sex, n. . where there is love truly conjugial, this sphere is received by the wife, and only through her by the husband, n. . where there is love not conjugial, this sphere is received indeed by the wife, but not by the husband through her, n. . love truly conjugial may exist with one of the married partners, and not at the same time with the other, n. . there are various similitudes and dissimilitudes, both internal and external, with married partners, n. . various similitudes can be conjoined, but not with dissimilitudes, n. . the lord provides similitudes for those who desire love truly conjugial, and if not on earth he yet provides them in heaven, n. . a man, according to the deficiency and loss of conjugial love, approaches to the nature of a beast, n. . on the causes of coldness, separation, and divorce in marriages, n. - . there are spiritual heat and spiritual cold; and spiritual heat is love, and spiritual cold is the privation thereof, n. . spiritual cold in marriages is a disunion of souls and a disjunction of minds, whence come indifference, discord, contempt, disdain, and aversion; from which, in several cases, at length comes separation as to bed, chamber, and house, n. . there are several successive causes of cold, some internal, some external, and some accidental, n. . internal causes of cold are from religion, n. , . of internal causes of cold the first is the rejection of religion by each of the parties, n. . of internal causes of cold the second is that one of the parties has religion and not the other, n. . of internal causes of cold the third is, that one of the parties is of one religion and the other of another, n. . of internal causes of cold the fourth is, the falsity of the religion, n. . with many, the above-mentioned are causes of internal cold, but not at the same time of external, n. , . there are also several external causes of cold, the first of which is dissimilitude of minds and manner, n. . of external causes of cold the second is, that conjugial love is believed to be the same as adulterous love, only that the latter is not allowed by law, but the former is, n. . of external causes of cold the third is, a striving for preeminence between married partners, n. . of external causes of cold the fourth is, a want of determination to any employment or business, whence comes wandering passion, n. . of external causes of cold the fifth is, inequality of external rank and condition, n. . there are also causes of separation, n. . the first cause of legitimate separation is a vitiated state of mind, n. . the second cause of legitimate separation is a vitiated state of body, n. . the third cause of legitimate separation is impotence before marriage, n. . adultery is the cause of divorce, n. . there are also several accidental causes of cold; the first of which is, that enjoyment is common (or cheap), because continually allowed, n. . of accidental causes of cold the second is, that living with a married partner, from a covenant and contract, seems forced and not free, n. . of accidental causes of cold the third is, affirmation on the part of the wife, and her talking incessantly about love, n. . of accidental causes of cold the fourth is, the man's continually thinking that his wife is willing, and on the other hand, the wife's thinking that the man is not willing, n. . as cold is in the mind, it is also in the body; and according to the increase of that cold, the externals also of the body are closed, n. . on the causes of apparent love, friendship, and favor in marriages, n. - . in the natural world almost all are capable of being joined together as to external, but not as to internal affections, if these disagree and are apparent, n. . in the spiritual world all are conjoined according to internal, but not according to external affections, unless these act in unity with the internal, n. . it is the external affections, according to which matrimony is generally contracted in the world, n. . but in case they are not influenced by internal affections which conjoin minds, the bonds of matrimony are loosed in the house, n. . nevertheless those bonds must continue in the world till the decease of one of the parties, n. . in cases of matrimony, in which the internal affections do not conjoin, there are external affections, which assume a semblance of the internal, and tend to consociate, n. . thence come apparent love, friendship, and favor between married partners, n. . these appearances are assumed conjugial semblances, and they are commendable, because useful and necessary, n. . these assumed conjugial semblances, in the case of a spiritual man conjoined to a natural, are founded in justice and judgement, n. . for various reasons, these assumed conjugial semblances with natural men are founded in prudence, n. . they are for the sake of amendment and accommodation, n. . they are for the sake of preserving order in domestic affairs, and for the sake of mutual aid, n. . they are for the sake of unanimity in the care of infants and the education of children, n. . they are for the sake of peace in the house, n. . they are for the sake of reputation out of the house, n. . they are for the sake of various favors expected from the married partner, or from his or her relations, and thus from the fear of losing such favors, n. . they are for the sake of having blemishes excused, and thereby of avoiding disgrace, n. . they are for the sake of reconciliations, n. . in case favor does not cease with the wife, when faculty ceases with the man, there may exist a friendship resembling conjugial friendship when the parties grow old, n. . there are various species of apparent love and friendship between married partners, one of whom is brought under the yoke, and therefore is subject to the other, n. . in the world there are infernal marriages between persons who interiorly are the most inveterate enemies, and exteriorly are as the closest friends, n. . on betrothings and nuptials, n. - . the right of choice belongs to the man, and not to the woman, n. . the man ought to court and intreat the woman respecting marriage with him, and not the woman the man, n. . the woman ought to consult her parents, or those who are in the place of parents, and then deliberate with herself before she consents, n. , . after a declaration of consent, pledges are to be given, n. . consent is to be secured and established by solemn betrothing, n. . by betrothing, each party is prepared for conjugial love, n. . by betrothing, the mind of the one is united to the mind of the other, so as to effect a marriage of the spirit previous to a marriage of the body, n. . this is the case with those who think chastely of marriages; but it is otherwise with those who think unchastely of them, n. . within the time of betrothing it is not allowable to be connected corporeally, n. . when the time of betrothing is completed, the nuptials ought to take place, n. . previous to the celebration of the nuptials, the conjugial covenant is to be ratified in the presence of witnesses, n. . marriage is to be consecrated by a priest, n. . the nuptials are to be celebrated with festivity, n. . after the nuptials, the marriage of the spirit is made also the marriage of the body, and thereby a full marriage, n. . such is the order of conjugial love with its modes, from its first heat to its first torch, n. . conjugial love precipitated without order and the modes thereof, burns up the marrows, and is consumed, n. . the states of the minds of each of the parties proceeding in successive order, flow into the state of marriage; nevertheless in one manner with the spiritual and in another with the natural, n. . there are successive and simultaneous order, and the latter is from the former and according to it, n. . on repeated marriages, n. - . after the death of a married partner, again to contract wedlock, depends on the preceding conjugial love, n. . after the death of a married partner, again to contract wedlock, depends also on the state of marriage in which the parties had lived, n. . with those who have not been in love truly conjugial, there is no obstacle or hindrance to their again contracting wedlock, n. . those who had lived together in love truly conjugial, are unwilling to marry again, except for reasons separate from conjugial love, n. . the state of a marriage of a youth with a maiden differs from that of a youth with a widow, n. . also the state of marriage of a widower with a maiden differs from that of a widower with a widow, n. . the varieties and diversities of these marriages, as to love and its attributes, are innumerable, n. . the state of a widow is more grievous that that of a widower n. . on polygamy, n. - . love truly conjugial can only exist with one wife, consequently neither can friendship, confidence, ability truly conjugial, and such a conjunction of minds that two may be one flesh, n. , . thus celestial blessedness, spiritual satisfactions, and natural delights, which from the beginning were provided for those who are in love truly conjugial, can only exist with one wife, n. . all those things can only exist from the lord alone; and they do not exist with any but those who come to him alone, and live according to his commandments, n. . consequently love truly conjugial with its felicities can only exist with those who are of the christian church, n. . therefore a christian is not allowed to marry more than one wife, n. . if a christian marries several wives, he commits not only natural but also spiritual adultery, n. . the israelitish nation was permitted to marry several wives, because they had not the christian church, and consequently love truly conjugial could not exist with them, n. . at this day the mahometans are permitted to marry several wives, because they do not acknowledge the lord jesus christ to be one with jehovah the father, and thereby to be the god of heaven and earth, and hence cannot receive love truly conjugial, n. . the mahometan heaven is out of the christian heaven, and is divided into two heavens, the inferior and the superior; and only those are elevated into their superior heaven, who renounce concubines, and live with one wife, and acknowledge our lord as equal to god the father, to whom is given dominion over heaven and earth, n. - . polygamy is lasciviousness, n. . conjugial chastity, purity, and sanctity, cannot exist with polygamists, n. . a polygamist, so long as he remains such, cannot become spiritual, n. . polygamy is not sin with those who live in it from a religious notion, n. . polygamy is not sin with those who are in ignorance respecting the lord, n. , . of these, although polygamists, such are saved as acknowledge a god, and from a religious notion live according to the civil laws of justice, n. . but none either of the latter or of the former can be associated with the angels in the christian heavens, n. . on jealousy, n. - . zeal considered in itself is like the ardent fire of love, n. . the burning or flame of that love, which is zeal, is a spiritual burning or flame, arising from an infestation and assault of the love, n. - . the quality of a man's zeal is according to the quality of his love; thus it differs according as the love is good or evil, n. . the zeal of a good love and the zeal of an evil love, are alike in externals, but altogether different in internals, n. , . the zeal of a good love in its internals contains a hidden store of love and friendship: but the zeal of an evil love in its internals contains a hidden store of hatred and revenge, n. , . the zeal of conjugial love is called jealousy, n. . jealousy is like an ardent fire against those who infest love exercised towards a married partner, and like a terrible fear for the loss of that love, n. . there is spiritual jealousy with monogamists, and natural with polygamists, n. , . jealousy with those married partners who tenderly love each other, is a just grief grounded in sound reason, lest conjugial love should be divided, and should thereby perish, n. , . jealousy, with married partners who do not love each other, is grounded in several causes; arising in some instances from various mental weaknesses, n. - . in some instances there is not any jealousy; and this also from various causes, n. . there is a jealousy also in regard to concubines, but not such as in regard to wives, n. . jealousy likewise exists among beasts and birds, n. . the jealousy of men and husbands is different from that of women and wives, n. . on the conjunction of conjugial love with the love of infants, n. - . two universal spheres proceed from the lord to preserve the universe in its created state; of which the one is the sphere of procreating, and the other the sphere of protecting the things procreated, n. . these two universal spheres make a one with the sphere of conjugial love and the sphere of the love of infants, n. . these two spheres universally and singularly flow into all things of heaven and all things of the world, from first to last, n. - . the sphere of the love of infants is a sphere of protection and support of those who cannot protect and support themselves, n. . this sphere affects both the evil and the good, and disposes every one to love, protect, and support his offspring from his own love, n. . this sphere principally affects the female sex, thus mothers; and the male sex, or fathers, by derivation from them, n. . this sphere is also a sphere of innocence and peace (from the lord,) n. . the sphere of innocence flows into infants, and through them into the parents, and affects them, n. . it also flows into the souls of the parents, and unites with the same sphere with the infants; and it is principally insinuated by means of the touch, n. , . in the degree in which innocence retires from infants, affection and conjunction also abate, and this successively, even to separation, n. . a state of rational innocence and peace with parents towards infants, is grounded in the circumstance, that they know nothing and can do nothing from themselves, but from others, especially from the father and mother; and this state successively retires, in proportion as they know and have ability from themselves, and not from others, n. . the sphere of the love of procreating advances in order from the end through causes into effects, and makes periods; whereby creation is preserved in the state foreseen and provided for, n. , . the love of infants descends, and does not ascend, n. . wives have one state of love before conception, and another state after, even to the birth, n. . with parents conjugial love is conjoined with the love of infants by spiritual causes, and thence by natural, n. . the love of infants and children is different with spiritual married partners from what it is with natural, n. - . with the spiritual, that love is from what is interior or prior, but with the natural, from what is exterior or posterior, n. . in consequence hereof that love prevails with married partners who mutually love each other, and also with those who do not at all love each other, n. . the love of infants remains after death, especially with women, n. . infants are educated under the lord's auspices by such women, and grow in stature and intelligence as in the world, n. , . it is there provided by the lord, that with those infants the innocence of infancy becomes the innocence of wisdom, (and thus they become angels) n. , . part the second. preliminary note by the editor. on the opposition of adulterous love and conjugial love, n. - . it is not known what adulterous love is, unless it be known what conjugial love is, n. . adulterous love is opposed to conjugial love, n. . adulterous love is opposed to conjugial love, as the natural man viewed in himself is opposed to the spiritual man, n. . adulterous love is opposed to conjugial love, as the connubial connection of what is evil and false is opposed to the marriage of good and truth, n. , . hence adulterous love is opposed to conjugial love as hell is to heaven, n. . the impurity of hell is from adulterous love, and the purity of heaven from conjugial love, n. . in the church, the impurity and the purity are similarly circumstanced, n. . adulterous love more and more makes a man (_homo_) not a man (_homo_), and a man (_vir_) not a man (_vir_); and conjugial love makes a man (_homo_) more and more a man (_homo_) and a man (_vir_), n. , . there are a sphere of adulterous love and a sphere of conjugial love, n. . the sphere of adulterous love ascends from hell, and the sphere of conjugial love descends from heaven, n. . in each world those two spheres meet, but do not unite, n. . between those two spheres there is an equilibrium, and man is in it, n. . a man can turn himself to whichever sphere he pleases; but so far as he turns himself to the one, so far he turns himself from the other, n. . each sphere brings with it delights, n. . the delights of adulterous love commence from the flesh, and are of the flesh even in the spirit; but the delights of conjugial love commence in the spirit, and are of the spirit even in the flesh, n. , , the delights of adulterous love are the pleasures of insanity; but the delights of conjugial love are the delights of wisdom, n. , . on fornication, n. *- . fornication is of the love of the sex, n. . the love of the sex, from which fornication is derived, commences when a youth begins to think and act from his own understanding, and his voice to be masculine, n. . fornication is of the natural man, n. . fornication is lust, but not the lust of adultery, n. , . with some men, the love of the sex cannot without hurt be totally checked from going forth into fornication, n. . therefore in populous cities public stews are tolerated, n. . fornication is light, so far as it looks to conjugial love, and gives this love the preference, n. . the lust of fornication is grievous, so far as it looks to adultery, n. . the lust of fornication is more grievous as it verges to the desire of varieties and of defloration, n. . the sphere of the lust of fornication, such as it is in the beginning, is a middle sphere between the sphere of adulterous love and the sphere of conjugial love, and makes an equilibrium, n. . care is to be taken, lest by immoderate and inordinate fornications conjugial love be destroyed, n. . inasmuch as the conjugial principle of one man with one wife is the jewel of human life, and the reservoir of the christian religion, n. , . with those who, from various reasons, cannot as yet enter into marriage, and from their passion for the sex, cannot moderate their lusts, this conjugial principle may be preserved, if the vague love of the sex be confined to one mistress, n. . keeping a mistress is preferable to vague amours, provided only one be kept, and she be neither a maiden nor a married woman, and the love of the mistress be kept separate from conjugial love, n. . on concubinage, n. - . there are two kinds of concubinage, which differ exceedingly from each other, the one conjointly with a wife, the other apart from a wife, n. . concubinage conjointly with a wife, is altogether unlawful for christians, and detestable, n. . it is polygamy, which has been condemned, and is to be condemned by the christian world, n. . it is an adultery whereby the conjugial principle, which is the most precious jewel of the christian life, is destroyed, n. . concubinage apart from a wife, when it is engaged in from causes legitimate, just, and truly excusatory, is not unlawful, n. . the legitimate causes of this concubinage are the legitimate causes of divorce, while the wife is nevertheless retained at home, n. , . the just causes of this concubinage are the just causes of separation from the bed, n. . of the excusatory causes of this concubinage some are real and some not, n. . the really excusatory causes are such as are grounded in what is just, n. , . the excusatory causes which are not real are such as are not grounded in what is just, although in the appearance of what is just, n. . those who, from causes legitimate, just, and really excusatory, are engaged in this concubinage, may at the same time be principled in conjugial love, n. . while this concubinage continues, actual connection with a wife is not allowable, n. . on adulteries and their genera and degrees, n. - . there are three genera of adulteries,--simple, duplicate, and triplicate, n. . simple adultery is that of an unmarried man with another's wife, or of an unmarried woman with another's husband, n. , . duplicate adultery is that of a husband with another's wife, or of a wife with another's husband, n. , . triplicate adultery is with relations by blood, n. . there are four degrees of adulteries, according to which they have their predications, their charges of blame, and after death their imputation, n. . adulteries of the first degree are adulteries of ignorance, which are committed by those who cannot as yet, or cannot at all, consult the understanding, and thence check them, n. . in such cases adulteries are mild, n. . adulteries of the second degree are adulteries of lust, which are committed by those who indeed are able to consult the understanding, but from accidental causes at the moment are not able, n. . adulteries committed by such persons are imputatory, according as the understanding afterwards favors them or not, n. . adulteries of the third degree are adulteries of the reason, which are committed by those who with the understanding confirm themselves in the persuasion that they are not evils of sin, n. . the adulteries committed by such persons are grievous, and are imputed to them according to confirmations, n. . adulteries of the fourth degree are adulteries of the will, which are committed by those who make them lawful and pleasing, and who do not think them of importance enough to consult the understanding respecting them, n. . the adulteries committed by these persons are exceedingly grievous, and are imputed to them as evils of purpose, and remain in them as guilt, n. . adulteries of the third and fourth degree are evils of sin, according to the quantity and quality of understanding and will in them, whether they are actually committed or not, n. . adulteries grounded in purpose of the will, and adulteries grounded in confirmation of the understanding, render men natural, sensual, and corporeal, n. , . and this to such a degree, that at length they reject from themselves all things of the church and of religion, n. . nevertheless they have the powers of human rationality like other men, n. . but they use that rationality while they are in externals, but abuse it while they are in externals, n. . on the lust of defloration, n. - . the state of a virgin or undeflowered woman before and after marriage, n. . virginity is the crown of chastity and the certificate of conjugial love, n. . defloration, without a view to marriage as an end, is the villany of a robber, n. . the lot of those who have confirmed themselves in the persuasion that the lust of defloration is not an evil of sin, after death is grievous, n. . on the lust of varieties, n. - . by the lust of varieties is meant the entirely dissolute lust of adultery, n. . that lust is love, and at the same time loathing, in regard to the sex, n. . the lot of those (who have been addicted to that lust) after death is miserable, since they have not the inmost principle of life, n. . on the lust of violation, n. , . on the lust of seducing innocencies, n. , . on the correspondence of adulteries with the violation of spiritual marriage, n. - . on the imputation of each love, adulterous and conjugial, n. - . the evil in which every one is principled, is imputed to him after death; and so also the good, n. . the transference of the good of one person into another is impossible, n. . imputation, if by it is meant such transference, is a frivolous term, n. . evil or good is imputed to every one according to the quality of his will and of his understanding, n. - . thus adulterous love is imputed to every one, n. . thus also conjugial love is imputed to every one, n. . index to the memorable relations. conjugial love seen in its form with two conjugial partners, who were conveyed down from heaven in a chariot, n. , . three novitiates from the world receive information respecting marriages in heaven, n. . on the chaste love of the sex, n. . on the temple of wisdom, where the causes of beauty in the female sex are discussed by wise ones, n. . on conjugial love with those who lived in the golden age, n. . on conjugial love with those who lived in the silver age, n. . on conjugial love with those who lived in the copper age, n. . on conjugial love with those who lived in the iron age, n. . on conjugial love with those who lived after those ages, n. , . on the glorification of the lord by the angels in the heavens, on account of his advent, and of conjugial love, which is to be restored at that time, n. . on the precepts of the new church, n. . on the origin of conjugial love, and of its virtue or potency, discussed by an assembly of the wise from europe, n. , . on a paper let down from heaven to the earth, on which was written, the marriage of good and truth, n. . what the image and likeness of god is, and what the tree of life, and the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, n. - . two angels out of the third heaven give information respecting conjugial love there, n. . on the ancients in greece, who inquired of strangers, what news from the earth? also, on men found in the woods, n. *- *. on the golden shower and hall, where the wives said various things respecting conjugial love, n. *. the opinion of the ancient sophi in greece respecting the life of men after death, n. . on the nuptial garden called adramandoni, where there was a conversation respecting the influx of conjugial love, n. . a declaration by the ancient sophi in greece respecting employments in heaven, n. . on the golden shower and hall, where the wives again conversed respecting conjugial love, n. . on the judges who were influenced by friendship, of whom it was exclaimed, o how just! n. . on the reasoners, of whom it was exclaimed, o how learned! n. . on the confirmatory, of whom it was exclaimed, o how wise! n. . on those who are in the love of ruling from the love of self, n. - . on those who are in the love of possessing all things of the world, n. , . on lucifer, n. . on conjugial cold, n. . on the seven wives sitting on a bed of roses, who said various things respecting conjugial love, n. . observations by the same wives on the prudence of women, n. . a discussion what the soul is, and what is its quality, n. . on the garden, where there was a conversation respecting the divine providence in regard to marriages, n. . on the distinction between what is spiritual and what is natural, n. - . discussions, whether a woman who loves herself for her beauty, loves her husband; and whether a man who loves himself for his intelligence, loves his wife, n. , . on self-prudence, n. . on the perpetual faculty of loving a wife in heaven, n. , . a discussion, whether nature is of life, or life of nature; also respecting the centre and expanse of life and nature, n. . orators delivering their sentiments on the origin of beauty in the female sex, n. - . that all things which exist and take place in the natural world, are from the lord through the spiritual world, n. - . on the angels who were ignorant of the nature and meaning of adultery, n. . on delight, which is the universal of heaven and hell, n. . on an adulterer who was taken up into heaven, and there saw things inverted n. . on three priests who were accused by adulterers, n. . that determined and confirmed adulterers do not acknowledge anything of heaven and the church, n. , . on the new things revealed by the lord, n. . index to conjugial love. * * * * * _the numbers refer to the paragraphs, and not to the pages_. * * * * * abomination of desolation. matt. xxiv. , signifies the falsification and deprivation of all truth, . absence in the spiritual world, its cause, . action.--in all conjunction by love there must be action, reception, and reaction, . from the will, which in itself is spiritual, actions flow, . activity is one of the moral virtues which respect life, and enter into it, . the activity of love makes a sense of delight, . the influx of love and wisdom from the lord is the essential activity from which comes all delight, . from conjugial love, as from a fountain, issue the activities and alacrities of life, . actors.--in heaven, out of the cities, are exhibited stage entertainments, wherein the actors represent the various virtues and graces of moral life, , . actually, , , , &c. _obs._--this expression is used to distinguish _actualiter_ from _realiter_, of which the author also makes use; thus between _actually_ and _really_, there is the same distinction as between _actual_ taken in a philosophical sense, and _real_. acution.--the spiritual purification of conjugial love may be compared with the purification of natural spirits effected by chemists, and called acution, . adam.--in what his sin consisted, . error of those who believe that adam was wise and did good from himself, and that this was his state of integrity, . the evil in which each man is born, is not derived hereditarily from adam, but from his parents, . if it is believed that the guilt of adam is inscribed on all the human race, it is because few reflect on any evil in themselves, and thence know it, . adam and man are one expression in the hebrew tongue, *. adjunction.--the union of the soul and mind of one married partner to those of the other, is an actual adjunction, and cannot possibly be dissolved, . this adjunction is close and near according to the love, and approaching to contact with those who are principled in love truly conjugial, . it may be called spiritual cohabitation, which takes place with married partners who love each other tenderly, however remote their bodies may be from each other, . administrations in the spiritual world, . the discharge of them is attended with delight, . administrators.--in the spiritual world there are administrators, . adorations.--why the ancients in their adorations turned their faces to the rising sun, . adramandoni is the name of a garden in the spiritual world; this word signifies the delight of conjugial love, . adulterers.--as soon as a man actually becomes an adulterer, heaven is closed to him, . adulterers become more and more not men, . there are four kinds of adulterers:-- st, adulterers from a purposed principle are those who are so from the lust of the will; d, adulterers from a confirmed principle are those who are so from the persuasion of the understanding; d, adulterers from a deliberate principle are those who are so from the allurements of the senses; th, adulterers from a non-deliberate principle are those who are not in the faculty or not in the liberty of consulting the understanding, . those of the two former kinds become more and more not men, but the two latter kinds become men as they recede from those errors, . reasonings of adulterers, . every unclean principle of hell is from adulterers, , . whoever is in spiritual adultery is also in natural adultery, . adulterers from a deliberate principle and from a non-deliberate principle, . adultery, by, is meant scortation opposite to marriage, . the horrible nature of adultery, . spiritual adultery is the connection of evil and the false, . adulteries are the complex of all evils, . why hell in the total is called adultery, . there are three genera of adulteries, simple, duplicate, and triplicate, , . there are four degrees of adulteries, according to which they have their predications, their charges of blame, and after death, their imputations, - :-- st, adulteries of ignorance, &c., , ; d, adulteries of lust, , ; d, adulteries of the reason or understanding, &e., , ; th, adulteries of the will, , . the distinction between adulteries of the will and those of the understanding, . the adultery of the reason is less grievous than the adultery of the will, .--accessories of adultery and aggravations of it, . adultery is the cause of divorce, . representative of adultery in its business, . affect. _obs._--this word signifies to impress with affection either good or bad. affections which are merely derivations of the love, form the will, and make and compose it, . every affection of love belongs to the will, for what a man loves, that he also wills, . every affection has its delight, . affections, with the thoughts thence derived, appertain to the mind, and sensations, with the pleasures thence derived, appertain to the body, . in the natural world, almost all are capable of being joined together as to external affections, but not as to internal affections, if these disagree and appear, . in the spiritual world all are conjoined as to internal affections, but not according to external, unless these act in unity with the internal, . the affections according to which wedlock is commonly contracted in the world, are external, ; but in that case they are not influenced by internal affections, which conjoin minds, the bonds of wedlock are loosed in the house, . by internal affections are meant the mutual inclinations which influence the mind of each of the parties from heaven; whereas by external affections are meant the inclinations which influence the mind of each of the parties from the world, . the external affections by death follow the body, and are entombed with it, those only remaining which cohere with internal principles, . women were created by the lord affections of the wisdom of men, . their affection of wisdom is essential beauty, . all the angels are affections of love in a human form, : the ruling affection itself shines forth from their faces; and from their affection, and according to it, the kind and quality of their raiment is derived and determined, . affliction, great, matt. xxiv. , signifies the state of the church infested by evils and falses, . afflux, . _obs._--afflux is that which flows _upon_ or _towards_, and remains generally in the external, without penetrating interiorly, _a.c._, n. . efflux is that which flows _from_, and is generally predicated of that which proceeds from below upwards. influx is that which flows _into_, or which penetrates interiorly, provided it meets with no obstacle; it is generally used when speaking of that which comes from above, thus from heaven, that is, from the lord through heaven. africans more intelligent than the learned of europe, . age.--the common states of a man's life are called infancy, childhood, youth, manhood, and old age, . unequal ages induce coldness in marriage, . in the heavens there is no inequality of age, all there are in one flower of youth, and continue therein to eternity, . golden age, . silver age or period, . copper age, . iron age, . age of iron mixed with miry clay, . age of gold, , ; of silver, ; of copper, ; of iron, ; of iron mixed with clay, . the ages of gold, silver, and copper are anterior to the time of which we have any historical records, . men of the golden age knew and acknowledged that they were forms receptive of life from god, and that on this account wisdom was inscribed on their souls and hearts, and hence that they saw truth from the light of truth, and by truths perceived good from the delight of the love thereof, *. all those who lived in the silver age had intelligence grounded in spiritual truths, and thence in natural truths, . aid, mutual, of husband and wife, . alacrity is one of those moral virtues which have respect to life, and enter into it, . alcohol.--wisdom purified may be compared with alcohol, which is a spirit highly rectified, . alcoran, . alpha, the, and the omega.--why the lord is so called, . alphabet in the spiritual world, each letter of it is significative, . ambassador in the spiritual world discussing with two priests on the subject of human prudence, . ancients.--of marriages among the ancients, and the most ancient, , . the most ancient people in this world did not acknowledge any other wisdom than the wisdom of life; but the ancient people acknowledged the wisdom of reason as wisdom, . precepts concerning marriages left by the ancient people to their posterity, . angels are men; their form is the human form, . they appear to man when the eyes of his spirit are opened, . all the angels are affections of love in the human form, . angels who are loves, and thence wisdoms, are called celestial, and with them conjugial love is celestial; angels who are wisdoms, and thence loves, are called spiritual, and similar thereto is their conjugial principle, . there are among the angels some of a simple, and some of a wise character, and it is the part of the wise to judge, when the simple, from their simplicity and ignorance, are doubtful about what is just, or through mistake wander from it, . every angel has conjugial love with its virtue, ability, and delights, according to his application to the genuine use in which he is, . every man has angels associated to him from the lord, and such is his conjunction with them, that if they were taken away, he would instantly fall to pieces, . anger.--why it is attributed to the lord, . animals.--wonderful things conspicuous in the productions of animals, . every animal is led by the love implanted in his science, as a blind person is led through the streets by a dog, . see _beasts_. animus.--by _animus_ is meant the affections, and thence the external inclinations, which are principally insinuated after birth by education, social intercourse, and consequent habits of life, . _obs._--these affections and inclinations constitute a sort of inferior mind. antipathy.--in the spiritual world, antipathies are not only felt, but also appear in the face, the discourse, and the gesture, . it is otherwise in the natural world, where antipathies may be concealed, . among certain married partners in the natural world, there is an antipathy in their internals, and an apparent sympathy in their externals, . antipathy derives its origin from the opposition of spiritual spheres which emanate from subjects, . antiquity.--memorable things of antiquity seen in heaven amongst a nation that lived in the copper age, . aorta, . apes.--of those in hell who appear like apes, . apocalypse.--a voice from heaven commanded swedenborg to apply to the work begun in the apocalypse, and finish it within two years, , . apoplexy.--permanent infirmity, arising from apoplexy, a cause of separation, , . appearance.--spaces in the spiritual world are appearances; distances, also, and presences are appearances, . the appearances of distances and presences there, are according to the proximities, relationships, and affinities of love, . those things which, from their origin, are celestial and spiritual, are not in space, but in the appearances of space, . _obs._--those things which in the spiritual world are present to the sight of spirits and angels are called _appearances_; those things are called appearances, because, corresponding to the interiors of spirits and of angels, they vary according to the states of those interiors. there are real appearances and appearances unreal; the unreal appearances are those which do not correspond to the interiors. see _heaven and hell_. appropriation of evil how it is effected, . arcana of wisdom respecting conjugial love; it is important that they should be discovered, . arcana of conjugial love concealed with wives, , *, . arcanum relative to conception, which takes place though the souls of two married partners be disjoined, . arcanum respecting the actual habitation of every man in some society, either of heaven or hell, . arcana known to the ancients, and at this day lost, . arcana revealed, which exceed in excellence all the arcana heretofore revealed since the beginning of the church, . these arcana are yet reputed on earth as of no value, . architectonic art, the, is in its essential perfection in heaven, and hence are derived all the rules of that art in the world, . aristippus, *. aristotle, *. armies of the lord jehovah. thus the most ancient people called themselves, . artificers in the spiritual world, : wonderful works which they execute there, . as from himself, , , , . assault.--how love defends itself when assaulted, . asses.--of those who, in the spiritual world, appear at a distance like asses heavily laden, . blazing ass upon which a pope was seated in hell, . associate, to.--all in the heavens are associated according to affinities and relationships of love, and have habitations accordingly, . astronomy is one of those sciences by which an entrance is made into things rational, which are the ground of rational wisdom, . atheists, who are in the glory of reputation arising from self-love, and thence in a high conceit of their own intelligence, enjoy a more sublime rationality than many others; the reason why, . why the understanding of atheists, in spiritual light, appeared open beneath but closed above, . athenaeum, city of, in the spiritual world, *, , . sports of the athenaeides, . these games were spiritual exercises, . atmospheres.--the world is distinguished into regions as to the atmospheres, the lowest of which is the watery, the next above is the aerial, and still higher is the etherial, above which there is also the highest, , the reason why the atmosphere appears of a golden color in the heaven in which the love of uses reigns, . aura.--thus the superior atmosphere is named, . the aura is the continent of celestial light and heat, or of the wisdom and love in which the angels are principled, . see _atmospheres_. authoresses, learned.--examination of their writings in the spiritual world in their presence, . aversion between married partners arises from spiritual cold, . whence arises aversion on the part of the husband towards the wife, . aversion between married partners arises from a disunion of souls and a disjunction of minds, . back, the.--the sphere which issues forth from man encompasses him on the back and on the breast, lightly on the back, but more densely on the breast, , . the effect of this on married partners, who are of different minds and discordant affections. . balance.--love truly conjugal is like a balance in which the inclinations for iterated marriages are made, . the mind is kept balancing to another marriage, according to the degree of love in which it was principled in the former marriage, . bank of roses, , . bats, in the spiritual world, are correspondences and consequent appearances of the thoughts of confirmators, . bears signify those who read the word in the natural sense, and see truths therein, without understanding, . those who only read the word, and imbibe thence nothing of doctrine, appear at a distance, in the spiritual world, like bears, . beasts are born into natural loves, and thereby into sciences corresponding to them; still they do not know, think, understand, and relish any sciences, but are led through them by their loves, almost as blind persons are led through the streets by dogs, . beasts are born into all the sciences of their loves, thus into all that concerns their nourishment, habitation, love of the sex, and the education of their young, . difference between man and beasts, , . every beast corresponds to some quality, either good or evil, . beasts in the spiritual world are representative, but in the natural world they are real, . wild beasts in the spiritual world are correspondences, and thus representatives of the lusts in which the spirits are, . the state of men compared with that of beasts, *. men like beasts, found in the forests, *. beast-men, . beauty.--the affection of wisdom is essential beauty, . cause of beauty in the female sex, . women have a two-fold beauty, one natural, which is that of the face and the body, and the other spiritual, which is that of the love and manners, . beauty in the spiritual world is the form of the love and manners, . discussion on the beauty of woman, . origin of that beauty, - . ineffable beauty of a wife in the third heaven, . bees.--their wonderful instinct, . behind.--in the spiritual world, it is not allowed any one to stand behind another, and speak to him, . beings.--the desire to continue in its form is implanted by creation in all living beings, . benevolence is one of those virtues which have respect to life and enter into it, . betrothings, of, - . reasons of betrothings, . by betrothing each party is prepared for conjugial love, . by betrothing, the mind of one is conjoined to the mind of the other, so as to effect a marriage of the spirit, previous to marriage, , . of betrothings in heaven, ; . birds in the spiritual world are representative forms, . every bird corresponds to some good or bad quality, . birds of paradise.--in heaven the forms under which the chaste delights of conjugial love are presented to the view, are birds of paradise, &c., . a pair of birds of paradise represent the middle region of conjugial love, . blessedness, , . love receives its blessedness from communication by uses with others, . the infinity of all blessedness is in the lord, . blessing of marriages by the priests, blue.--what the color blue signifies, . body, the material, is composed of watery and earthy elements, and of aerial vapors thence arising, . the material body of man is overcharged with lusts, which are in it as dregs that precipitate themselves to the bottom when the must of wine is clarified, . such are the constituent substances of which the bodies of men in the world are composed, . the bodies of men viewed interiorly are merely forms of their minds exteriorly organized to effect the purposes of the soul, . see _mind_. every thing which is done in the body is from a spiritual origin, . all things which are done in the body by man flow in from his spirit, . man when stripped of his body is in his internal affections, which his body had before concealed, . what is in the spirit as derived from the body does not long continue, but the love which is in the spirit and is derived from the body does continue, , . marriages of the spirit ought to precede marriages of the body, . bond.--the internal or spiritual bond must keep the external or natural in its order and tenor, . wives love the bonds of marriage if the men do, . unless the external affections are influenced by internal, which conjoin minds, the bonds of wedlock are loosed in the house, . books.--in heaven, as in the world, there are books, . born, to be.--man is born in total ignorance, . every man by birth is merely corporeal, and from corporeal he becomes natural more and more interiorly, and thus rational, and at length spiritual, , , . he becomes rational in proportion as he loves intelligence, and spiritual if he loves wisdom, , . man is not born into any knowledge, and if he does not receive instruction from others, is viler than a beast, . man is born without sciences, to the end that he may receive them all, and he is born into no love, to the intent that he may come into all love, . every man is born for heaven and no one for hell, and every one comes into heaven (by influence) from the lord, and into hell (by influence) from self, . breast, the, of man signifies wisdom, . all things which by derivation from the soul and mind have their determination in the body, first flow into the bosom, . the breast is as it were a place of public assembly, and a royal council chamber, and the body is as a populous city around it, . the sphere of the man's life encompasses him more densely on the breast, but lightly on the back, , . see _back_. brethren.--the lord calls those brethren and sisters who are of his church, . bride.--the church in the word is called the bride and wife, . clothing of a bride in heaven, . bridegroom.--the lord in the word is called the bridegroom and husband, . clothing of a bridegroom in heaven, . brimstone signifies the love of what is false, . lakes of fire and brimstone, , . cabinet of antiquities in the spiritual world, . calf, a golden, signifies the pleasure of the flesh, . cap, a, signifies intelligence, . turreted cap, . carotid arteries, . castigation.--the spiritual purification of conjugial love may be compared with the purification of natural spirits effected by chemists, and named castigation, . cats.--comparison concerning them, . cause.--see _end_. to speak from causes is the speech of wisdom, . causes of coldness, separations, and divorces in marriages, - . causes of concubinage, - . causes, the various, of legitimate separation, , . celebration of the lord from the word, . celestial.--in proportion as a man loves his wife he becomes celestial and internal, . celibacy ought not to be preferred to marriage, . chastity cannot be predicated of those who have renounced marriage by vows of perpetual celibacy, unless there be and remain in them the love of a life truly conjugial, . the sphere of perpetual celibacy infests the sphere of conjugial love, which is the very essential sphere of heaven, . those who live in celibacy, if they are spiritual, are on the side of heaven, . those who in the world have lived a single life, and have altogether alienated their minds from marriage, in case they be spiritual, remain single; but if natural, they become whoremongers, . for those who in their single state have desired marriage, and have solicited it without success, if they are spiritual, blessed marriages are provided, but not until the; come into heaven, . centre of nature and of life, . cerberus, . cerebellum, the, is beneath the hinder part of the head, and is designed for love and the goods thereof, . cerebrum, the, is beneath the anterior and upper part of the head, and is designed for wisdom and the truths thereof, . change, the, of the state of life which takes place with men and with women by marriage, - . by changes of the state of life are meant changes of quality as to the things appertaining to the understanding, and as to those appertaining to the will, . the changes which take place in man's internal principles are more perfectly continuous than those which take place in his external principles, . the changes which take place in internal principles are changes of the state of the will as to affections, and changes of the state of the understanding as to thoughts, . the changes of these two faculties are perpetual with man from infancy even to the end of his life, and afterwards to eternity, . these changes differ in the case of men and in the case of women, . charges of blame are made by a judge according to the law, . difference between predications, charges of blame, and imputations, . chariot, a, signifies the doctrine of truth, . charity is love, . charity and faith.--good has relation to charity, and truth to faith, , . to live well is charity, and to believe well is faith, . charity and faith are the life of god in man, . chaste principle, concerning the, and the non-chaste, - . the chaste principle and the non-chaste are predicated solely of marriages, and of such things as relate to marriages, . the christian conjugial principle alone is chaste, . see _conjugial_. chastity of marriage, , and following. see _contents_. the chastity of marriage exists by a total abdication of what is opposed to it from a principle of religion, - . the purity of conjugial love is what is called chastity, . love truly conjugial is essential chastity, , . non-chastity is a removal of what is unchaste from what is chaste, . chemistry is one of the sciences by which, as by doors, an entrance is made into things rational, which are the ground of rational wisdom, . chemists.--spiritual purification compared to the natural purification of spirits effected by chemists, . children born of parents who are principled in love truly conjugial, derive from their parents the conjugial principle of good and truth, - . infants in heaven become men of stature and comeliness, according to the increments of intelligence with them; it is otherwise with infants on earth, . when they have attained the stature of young men of eighteen, and young girls of fifteen years of age, in this world, then marriages are provided by the lord for them, . the love of infants remains after death, especially with women, . infants are educated under the lord's auspices by such women, . little children in the word signify those who are in innocence, . the love of infants corresponds to the defence of good and truth, . christ.--the kingdom of christ, which is heaven, is a kingdom of uses, . to reign with christ signifies to be wise, and to perform uses, . christian.--love truly conjugial with its delights can only exist among those who are of the christian church, . not a single person throughout the christian world is acquainted with the true nature of heavenly joy and eternal happiness, . chrysalises, . church, the, is from the lord, and exists with those who come to him, and live according to his precepts, . the church is the lord's kingdom in the world, corresponding to his kingdom in the heavens; and also the lord conjoins them together, that they may make a one, . the church in general and in particular is a marriage of good and of truth, . the church with man is formed by the lord by means of truths to which good is adjoined, - . the church with its goods and truths can never exist but with those who live in love truly conjugial with one wife, . the church is of both sexes, . the husband and wife together are the church; with these the church first implanted in the man and by the man in the wife, . how the church is formed by the lord with two married partners, and how conjugial love is formed thereby, . the origin of the church and of conjugial love are in one place of abode, . circe, . circle.--what circles round the head represent in the spiritual life, . circle and increasing progression of conjugial love, . circumstances and contingencies vary every thing, . the quality of every deed, and in general the quality of every thing, depends upon circumstances, . civil things have relation to the world, they are statutes, laws, and rules, which bind men, so that a civil society and state may be composed of them in a well-connected order, . civil things with man reside beneath spiritual things, and above natural things, . civility is one of the moral virtues which have respect to life, and enter into it, . in heaven they show each other every token of civility, . clay mixed with iron, . cohabit, to.--when married partners have lived in love truly conjugial, the spirit of the deceased cohabits continually with that of the survivor, and this even to the death of the latter, . cohabitation, spiritual, takes place with married partners who love each other tenderly, however remote their bodies may be from each other, . see _adjunction_. internal and external cohabitation, . with those who are principled in love truly conjugial the happiness of cohabitation increases, but it decreases with those who are not principled in conjugial love, . cohobation.--the spiritual purification of conjugial love may be compared to the purification of natural spirits, as effected by chemists, and called cohobation, . cold.--spirits merely natural grow intensely cold while they apply themselves to the side of some angel, who is in a state of love, . spiritual cold in marriages is a disunion of souls, . causes of cold in marriages, - . cold arises from various causes, internal, external, and accidental, all of which originate in a dissimilitude of internal inclinations, . spiritual cold is the privation of spiritual heat, . whence it arises, . whence conjugial cold arises, . every one who is insane in spiritual things is cold towards his wife, and warm towards harlots, . column.--comparison of successive and simultaneous order to a column of steps, which, when it subsides, becomes a body ushering in a plane, . communications.--after death, married pairs enjoy similar communications with each other as in the world, . conatus is the very essence of motion, . from the endeavor of the two principles of good and truth to join themselves together into one, conjugial love exists by derivation, . conceptions.--between the disjoined souls of married partners there is effected conjunction in a middle love, otherwise there would be no conceptions, . concerts of music and singing in the heavens, . conclude, to, from an interior and prior principle, is to conclude from ends and causes to effects, which is according to order; but to conclude from an exterior or posterior principle, is to conclude from effects to causes and ends, which is contrary to order, . concubinage, - . difference between concubinage and pellicacy, . see _pellicacy_. there are two kinds of concubinage which differ exceedingly from each other, the one conjointly with a wife, the other apart from a wife, . concubinage conjointly with a wife is illicit to christians and detestable, . see also , . concubine, . concupiscence, concerning, . every one is by truth interiorly in concupiscence, but by education exteriorly in intelligence, . interesting particulars concerning concupiscence not visionary or fantastic, in which all men are born, . all the concupiscences of evil reside in the lowest region of the mind, which is called the natural; but in the region above, which is called the spiritual, there are not any concupiscences of evil, . in every thing that proceeds from the natural man there is concupiscence, . imputation of concupiscence, . in the spiritual world every evil concupiscence presents a likeness of itself in some form, which is not perceived by those who are in the concupiscence, but by those who are at a distance, . confidence, full, is in conjugial love, and is derived from it, . full confidence relates to the heart, . confines of heaven.--those who enter into extra-conjugial life are sent to their like, on the confines of heaven, . confirm, to.--the understanding alone confirms, and when it confirms it engages the will to its party, . every one can confirm evil equally as well as good, in like manner what is false as well as what is true. the reason why the confirmation of evil is perceived with more delight than the confirmation of good, and the confirmation of what is false with greater lucidity than the confirmation of what is true, . intelligence does not consist in being able to confirm whatever a man pleases, but in being able to see that what is true is true, and that what is false is false, . every one may confirm himself in favor of the divine principle or being, by the visible things of nature, - . those who confirm themselves in favor of a divine principle or being, attend to the wonderful things which are conspicuous in the productions both of vegetables and animals, . those who had confirmed themselves in favor of nature, by what is visible in this world, so as to become atheists, appeared in spiritual light with the understanding open beneath, but closed above, . confirmations are effected by reasonings, which the mind seizes for its use, deriving them either from its superior region or its inferior, . the form of the human mind is according to confirmations turned towards heaven, if its confirmations are in favor of marriages, but turned to hell, if they are in favor of adulteries, . confirmations of falsities, so as to make them appear like truths, are represented in the spiritual world under the forms of birds of night, . see _to confirm_. confirmators.--they are called such in the spiritual world who cannot at all see whether truth be truth, but yet can make whatever they will to be truth, . their fate in the other life, . conjugial pairs.--it is provided by the lord that conjugial pairs be born, and that these pairs be continually educated for marriage, neither the maiden nor the youth knowing any thing of the matter, . conjugial principle, the, of good and truth is implanted from creation in every soul, and also in the principles derived from the soul, . the conjugial principle fills the universe from first principles to last, and from a man even to a worm, . it is inscribed on the soul, to the end that soul may be propagated from soul, . it is inscribed on both sexes from inmost principles to ultimates, and a man's quality as to his thoughts and affections, and consequently as to his bodily actions and behavior, is according to that principle, . in every substance, even the smallest, there is a conjugial principle, . in the minutest things with man, both male and female, there is a conjugial principle: still the conjugial principle with the male is different from what it is with the female, . there is implanted in every man from creation, and consequently from his birth, an internal conjugial principle, and an external conjugial principle; man comes first into the latter, and as he becomes spiritual he comes into the former. , . children derive from their parents the conjugial principle of good and truth, for it is that principle which flows into man from the lord, and constitutes his human life, . the conjugial human principle ever goes hand in hand with religion, . this conjugial principle is the desire of living with one wife, and every christian has this desire according to his religion, . the christian conjugial principle alone is chaste, . by the christian conjugial principle is meant the marriage of one man with one wife, . the conjugial principle of one man with one wife, is the storehouse of human life, and the reservoir of the christian religion, , . the conjugial principle is like a scale in which conjugial love is weighed, . conjunction.--in every part, and even in every particular, there is a principle tending to conjunction, , ; it was implanted from creation, and thence remains perpetually, . the conjunctive principle lies concealed in every part of the male, and in every part of the female, , . in the male conjugial principle there is what is conjunctive with the female conjugial principle, and _vice versa_, even in the minutest things, . conjunction of souls and minds by marriage, so that they are no longer two but one flesh, , . spiritual conjunction cannot possibly be dissolved, . how there is a conjunction of the created universe with its creator, and by conjunction everlasting conservation, . there is conjunction with the lord by a life according to his commandments, . there is no conjunction unless it be reciprocal, for conjunction on one part, and not on the other in its turn, is dissolved of itself, . connection, the connubial, of what is evil and false is the spiritual origin of adultery, , . it is the anti-church, . in hell all are in this _conmibium_, . connubial principle, the, of what is evil and false, is the opposite of the conjugial principle of good and truth, . beneath heaven there are only nuptial connections which are tied and loosed, . conscience is a spiritual virtue which flows from love towards god, and love towards the neighbor, . see _to flow_. conscientiousness in regard to marriage, . consecration of marriages, . consent constitutes marriage and initiates the spirit into conjugial love, . consent against the will, or extorted, does not initiate the spirit, . consociation, , *. consummation of the age, signifies the last time or end of the church, . contempt between married partners springs from disunion of souls, . contingencies and circumstances vary every thing, , . contraries arise from an opposite principle in contrariety thereto, . conviction of the spirit of man, how it is effected, . those things in which the spirit is convinced, obtain a place above those which, without consulting reason, enter from authority, and from the faith of authority, . copper, the, signifies natural good, . the age or period of copper, . corpora striata, . corporeal principle, the, is like ground wherein things natural, rational, and spiritual, are implanted in their order, . man is born corporeal as a worm, and he remains corporeal, unless he learns to know, to understand, and to be wise from others, . every man by birth is merely corporeal, and from corporeal he becomes natural more and more interiorly, and thus rational, and at length spiritual, , . by corporeal men are properly meant those who love only themselves, placing their heart in the quest of honor, ; they immerse all things of the will, and consequently of the understanding in the body, and look backward at themselves from others, and love only what is proper to themselves, . corporeal spirits, . correspondences, , , , . concerning the correspondence of the marriage of the lord and the church, . there is a correspondence of conjugial love with the marriage of the lord and the church, . of the correspondence of the opposite with the violation of spiritual marriage, . see _science of correspondences_. cortical substance of the brain, . courage is one of the moral virtues which have respect to life and enter into it, . covenant signifies conjunction, . as the word is the medium of conjunction, it is therefore called the old and the new covenant, . the covenant between jehovah and the heavens, . crab, the.--what it is to think as a crab walks, . create, to.--why man was so created that whatever he wills, thinks, and does, appears to him as in himself, and thereby from himself, . how man, created a form of god, could be changed into a form of the devil, *. creation cannot be from any other source than from divine love, by divine wisdom in divine use, . all fructifications, propagations, and prolifications, are continuations of creation, . the creation returns to the creator, through the angelic heaven which is composed of the human race, . creation of man for conjugial love, . crocodiles, in the spiritual world, represent the deceit and cunning of the inhabitants, . crowns of flowers on the head, . the crown of chastity, . cupidities, the, of the flesh are nothing but the conglomerated concupiscences of what is evil and false, . customary rites, there are, which are merely formal, and there are others which at the same time are also essential; among the latter are the nuptials, . nuptials are to be reckoned among essentials, . danes, the, , . darkness of the north signifies dulness of mind and ignorance of truth, . daughters-in-law.--what daughters and sons-in-law signify in the word, . daughters, in the word, signifies the goods of the church, , . death.--man after death is perfectly a man, yea, more perfectly a man than before in the world, . decalogue, why the, was promulgated by jehovah god upon mount sinai with a stupendous miracle, . decantation.--the purification of conjugial love may be compared with the purification of natural spirits, as effected by the chemists, and called decantation, . deceased.--when married partners have lived in love truly conjugial, the spirit of the deceased cohabits continually with that of the survivor, and this even to the death of the latter, . declaration, the, of love belongs to the men, . defecation.--the purification of conjugial love may be compared with the purification of natural spirits, as effected by the chemists, and called defecation, . degrees.--there are three degrees of life, and hence there are three heavens, and the human mind is distinguished into those degrees, hence man corresponds to the three heavens, . heretofore the distinction of degrees in relation to greater and less has been known, but not in relation to prior and posterior, . there are three degrees of the natural man; the first degree is that properly meant by the natural, the second the sensual, and the third the corporeal, . adulteries change men into these degenerate degrees, . four degrees of adulteries, - . violations of the word and the church correspond to the prohibited degrees enumerated in levit., ch. xviii., . delights, all, whatever, of which man has any sensation, are delights of his love, . by delights love manifests itself, yea, exists and lives, . delights follow use, and are also communicated to man according to the love thereof, . the love of use derives its essence from love, and its existence from wisdom. the love of use, which derives its origin from love by wisdom, is the love and life of all celestial joys, . the activity of love makes the sense of delight: its activity in heaven is with wisdom, its activity in hell is with insanity: each in its objects presents delights, . delight is the all of life to all in heaven, and to all in hell, . delights are exalted in the same degree that love is exalted, and also in the degree that the incident affections touch the ruling love more nearly, . every delight of love, in the spiritual world, is presented to the sight under various appearances, to the sense under various odors, and to the view under various forms of beasts and birds, . delights of love truly conjugial, . delights, external, without internal have no soul, . every delight without its corresponding soul continually grows more and more languid and dull, and fatigues the mind (_animus_) more than labor, . the delight of the soul is derived from love and wisdom proceeding from the lord, . this delight enters into the soul by influx from the lord, and descends through the superior and inferior regions of the mind into all the senses of the body, and in them is complete and full, . in conjugial love are collated all joys and delights from first to last, , . the delights of conjugial love are the same with the delights of wisdom, , . they proceed from the lord, and now thence into the souls of men (_homines_), and through their souls into their minds, and there into the interior affections and thoughts, and thence into the body, , , , *, . as good is one with truth in spiritual marriage, so wives desire to be one with their husband; and hence arise conjugial delights with them, . paradisiacal delights, . the delights of conjugial love ascend to the highest heaven, and in the way thither, and there, join themselves with the delights of all heavenly loves, and thereby enter into their happiness, and endure forever, . delirium.--an eminent degree of delirium is occasioned by truths which are falsified until they are believed to be wisdom, . delirium in which those are, in the spiritual world, who have been in the unrestrained love of self and the world, . democritus, . demosthenes, . devils.--those are called devils who have lived wickedly, and thereby rejected all acknowledgment of god from their hearts, . see _satans_. with adulterers who are called devils, the will is the principal agent, and with those who are called satans, the understanding is the principal agent, . devil of a frightful form, . difference between the spiritual and the natural, - . dignities, concerning, in heaven, , , there they do not prefer dignity to use but the excellence of use to dignity, . diogenes, . disciples, the twelve, together represented the church as to all its constituent principles, . who they are who are called disciples of the lord in the spiritual world, . discord between married partners arises from spiritual cold, . discourse, man's, in itself is such as is the thought of his understanding which produces it, . discourse itself is grounded in the thought of the understanding, and the tone of the voice is grounded in the will affection, . speech which is said to flow from the thought, flows not from the thought, but from the affection through the thought, . spiritual language with representatives fully expresses what is intended to be said, and many things in a moment, . conversation in the spiritual world may be heard by a distant person as if he were present, . frequent discourse from the memory and from recollection, and not at the same time from thought and intelligence, induces a kind of faith, . disjunction, all, derives its origin from the opposition of spiritual spheres, which emanate from their subjects, . dissimilitudes in the spiritual world are separated, . see _likeness_. distances.--spheres cause distances in the spiritual world, . distances in the spiritual world are appearances according to the states of mind, . distinction, characteristic, of the woman and the man, . diversities.--distinction between varieties and diversities. there are varieties between those things which are of one genus, or of one species, also between the genera and species; but there is a diversity between those things which are in the opposite principle, . in heaven there is infinite variety, and in hell infinite diversity, . divided.--every thing divided is more and more multiple, and not more and more simple, because what is continually divided approaches nearer and nearer to the infinite, in which all things are infinitely, . divine good and truth.--the divine good is the _esse_ of the divine substance, and the divine truth is the _existere_ of the divine substance, . the divine good and truth proceed as one from the lord, . the lord god, the creator, is essential divine good, and essential divine truth, . the divine truth in the word is united to the divine good, . all divine truth in the heavens gives forth light, . divine essence, the, is composed of love, wisdom, and use, . nothing but what is of the divine essence can proceed from the lord, and flow into the inmost principle of man, . there is not any essence without a form, nor any form without an essence, . divine love and wisdom.--in the lord god, the creator, there are divine love and divine wisdom, . divisible.--every grain of thought, and every drop of affection, is divisible _ad infinitum_: in proportion as his ideas are divisible man is wise, . every thing is divisible _in infinitum_, . divorce, by, is meant the abolition of the conjugial covenant, and thence a plenary separation, and after this an entire liberty to marry another wife, . the only cause of divorce is adultery, according to the lord's precept. matt. xix. , , . doctrinals of the new church in five precepts, . dogs in the spiritual world represent the lusts in which the inhabitants are principled, . who those are who appear like dogs of indulgences, . doves, turtle.--in heaven, the appearances under which the chaste delights of conjugial love are presented to the view, are turtle-doves, &c., . a pair of turtle-doves represents conjugial love of the highest region, . dragons in the spiritual world represent the falsities and depraved inclinations of the inhabitants to those things which appertain to idolatrous worship, . dress of a bridegroom and bride during their marriage in heaven, , . drink, to, water from the fountain signifies to be instructed concerning truths, and by truths concerning goods, and thereby to grow wise, . drinks.--in the heaven as well as in the world there are drinks, . see _food_. drunkenness, , . dura-mater, . duties.--there are duties proper to the man, and duties proper to the wife, . in the duties proper to the men, the primary agent is understanding, thought, and wisdom; whereas in the duties proper to the wives, the primary agent is will, affection, and love, . ear, the, does not hear and discern the harmonies of tunes in singing, and the concordances of the articulation of sounds in discourse, but the spirit, . in heaven the right ear is the good of hearing, and the left the truth thereof, . earth, the, or ground is the common mother of all vegetables, , ; and of all minerals, . earth, the lower, in the spiritual world, is next above hell, . earth, or country, , , , , , , , , &c. ease, by, and sloth the mind grows stupid and the body torpid, and the whole man becomes insensible to every vital love, especially to conjugial love, . east, the.--the lord is the east, because he is in the sun there, . eat, to, of the tree of life, in a spiritual sense, is to be intelligent and wise from the lord; and to eat of the tree of knowledge of good and evil, signifies to be intelligent and wise from self, . to eat of the tree of life, is to receive eternal life; to eat of the tree of knowledge of good and evil, is to receive damnation, , . ecclesiastical order, the, on the earth minister those things which appertain to the lord's priestly character, . what is the nature of ecclesiastical self-love, . they aspire to be gods, so far as that love is unrestrained. . eden.--see _garden_. education of children in the spiritual world, - . effect.--see _end_. effigy.--two married partners, between or in whom conjugial love subsists, are an effigy and form of it, . in the spiritual world the faces of spirits become the effigies of their internal affections, . election belongs to the man and not to the woman, . the women have the right of election of one of their suitors, . elevation.--with men there is an elevation of the mind into superior light, and with women elevation of the mind into superior heat, . elevation into superior light with men is elevation into superior intelligence, and thence into wisdom, in which also there are ascending degrees of elevation, . the elevation into superior heat with women is an elevation into chaster and purer conjugial love, and continually towards the conjugial principle, which from creation lies concealed in their inmost principles, . these elevations considered in themselves are openings of the mind, . elysian fields, . employments in the spiritual world, . end of this work, . end, the, and the cause, in what is to be effected and in effects, act in unity because they act together, . the end, cause, and effect successively progress as three things, but in the effect itself they make one, . every end considered in itself is a love, . every end appertains to the will, every cause to the understanding, and every effect to action, . the end, unless the intended effect is seen together with it, is not any thing, neither does each become any thing, unless the cause supports, contrives, and conjoins, . all operations in the universe have a progression from ends, through causes into effects, . ends advance in a series, one after the other, and in their progress the last end becomes first, . ends make progression in nature through times without time, but they cannot come forth and manifest themselves, until the effect or use exists and becomes a subject, . the end of marriage is the procreation of children, . all in heaven are influenced by an end of good; and all in hell by an end of evil, , . england, english, , , . enunciations, the.--the name of the prophetic books of the word that was given to the inhabitants of asia, before the israelitish word, . epicurus, . equilibrium, there is an, between the sphere of conjugial love, and between the sphere of its opposite, and man is kept in this equilibrium, . this equilibrium is a spiritual equilibrium, . spiritual equilibrium is that which exists between good and evil, or between heaven and hell, . this equilibrium produces a free principle, . see _freedom_. erudite, the pretended, in the spiritual world, . erudition appertains to rational wisdom, . erudition is one of the principles constituent of rational wisdom, . esse and existere.--the esse of the substance of god is divine good, and the existere of the substance of god is divine truth, . essentials.--love, wisdom, and use, are three essentials, together constituting one divine essence, . these three essentials flow into the souls of men, . eternity is the infinity of time, . ethics is one of those sciences by which an entrance is made into things rational, which are the ground of rational wisdom, . eunuchs.--of those who are born eunuchs, or of eunuchs so made, . who are understood by the eunuchs who make themselves eunuchs for the kingdom of heaven's sake, matt. xix. , . evil is not from creation; nothing but good exists from creation, . man himself is the origin of evil, not that that origin was implanted in him by creation, but that he, by turning from god to himself, implanted it in himself, . love without wisdom is love from man, and this love is the origin of evil, . no one can be withdrawn from evil unless he has been first led into it, . so far as any one removes evil, so far a capacity is given for good to succeed in its place, . so far as evil is hated, so far good is loved, . evils and falses, after they arose, were distinguished into genera, species, and differences, . all evils are together of the external and internal man; the internal intends them, and the external does them, . so far as the understanding favors evils, so far a man appropriates them to himself, and makes them his own, . see _hereditary_. extension cannot be predicated of things spiritual, . the reason why, . externals derive from their internals their good or evil, . of the external derived from the internal, and of the external separate from the internal, . how man after death puts off externals, and puts on internals, *. eye, the, does not see and discern various particulars in objects, but they are seen and discerned by the spirit, . in heaven the right eye is the good of vision, and the left the truth thereof, . eyes, when the, of the spirit are opened, angels appear in their proper form, which is the human, . fables.--things which are called fables at this day, were correspondences agreeable to the primeval method of speaking, . face, the, depends on the mind (_animus_), and is its type, . the countenance is a type of the love, . the variety of countenances is infinite, . there are not two human faces which arc exactly alike, . the faces of no two persons are absolutely alike, nor can there be two faces alike to eternity, . faculty.--man is born faculty and inclination; faculty to know, and inclination to love, . the faculty of understanding and growing wise as of himself, was implanted in man by creation, . the faculty of knowing, of understanding, and of growing wise, receives truths, whereby it has science, intelligence, and wisdom, . man has the faculty of elevating his understanding into the light of wisdom, and his will into the heat of celestial love; these two faculties are never taken away from any man, . the faculty of becoming wise increases with those who are in love truly conjugial, . faith is truth, , . saving faith is to believe on the lord jesus christ, . fallacies of the senses are the darkness of truths, *. falses, all, have been collated into hell, . see _evils_. falsifications of truth are spiritual whoredoms, , . father.--the lord in the word is called father, . most fathers, when they come into another life, recollect their children who have died before them, and they are also presented to, and mutually acknowledge, each other, . in what manner spiritual and natural fathers act, . by father and mother, whom man is to leave, matt. xix. , , in a spiritual sense, is meant his _proprium_ (self-hood) of will, and _proprium_ of understanding, . see _proprium_. favor, causes of, between married partners, , , . fear.--in love truly conjugial there is a fear of loss, . this fear resides in the very inmost principles of the mind, . feasts.--there are in heaven, as in the world, both feasts and repasts, . female.--see _male and female_. the female principle is derived from the male, or, the woman was taken out of the man, . the female principle cannot be changed into the male principle, nor the male into the female, . the difference between the essential feminine and masculine principle, , . the good of truth, or truth from good, in the female principle, , , . the female principle consists in perceiving from love, , . fevers, malignant and pestilential, , . fire in heaven represents good, . fire in the spiritual sense signifies love, . the fire of the angelic sun is divine love, . the fire of the altar and of the candlestick in the tabernacle among the israelites, represented divine love, . the fire of the natural sun has existed from no other source than from the fire of the spiritual sun, which is divine love, . the fires of the west signify the delusive loves of evil, . fish.--in the spiritual world fishes are representative forms, . every fish corresponds to some quality, . flame.--celestial love with the angels of heaven appears at a distance as flame; and thus also infernal love appears with the spirits of hell, . flame in the spiritual world does not burn like flame in the natural world, . celestial flame in no case bursts out against another, but only defends itself, and defends itself against an evil person, as when he rushes into the fire and is burnt, . flesh, the, is contrary to the spirit, that is, contrary to the spiritual things of the church, . combat between the flesh and the spirit, . the flesh is ignorant of the delights of the spirit, . the flesh is not sensible of those things which happen in the flesh, but the spirit perceives them, . what is signified by the words of our lord, "they are no more twain but one flesh," , *, , . by "all flesh," in the word, is signified every man, *. flow from, to.--all that which flows from a subject, and encompasses and environs it, is named a sphere, . flow in, to.--every thing which flows in from the lord into man, flows into his inmost principle, which is the soul, and descends thence into his middle principle, which is the mind, and through this into his ultimate principle, which is the body, . the marriage of good and truth flows thus from the lord with man, immediately into his soul, and thence proceeds to the principles next succeeding, and through these to the extreme or outermost, . flowers.--the delights of conjugial love are represented in heaven by the flowers with which the cloaks and tunics of married partners are embroidered, . flowery fields.--in heaven there are flowery fields which are the appearances under which the chaste pleasures of conjugial love are presented to the sight, . food, heavenly, in its essence is nothing but love, wisdom, and use, united together; that is, use effected by wisdom, and derived from love, . food for the body is given to every one in heaven, according to the use which he performs, . form.--there is nothing that exists but in a form, . there is no substance without a form, . every form consists of various things, and is such as is the harmonic co-ordination thereof and arrangement to one, . all a man's affections and thoughts are in forms, and thence from forms, . the form of heaven is derived solely from varieties of souls and minds arranged into such an order as to make a one, . truth is the form of good, . the human form in its inmost principles is from creation a form of love and wisdom, . men from creation are forms of science, intelligence, and wisdom; and women are forms of the love of those principles as existing with men, . form of the marriage of good and truth, . two married partners are that form in their inmost principles, and thence in what is derived from those principles, in proportion as the interiors of their mind are opened, , . two married partners are the very forms of love and wisdom, or of good and truth, . the internal form of man is that of his spirit, . the woman is a form of wisdom inspired with love-affection, . the male form is the intellectual form, and the female is the voluntary, . the most perfect and most noble human form results from the conjunction of two forms by marriage, so as to become one form, . how man, created a form of god, could be changed into a form of the devil, *. the desire to continue in its form is implanted from creation in all living things, . see _substance_. formation.--as to formation, the masculine soul, as being intellectual, is thus truth, . formation of the woman into a wife according to the description in the book of creation, - . fountain, a, signifies the truth of wisdom, . fountain of parnassus, . see _water_. fowls.--wonderful things conspicuous respecting fowls, . france, , . freedom originates in the spiritual equilibrium which exists between heaven and hell, or between good and evil, and in which man is educated, . the freedom of love truly conjugial is most free, . the lord wills that the male man (_homo_) should act from principle according to reason, , . without freedom and reason man would not be a man, but a beast, . french, the, , , . frensy, or furious wildness, a legitimate cause of separation, , . friends meet after death, and recollect their friendships in the former world; but when their consociation is only from external affections, a separation ensues, and they no longer see or know each other, . friendship is one of the moral virtues which have respect to life, and enter into it, . friendship increases with those who are principled in love truly conjugial, . inmost friendship is in love truly conjugial, and is derived from it, . inmost friendship is seated in the breast, . friendship from conjugial love differs greatly from the friendship of every other love, . apparent friendship between married partners is a consequence of the conjugial covenant being ratified for the term of life, . there are various species of apparent friendship between married partners, one of whom is brought under the yoke, and therefore subject to the other, . difference between conjugial friendship and servile friendship in marriages, . under what circumstances there may exist between married partners, when old, a friendship resembling that of conjugial love, . frozen substances, . fructification, all, is originally derived from the influx of love, wisdom, and use from the lord; from an immediate influx into the souls of men; from a mediate influx into the souls of animals; and from an influx still more mediate into the inmost principles of vegetables, . fructifications are continuations of creation, . fructification in the heavens, , . future, the.--the lord does not permit any man to know the future, because in proportion as he does so, in the same degree his reason and understanding, with his prudence and wisdom, become inactive, are swallowed up and destroyed, . gallery, open, . gangrenes, . gardens.--in heaven the appearances under which the chaste delights of conjugial love are presented, are gardens and flowery fields, . the garden of eden signifies the wisdom of love, . nuptial gardens, . paradisiacal gardens, . description of the garden of the prince of a heavenly society, . garland of roses, a, in heaven signifies the delights of intelligence, . garlands in heaven represent the delights of conjugial love, , . genera.--distinction of all things into genera, species, and discriminations; the reason why, . there are three genera of adulteries, simple, duplicate, and triplicate, , . general of an army, . generals cannot enter into particulars, . generosity is one of those moral virtues which have respect to life, and enter into it, . genii.--who those are who, in the spiritual world, are called infernal genii, . genital region, . gentiles.--why there is no communication between the christian heaven, and the heaven of the gentiles, . geometry is one of the sciences by which an entrance is made into things rational, which are the ground of rational wisdom, . germans, , . germany, . gestures.--in the spiritual world the internal affections appear even in the gestures, . giants, abode of, . gland, pineal, . glorification of the lord by the angels of the heavens on account of his coming, . glorifying, by, god is meant the discharging of all the duties of our callings with faithfulness, sincerity, and diligence; hereby god is glorified, as well as by acts of worship at stated times, succeeding these duties, . glory, the, of the love of self, elevates the understanding even into the light of heaven, . the glory of honor with men induces, exalts, and sharpens jealousy, . god, the, of heaven is the lord, . there is only one god, in whom there is a divine trinity, and he is the lord jesus christ, , . god is love itself, and wisdom itself, . the _esse_ of the substance of god is divine good, and the _existere_ of his substance is divine truth, . see _lord, obs_. good and truth.--what the will loves and does is called good, and what the understanding perceives and thinks is called true, . all those things which pertain to the love are called good, and all those things which pertain to wisdom are called truths, . all things in the universe have relation to good and truth, . good and truth are the universals of creation, and thence are in all created things, . good has relation to love, and truth to wisdom, . by truths, man has understanding, perception, and all thought; and by goods, love, charity, and all affection, . man receives truth as his own, and appropriates it as his own, for he thinks what is true as from himself, ; but he cannot take good as of himself, it being no object of his sight, . the truth of faith constitutes the lord's presence, and the good of life according to the truths of faith constitutes conjunction with him, . the truth of faith constitutes the lord's presence, because it relates to light; and the good of life constitutes conjunction, because it relates to heat, . in all things in the universe, good is conjoined with truth, and truth with good, . there is not any truth without good, nor good without truth, . good is not good, only so far as it is united with truth; and truth is not truth, only so far as it is united with good, . relations of good and truth to their objects, and their conjunction with them, . the good which joins itself with the truth belonging to the man is from the lord immediately, but the good of the wife, which joins itself with the truth belonging to the man, is from the lord mediately through the wife, . see _marriage of good and truth_. government.--in heaven there are governments and forms of government, . governments.--there are in heaven, as on the earths, distinctions of dignity and governments, . grapes, good, and bad grapes, what they represent in the spiritual world, , . ground.--man at his first birth is as a ground in which no seeds are implanted, but which nevertheless is capable of receiving all seeds, and of bringing them forth and fructifying them, . groves, , , , . guilt, _reatus_, is principally predicated of the will, . gymnasia in the spiritual world, *, , , . gymnasia, olympic, in the spiritual world, where the ancient _sophi_ and many of their disciples met together, *. habitations.--how men have ceased to be habitations of god, *. hand.--in heaven the right hand is the good of man's ability, and the left the truth thereof, . if, in the word, mention is made of a thing's being inscribed on the hands, it is because the hands are the ultimates of man, wherein the deliberations and conclusions of his mind terminate, and there constitute what is simultaneous, . the angels can see in a man's hand all the thoughts and intentions of his mind, . whatever a man examines intellectually, appears to the angels as if inscribed on his hands, . happiness, concerning eternal, and following. happiness ought to be within external joys, and to flow from them, . this happiness abiding in external joys, makes them joys, and to flow from them, . this happiness abiding in external joys, makes them joys, it enriches them, and prevents their becoming loathsome and disgusting; and this happiness is derived to every angel from the use he performs in his function, . from the reception of the love of uses, springs heavenly happiness, which is the life of joys, . heavenly happiness results from the eternal enjoyment of different states derived from conjugial love, . the delights of the soul, with the thoughts of the mind and the sensations of the body, constitute heavenly happiness, . the happiness which results from the sensations of the body alone, is not eternal, but soon passes away, and in some cases becomes unhappiness, . eternal happiness does not arise from the place, but from the state of the life of man (_homo_) . happiness, the, of cohabitation increases with those who are principled in love truly conjugial, . healing of the sick by the touch, . hearing, natural, is grounded in spiritual hearing, which is attention of the understanding, and at the same time accommodation of the will, . the love of hearing grounded in the love of hearkening to and obeying has the sense of hearing, and the gratifications proper to it are the various kinds of harmony, . the perception of a thing imbibed by hearing only flows in indeed, but does not remain unless the hearer also thinks of it from himself, and asks questions concerning it, . heart, the, signifies love, . the heart has relation to good, . the heart rules by the blood in every part of the body, . heat, spiritual, is love, . this heat is from no other source than the sun of the spiritual world, . heat is felt, and not seen, . when the heat of conjugial love removes and rejects the heat of adulterous love, conjugial love begins to acquire a pleasant warmth, . the quality of the heat of conjugial love with polygamists, . heat and light.--in heaven heat is love, and the light with which heat is united, is wisdom, . natural heat corresponds to spiritual heat, which is love, and natural light corresponds to spiritual light, which is wisdom, . heavenly light acts in unity with wisdom, and heavenly heat with love, . those things which have relation to light are seen, and those which have relation to heat are felt, . the delight of spiritual heat with spiritual light is perceivable in human forms, in which this heat is conjugial love, and this light is wisdom, . heaven.--the angelic heaven is formed from the human race, . there are three heavens, the first or ultimate heaven, the second or middle heaven, and the third or highest heaven, . the universal heaven is arranged in order according to the varieties of the affections of the love of good, . in heaven human forms are altogether similar to those in the natural world. nothing is wanting in the male, and nothing in the female, . the heaven of infants, its situation, . heaven of innocence, . heaven of mahometans, - . helicon, *, . heliconides, sports of the, in the spiritual world, . these sports were spiritual exercises and trials of skill, . hell.--the universal hell is arranged in order according to the affections of the love of evil, . those who are in evil from the understanding dwell there in front and are called satans, but those who are in evil from the will dwell to the back and are called devils, . hell of the deceitful, . heraclitus, . hereditary evil is not from adam, but from a man's parents, . whence it springs, . heterogeneites in the spiritual world are not only felt, but also appear in the face, the discourse, and the gesture, . heterogeneous or discordant, what is, causes disjunction and absence in the spiritual world, . hieroglyphics, the, of the egyptians derive their origin from the science of correspondences and representations, , . history is one of the sciences by which an entrance is made into things rational, which are the ground of rational wisdom, . hogs.--in hell, the forms of beasts under which the lascivious delights of adulterous love are presented to the view are hogs, &c., . companions of ulysses changed into hogs, . holland, . hollanders or dutchmen, , . homogeneites, in the spiritual world, are not only felt, but also appear in the face, language, and gesture, . homogeneous or concordant, what is, causes conjunction and presence, . honors.--in heaven the angels feel that the honors of the dignities are out of themselves, and are as the garments with which they are clothed, . hoof, by the, of the horse pegasus is understood experiences whereby comes natural intelligence, . house, the, signifies the understanding of truths, . see _pegasus_. house.--in heaven no one can dwell but in his own house, which is provided for him, and assigned to him, according to the quality of his love, . human principle, the, consists in desiring to grow wise, and in loving whatever appertains to wisdom, . hunch-backed.--when the love of the world constitutes the head, a man is not a man otherwise than as hunch-backed, . husband.--how with young men the youthful principle is changed into that of a husband, . husband, the, does not represent the lord, and the wife the church, because both together, the husband and the wife, constitute the church, . the husband represents wisdom, and the wife represents the love of the wisdom of the husband, . the husband is truth, and the wife the good thereof, . a state receptible of love, and perceptible of wisdom, makes a youth into a husband, . see _wife_. hypocrite.--every man who is not interiorly led by the lord is a hypocrite, and thereby an apparent man, and yet not a man, . idea, every, of man's, however sublimated, is substantial--that is, affixed to substances, . to every idea of natural thought there adheres something derived from space and time, which is not the case with any spiritual idea, . spiritual ideas, compared with natural, are ideas of ideas, . there is not any idea of natural thought adequate to any idea of spiritual thought, . spiritual ideas are supernatural, inexpressible, ineffable, and incomprehensible to the natural man, . one natural idea contains innumerable spiritual ideas, and one spiritual idea contains innumerable celestial ideas, . identity.--no absolute identity of two things exist, still less of several, . idolaters, ancient, in the spiritual world, . idolatry.--its origin, , . ijim, the, in hell represent the images of the phantasies of the infernals, . see _phantasy_. illustrate, to, , *, , , &c. _obs._--in the writings of the author, to illustrate is generally used in the sense of to enlighten. illustration.--in the word there is illustration concerning eternal life, . _obs._--illustration is an actual opening of the interiors which pertain to the mind, and also an elevation into the light of heaven, _h.d._, . image.--what are the image and likeness of god into which man was created, , . image of the husband in the wife, . imagination, , . see _phantasy_. immodesty, , . all in hell are in the immodesty of adulterous love, . immortality.--man may no longer be in doubt through ignorance respecting his immortality, after the discoveries which it has pleased the lord to make, . implant, to.--that which is implanted in souls by creation, and respects propagation, is indelible, and not to be extirpated, . good cannot be implanted, only so far as evil is removed, . impletion.--the soul is a spiritual substance, which is not a subject of extension, but of impletion, . imposition of hands.--whence it has originated, . impure.--to the impure every thing is impure, . impurity, the, of hell is from adulterous love, , . in like manner the impurity in the church, , . there are innumerable varieties of impurities; all hell overflows with impurities, . imputation, the, of evil in the other life is not accusation, incusation, inculpation, and judication, as in the world, ; evil is there made sensible as in its odor; it is this which accuses, incuses, fixes blame, and judges, not before any judge, but before every one who is principled in good, and this is what is meant by imputation, . imputation of adulterous love, and imputation of conjugial love, - . imputation of adulteries after death, how effected, , , ; these imputations take place after death, not according to circumstances, which are external of the deed, but according to internal circumstances of the mind, . imputation of good, how it is effected, . if by imputation is meant the transcription of good into any one who is in evil, it is a frivolous term, . impute, to.--the evil in which every one is, is imputed to him after death; in like manner the good, , , . evil or good is imputed to every one after death, according to the quality of his will and or his understanding, . who it is to whom sin is not imputed, and who to whom it is imputed, , . inactivity or sloth occasions a universal languor, dulness, stupor, and drowsiness of the mind, and thence of the body, . in consequence of sloth the mind grows stupid and the body torpid, and the whole man becomes insensible to every vital love, especially to conjugial love, . inclination.--in the truth of good, and in the good of truth, there is implanted from creation an inclination to join themselves together into one, , ; the reason why, . the conjunctive inclination, which is conjugial love, is in the same degree with the conjunction of good and truth, which is the church, . every one derives from his parents his peculiar temper, which is his inclination, . children are born with inclinations to such things as their parents were inclined to, ; but it is of the divine providence that perverse inclinations may be rectified, . inclinations of married partners towards each other, . husbands know nothing at all of the inclinations and affections of their own love, but wives are well acquainted with those principles in their husbands, . inclination of the wife towards the husband, . dissimilitude of internal inclinations is the origin and cause of cold, . external inclinations, whence they arise, . indifference with married partners comes from a disunion of souls and disjunction of minds, , . industry is one of the moral virtues which have respect to life, and enter into it, . inequality of external rank and condition is one of the external causes of cold, . there are many inequalities of rank and condition which put an end to the conjugial love commenced before marriage, . infancy is the appearance of innocence, . influx.--what is meant by influx, . there is an immediate influx from the lord into the souls of men, a mediate influx into the souls of animals, and an influx still more mediate into the inmost principles of vegetables, . every subject receives influx according to its form, . the subject does not perceive the influx, . the influx is alike into all; but the reception, which is according to the form, causes every species to continue a particular species, . the influx of love and wisdom from the lord is the essential activity from which comes all delight, . influx of conjugial love, , , . inherent, , , , . _obs._--that is called inherent which proceeds from a common influx, _a.e._, . common influx is a continual effort proceeding from the lord through all heaven, into each of the things which pertain to the life of man. see _a.e._, . what is inherent is as a graft. inherent, to be, , , , , , . inmost principles of the mind, and inmost principles of the body, . the highest things of successive order become the inmost of simultaneous order, . the inmost principle of man is his soul, . innocence is the _esse_ of every good; good is only so far good as innocence is in it, , . the lord is innocence itself, . innocence is to be led by the lord, . the innocence of infants flows in from the lord, . the sphere of innocence flows into infants, and through them into parents, and affects them, , . what is the innocence of infants which flows into parents, . the innocence of infancy is the cause of the love called _storge_, . innocence corresponds to infancy, and also to nakedness, . the innocence of childhood is external innocence, and the innocence of wisdom internal innocence, . the innocence of wisdom is the end of all instruction and progression with infants in the spiritual world, . when they come to the innocence of wisdom, the innocence of infancy is adjoined to them, which in the mean time had served them as a plane, . innocence is in conjugial love, and pertains to the soul, . innocence is one of the spiritual virtues which flow from love to god and love towards the neighbor, . insanity, .--insanity, a vitiated state of the mind, is a legitimate cause of separation, , . inscribed on the hands.--why this form of expression is used in the word, . see _hand_. instruction of children in heaven, - . places of instruction in the spiritual world, . integrity, state of, , . intellectual, the, principle is nothing but truth, . man's intellectual principle is the inmost principle of the woman, . intelligence is a principle of reason, . there is no end to intelligence, . every one is in intelligence, not by birth, but exteriorly by education, . the intelligence of women is in itself modest, elegant, pacific, yielding, soft, tender; and the intelligence of men in itself is grave, harsh, hard, daring, fond of licentiousness, . circles around the head represent intelligence, . intemperance, , . intention.--that which flows forth from the form of a man's life, thus from the understanding and its thought, is called intention; but that which flows forth from the essence of a man's life, thus that which flows forth from his will or his love, is principally called purpose, . the intention which pertains to the will is principally regarded by the lord, , . intention is as an act before determination; hence it is that, by a wise man and also by the lord, intention is accepted as an act, , . intention is the soul of all actions, and causes blamableness and unblamableness in the world, and after death imputation, . intercourse.--in heaven there are frequent occasions of cheerful intercourse and conversation, whereby the internal minds (_mentes_) of the angels are exhilarated, their external minds (_animi_) entertained, their bosoms delighted, and their bodies refreshed, but such occasions do not occur till they have fulfilled their appointed uses in the discharge of their respective business and functions, . interiors, the, form the exteriors to their own likeness, . the opening of the interiors cannot be fully effected except with those who have been prepared by the lord to receive the things which are of spiritual wisdom, . these interiors, which in themselves are spiritual, are opened by the lord alone, , . internal principles, man's, by which are meant the things appertaining to his mind or spirit, are elevated in a superior degree above his external principles, . intrepidity is one of the moral virtues which have respect to life, and enter into it, . iron.--age of iron, . israelitish nation.--why it was permitted to the israelitish nation to marry a plurality of wives, . italians, , . italian eunuchs, . james, the apostle, represented charity, . jealousy, concerning, - . the zeal of conjugial love is called jealousy, . jealousy is like a burning fire against those who infest love exercised towards a married partner, and it is a horrid fear for the loss of that love, . there is a spiritual jealousy with monogamists, and natural with polygamists, , . jealousy with those married partners who tenderly love each other is a just grief grounded in sound reason lest conjugial love should be divided, and should thereby perish, , . jealousy with married partners who do not love each other is grounded in several causes, proceeding in some instances from various mental sickness, , . jealousy with men resides in the understanding, . in some instances there is not any jealousy, and this also from various causes, . there is a jealousy also in regard to concubines, but not such as in regard to wives, . jealousy likewise exists among beasts and birds, . the jealousy prevalent with men and husbands is different from what is prevalent with women and wives, . jehovah.--the lord is jehovah from eternity, . why jehovah is said to be jealous, . jerusalem, the new, signifies the new church of the lord, , . jesuit, . jesus christ.--the divine trinity is in jesus christ, in whom dwells all the fulness of the godhead bodily, . see _god, lord_. jew, a, may be recognized by his look, . job.--the doctrine of correspondences, of which the spiritual sense of the word is composed, has been concealed now for some thousands of years, namely, since the time of job, . john, the apostle, represented the works of charity, . he represented the church as to the goods of charity, john xix. , , . joy, heavenly, , and following. heavenly joy consists in the delight of doing something that is useful to ourselves and others, which delight derives its essence from love, and its existence from wisdom, . the delight of being useful, originating in love and operating by wisdom, is the very soul and life of all heavenly joys, . judge, a, gives sentence according to actions done, but every one after death is judged according to the intentions; thus a judge may absolve a person, who after death is condemned, and _vice versa_, , . unjust judges, their fate in the other life, . judge, to.--it is permitted to every one to judge of the moral and civil life of another in the world, but to judge what is the quality of his interior mind or soul, thus what is the quality of any one's spiritual state, and thence what is his lot after death, is not allowed, . no one is to be judged of from the wisdom of his conversation, but of his life in union therewith, . after death every one is judged according to the intentions of the will, and thence of the understanding; and according to the confirmations of the understanding, and thence of the will, . judgment.--difference between corporeal judgment, and judgment of the mind, . by corporeal judgment is meant the judgment of the mind according to the external senses, which judgment is gross and dull, . see _justice and judgment_. judicial proceedings.--in heaven there are judicial proceedings, , . jurisprudence is one of the sciences by which, as by doors, an entrance is made into things rational, which are the ground of rational wisdom, . justice, divine.--it is contrary to divine justice to condemn those who acknowledge a god and from a principle of religion practise the laws of justice, which consist in shunning evils because they are contrary to god, and doing what is good because it is agreeable to god, . justice and judgment.--justice has relation to moral wisdom, and judgment to rational wisdom, . the spiritual man in all he does acts from justice and judgment, . kids.--in heaven, the forms of animals under which the chaste delights of conjugial love are presented to view are kids &c., . kingdom, the, of christ, which is heaven, is a kingdom of uses, . labyrinth, paradisiacal, . lakes signify falsifications of truth, . lakes of fire and brimstone, , . lambs in the spiritual world are representative forms of the state of innocence and peace of the inhabitants, . the forms of animals under which the chaste delights of conjugial love are there presented to the view, are lambs, &c., . the lord from innocence is called a lamb, . lamps signify truth, . language.--all in the spiritual world have the spiritual language, which has in it nothing common to any natural language, . every man comes of himself into the use of that language after his decease, . every spirit and angel, when conversing with a man, speaks his proper language, . the sound of spiritual language differs so far from the sound of natural language, that a spiritual sound, though loud, could not at all be heard by a natural man, nor a natural sound by a spiritual man, . lascivious.--angels discern in the extremes what is lascivious from what is not lascivious, . the external principle separated from the internal, is lascivious in the whole and in every part, . the lascivious mind acts lasciviously, and the chaste mind chastely; and the latter arranges the body, whereas the former is arranged by the body, . lasciviousness, in its spiritual origin, is insanity, . in the lowest region of the mind, which is called the natural, reside all the concupiscences of lasciviousness, but in the superior region, which is called the spiritual, there are not any concupiscences, . all in hell are in lasciviousness, . a sphere of lasciviousness issues forth from the unchaste, . latitude.--all goods and evils partake of latitude and altitude, and according to latitude have their genera, and according to altitude their degrees, . law.--divine law and rational are one law, . how the declaration, that no one can fulfil the law, is to be understood, . leave his father and mother, to, gen. ii. ; matt. xix. , signifies to divest himself of the proprium of the will and of the understanding, . left, the, signifies truth, . leopards in the spiritual world represent the falsities and depraved inclinations of the inhabitants to those things which pertain to idolatrous worship, . those who only read the word, and imbibe thence nothing of doctrine, but confirm false principles, appear like leopards, . leprosy, , . liberality is one of those virtues which have respect to life, and enter into it, . liberty.--see _rationality_ and _liberty_. libraries in the spiritual world, . life.--the life of man essentially is his will, and formally is his understanding, . every one has excellence of life according to his conjugial love, . light.--in heaven, the light with which warmth is united is wisdom, . in heaven there is perpetual light, and on no occasion do the shades of evening prevail; still less is there darkness, because the sun does not set, . heavenly light is above the rational principle with man, and rational light is below it, . if heavenly light does not flow into natural light, a man does not see whether any thing true is true, and neither does he see that any thing false is false, . false and delusive lights, . see _heat_ and _light_. lightning.--in the spiritual world, the vibration of light, like lightning, is a correspondence and consequent appearance of the conflict of arguments, . like.--there is not one angel of heaven absolutely like another, nor any spirit of hell, neither can there be to eternity, . there are not two human faces exactly alike, . likeness or similitude.--the likeness of children to their parents, . man is a likeness of god from this circumstance, that he feels in himself that the things which are of god are in him as his, , . similitudes and dissimilitudes between married partners in general originate from connate inclinations, varied by education, connections, and imbibed persuasions, . there are both internal and external similitudes and dissimilitudes; the internal derive their origin from religion, and the external from education, . the varieties of similitudes are very numerous, and differ more or less from each other, . various similitudes can be conjoined, but not with dissimilitudes, . the lord provides similitudes for those who desire love truly conjugial; and if they are not given in the earths, he provides them in the heavens, . in the spiritual world, similitudes are joined, and dissimilitudes separated, . lipothamia, , . live, to, for others is to perform uses, . loins, the, with men correspond to conjugial love, . look, to.--the lord looks at every man in the fore front of his head, and this aspect passes into the hinder part of his head, . in heaven it is impossible to look at the wife of another from an unchaste principle, . lord, the, is the god of heaven and earth, . the lord is essential good and essential truth; and these in him are not two, but one, . the lord loves every one, and desires to do good to every one, . he promotes good or use by the mediation of angels in heaven, and of men on earth, . from the lord, the creator and conservator of the universe, there continually proceed love, wisdom, and use, and these three as one, . _obs._--in all the writings of the author, by the _lord_, is signified the saviour of the world, jesus christ, who is the one only god, because in him dwelleth the trinity of father, son, and holy spirit. lot.--such as a man's life has been in the world, such is his lot after death, . lot of those who have abandoned themselves to various lusts, , , , . happy lot of those who wished for dominion from the love of uses, . love, to.--whether it be possible for a woman to love her husband, who constantly loves her own beauty, . whether a man who loves himself from his intelligence can love a wife, . love is the _esse_ or essence of a man's life, , , . it is the man himself, . it is the best of the life of man, or his vital heat, , . love is the essential active principle of life, ; it is kept alive by delight, . each love has its delight, . all love is of such a nature that it bursts out into indignation and anger, yea, into fury, whenever it is disturbed in its delights, . love, without its delights, is not any thing, . love is spiritual heat, . love is spiritual heat originating in the fire of the angelic sun, which is pure love, . spiritual heat living in subjects is felt as love, . love resides in man's will; in the will it is like fire, and in the understanding like flame, . love cannot do otherwise than love, and unite itself, in order that it may be loved in return, . it is such, that it desires to communicate with another whom it loves from the heart, yea, to confer joys upon him, and thence to derive its own joys, . the love of man is his very life, not only the common life of his whole body, and the common life of all his thoughts, but also the life of all the particulars thereof, . a man is such as his love is, and not such as his understanding is, since the love easily draws over the understanding to its side, and enslaves it, . it is not possible that any love should become perfect either with men or with angels, , . love, conjugial, is the foundation love of all celestial and spiritual loves, and thence of all natural loves, , , . it is as a parent, and all other loves are as the offspring, . conjugial love essentially consists in the desire of two to become one, that is, their desire that two lives may become one life, , . it is the conjunction of love and wisdom, . the very origin of this love resides in the inmost principles appertaining to man, that is, in is soul, , . this origin springs from the marriage of good and truth, , - , , . this love is celestial, spiritual, and holy, because derived from a celestial, spiritual, and holy origin, . the love of the sex with man is not the origin of conjugial love, but is its first rudiment, . conjugial love in its origin is the sport of wisdom and love, . it is called celestial, as appertaining to the angels of the highest heaven, and spiritual, as appertaining to the angels beneath that heaven, . every angel has conjugial love with its virtue, ability, and delights, according to his application to the genuine use in which he is, . into conjugial love are collated all joys and delights from first to last, . whence arise the delights of conjugial love, which are innumerable and ineffable, . this love belongs to the internal or spiritual man, and hence is peculiar to man, , . conjugial love corresponds to the affection of truth, its chastity, purity, and sanctity, . it is according to the state of wisdom with man, . it remains with man after death such as it had been interiorly, that is, in the interior will and thought, . the purity of heaven is from conjugial love, . the delights of conjugial love commence in the spirit, and are of the spirit even in the flesh, . these delights are the delights of wisdom, . what are the delights of conjugial love, . how conjugial love is formed, . it corresponds to the marriage of the lord with the church, , . conjugial love is according to the state of the church, because it is according to the state of wisdom with man, . the states of this love are, innocence, peace, tranquillity, inmost friendship, full confidence, &c., . conjugial love is of infinite variety, . experience testifies that conjugial love exceeds self-love, the love of the world, and even the love of life, . conjugial love is so rare at this day, that its quality is not known, and scarcely its existence, . conjugial love, such as it was with the ancients, will be raised again by the lord, , . conjugial love is according to religion with man, spiritual with the spiritual, natural with the natural, and merely carnal with adulterers, . of the conjunction of conjugial love with the love of infants, - . of the imputation of conjugial love, - . of love truly conjugial, - . considered in itself, love truly conjugial is a union of souls, a conjunction of minds, and an endeavor towards conjunction in the bosoms, and thence in the body, . it was the love of loves with the ancients who lived in the golden, silver, and copper ages, . considered in its origin and correspondence, it is celestial, spiritual, holy, pure, and clean, . love truly conjugial is only with those who desire wisdom, and who consequently advance more and more into wisdom, . so far as a man loves wisdom from the love thereof, or truth from good, so far he is in love truly conjugial, and in its attendant virtue, . so far as man becomes spiritual, so far he is in love truly conjugial, . this love with its delights is solely from the lord, and is given to those who live according to his precepts, . love truly conjugial may exist with one of the married partners, and not at the same time with the other, . how love truly conjugial is distinguished from spurious, false, and cold conjugial love, . difference between love truly conjugial and vulgar love, which is also called conjugial, and which with some is merely the limited love of the sex, . love of the body, the.--dignities and honors are peculiarly the objects of the love of the body; besides these, there are also various enticing allurements, such as beauty and an external polish of manners, sometimes even an unchasteness of character, . love of children, the, with the mother and the father, conjoin themselves as the heart and lungs in the breast, . the love of infants corresponds to the defence of truth and good, . why the love of infants descends and does not ascend, . the love of infants and of children is different with spiritual married partners from what it is with natural, . the love of infants remains after death, especially with women, . of the conjunction of conjugial love with the love of infants, - . love of dominion, the, grounded in the love of self, and the love of dominion grounded in the love of uses, . the love of dominion grounded in the love of self, is the first universal love of hell; it is in the highest degree infernal, . the love of dominion grounded in the love of uses is the universal love of heaven; it is in the highest degree celestial, , . when the ruling love is touched, there ensues an emotion of the mind (_animus_), and if the touch hurts, there ensues wrath, . love of the neighbor, the, is also the love of doing uses, . the love of the neighbor, or of doing uses, is a spiritual love, . love, polygamical, is connubial, and at the same time adulterous, . it is the love of the sex, limited to a number, . it is the love of the external or natural man, and thus is not conjugial love, . it is inscribed on the natural man, . love of self, the, is also the love of bearing rule over others, . the love of self, or the love of bearing rule over others, is a corporeal love, . love of the sex, the, is a love directed to several, and contracted with several of the sex, . the love of the sex exists with the natural man, but conjugial love with the spiritual man, . the love of the sex with man is not the origin of conjugial love, but is its first rudiment; thus it is like an external natural principle, in which an internal spiritual principle is implanted, . it is the first in respect to time, but not in respect to end, . the love of the sex is the universal of all loves, being implanted from creation in the heart of man, and is for the sake of the propagation of the human race, . what the chaste love of the sex is, and whence derived, , . the love of the sex belongs to the external of natural man, and hence is common to every animal, . it is in itself natural, . origin of the love of the sex, . it is at first corporeal, next it becomes sensual, afterwards it becomes natural, like the same love with other animals; but afterwards it may become natural-rational, and from natural-rational, spiritual, and lastly spiritual-natural, . the nature of the love of the sex if it becomes active before marriage, . the results of checking such love, . the love of the sex remains with man after death, . it remains such as it was in its interior quality, that is, such as it had been in his interior will and thought, . love of uses, the, is from the lord, , , . so far as we do uses from the love thereof, so far that love increases, . the love of doing uses is also neighborly love, . love of the world, the, is also the love of possessing wealth, . the love of the world, or the love of possessing wealth, is a material love, . love, the ruling, is the head of all the rest, . the reason why this love remains with man to eternity, . loves.--there are three universal loves which form the constituents of every man by creation, neighborly love, the love of the world, and the love of self, . a man is a man if these loves are subordinate in that degree that the first constitutes the head, the second the body, and the third the feet, . natural, spiritual, and celestial loves; natural loves relate to the loves of self and the world, spiritual loves to love towards the neighbor, and celestial loves to love towards the lord, . when natural loves flow from spiritual loves, and spiritual from celestial; then the natural loves live from the spiritual, and the spiritual from the celestial; and all in this order live from the lord, in whom they originate, . apparent loves between married partners are a consequence of the conjugial covenant being ratified for the term of life, . the loves of animals are altogether united with their connate science, . see _beasts_. love, adulterous.--concerning the opposition of adulterous love to conjugial love, - . by adulterous love opposite to conjugial love, is meant the love of adultery, so long as it is such as not to be reputed as sin, nor as evil and dishonorable, contrary to reason, but as allowable with reason, . the quality of adulterous love is not known, unless it be known what is the quality of conjugial love, . the impurity of hell is from adulterous love, . the delights of adulterous love commence from the flesh, and are of the flesh even in the spirit, . the origin of adulterous love is from the connection (_connubium_) of what is evil and false, . of the imputation of adulterous love, - . love and wisdom constitute the marriage of the lord and the church, . the lord is love, and the church is wisdom, . love and wisdom are the same thing as good and truth, . love consists of goods, and wisdom of truths, . lowest, the, things of successive order become the outermost of simultaneous order, . lucifer, . lungs, the, signify wisdom, . the lungs rule by respiration in every part of the body, . lust.--the natural man is nothing but an abode and receptacle of concupiscences and lust, . in all that proceeds from the natural man, there is concupiscence and lust, . concerning the unchaste love of the sex with the young, . with the married. . concerning various lusts, - , ; - , , - , , , , . luxury, . lymphs of the brain, . madness is a vitiated state of the mind, and a legitimate cause of separation, . mahomet, , . mahometan religion, . how it originated, . it was raised up of the lord's divine providence, to the end that it might destroy the idolatries of many nations, . mahometans.--why it is permitted the mahometans to marry a plurality of wives, . the mahometan heaven is out of the christian heaven, and is divided into two heavens, the one inferior and the other superior, . male and female.--man (_homo_) is male and female, , . the male and female were created to be the essential form of the marriage of good and truth, and following. the male was created to be the understanding of truth, thus truth in form; and the female was created to be the will of good, thus good in form, , . the male is born intellectual, or in the affection of knowing, of understanding, and growing wise; and the female partakes more of the will principle, or is born into the love of conjoining herself with the affection in the male, . therefore, the male and female differ as to the face, tone of the voice, and form, , . distinct affections, applications, manners, and forms of the male and female, , . the male is the wisdom of love, and the female the love of that wisdom, . after death the male lives a male, and the female a female, each being a spiritual man, , ; neither is there any thing wanting, . male principle, the, consists in perceiving from the understanding, . the truth of good, or truth grounded in good, is in the male principle, , , . in what the male principle essentially consists, . see _female principle_. man is born in a state of greater ignorance than the beasts, *. without instruction he is neither a man nor a beast, but he is a form which is capable of receiving in itself that which constitutes a man, thus he is not born a man but he is made a man, *. man is man by virtue of the will and the understanding, . he is a man from this circumstance, that he can will good, and understand truth, altogether as from himself, and yet know and believe that it is from god, . a man is a man, and is distinguished from the beasts by this circumstance, that his mind is distinguished into three regions, as many as the heavens are distinguished into, and that he is capable of being elevated out of the lowest region into the next above it, and also from this into the highest, and thus of becoming an angel of heaven, even of the third, . there are three things of which every man consists, the soul, the mind, and the body; his inmost principle is the soul, his middle is the mind, and his ultimate is the body, . as the soul is man's inmost principle, it is from its origin celestial; as the mind is his middle principle, it is from its origin spiritual; and as the body is his ultimate principle, it is from its origin natural, . the supreme principles in man are turned upwards to god, the middle principles outwards to the world, and the lowest principles downwards to self, . in man are all the affections of love, and thence all the perceptions of wisdom, compounded in the most perfect order, so as to make together what is unanimous, and thereby a one, . man, as to the affections and thoughts of his mind, is in the midst of angels and spirits, and is so consociated with them, that were he to be plucked asunder from them, he would instantly die, . man was created for uses, . man is male and female, . the male man and the female man were so created, that from two they may become as it were one man, or one flesh; and when they become one, then, taken together, they are a man (_homo_) in his fulness; but without such conjunctions they are two, and each is a divided or half man, . man was born to be wisdom, and the woman to be the love of the man's wisdom, . man is such as his love is, and not such as his understanding is, . the natural man, separate from the spiritual, is only man as to the understanding, and not as to the will; such a one is only half man, . a spiritual man is sensible of, and perceives spiritual delight, which is a thousand times superior to natural delight, . man lives a man after death, . man after death is not a natural man, but a spiritual or substantial man, . a spiritual or substantial man sees a spiritual or substantial man, as a natural or material man sees a natural or material man, . man after death puts off every thing which does not agree with his love, yea, he successively puts on the countenance, the tone of voice, the speech, the gestures, and the manners of the love proper to his life, ; instead of a material body he enjoys a substantial one, wherein natural delight grounded in spiritual is made sensible in its eminence, . men left in the forests when they were about two or three years old, *, *. difference between men and beasts, , , . marriage-apartment of the will and understanding, . marriage is the fulness of man (_homo_), for by it a man becomes a full man, ; thus a state of marriage is preferable to a state of celibacy, . consent is the essential of marriage, and all succeeding ceremonies are its formalities, . the covenant of marriage is for life, . marriages in themselves are spiritual, and thence holy, . marriages are the seminaries of the human race, and thence also the seminaries of the heavenly kingdom, . marriages made in the world are for the most part external, and not at the same time internal, when yet it is the internal conjunction, or conjunction of souls, which constitutes a real marriage, , . marriages interiorly conjunctive can hardly be entered into in the world, the reason why, , . of reiterated marriages, - . there are in the world infernal marriages between married partners, who interiorly are the most inveterate enemies, and exteriorly are as the closest friends, . of marriages in heaven, - . how in heaven marriages from love truly conjugial are provided by the lord, , . spiritual prolification of love and wisdom from marriages in heaven, . beneath heaven there are no marriages (_conjugia_), . concerning the marriage of the lord and the church, and the correspondence thereof, - . marriage, the, of god and truth, , . the reason why it has been heretofore unknown, . how it takes place with man, , . it is the church with man, and is the same thing as the marriage of charity and faith, . the marriage of good and truth is in every thing of the word, ; from this marriage proceed all the loves which constitute heaven and the church with man, . the marriage of good and truth flows into every thing of the universe, , . to be given in marriage signifies to enter heaven, where the marriage of good and truth takes place, . married partners, two, who are principled in love truly conjugial, are actually forms of the marriage of good and truth, or of love and wisdom, , , . the will of the wife conjoins itself with the understanding of the man, and thence the understanding of the man with the will of the wife, , . love is inspired into the man by his wife, . the conjunction of the wife with the man's rational principle is from within, . the wife is conjoined to her husband by the sphere of her life flowing forth from the love of him, - . there are duties proper to the man, and duties proper to the wife; the wife cannot enter into the duties proper to the man, nor can the man enter into the duties proper to the wife, so as to perform them aright, , . marriage induces other forms in the souls and minds of married partners, . the woman is actually formed into a wife according to the description in the book of creation, gen. ii. , , , . two married partners in heaven are called, not two angels, but one angel, . two married partners most commonly meet after death, know each other, again associate, &c. . if they can live together, they remain married partners, but if they cannot, they separate themselves, , , . marrow, spinal, .--the marrows represent the interiors of the mind and of the body, . marry, to.--when a man marries he becomes a fuller man, because he is joined with a consort, with whom he acts as one man, . see _marriage_. mary signifies the church, . materials.--substantials are the beginnings of materials, . natural things, which are material, cannot enter into spiritual things, which are substantial. , material things originate in substantial, . material things derive their origin from things substantial, . mechanics is one of the sciences by which an entrance is made into things rational, which are the ground of rational wisdom. . meats,--there are in heaven, as in the world, both meats and drinks, . see _food._ mediums are conducive to what is first in itself, . medium, the, of conjunction of the lord with man, is the word, . medullary substance of the brain, . meteor in the spiritual world, . mind, the, is intermediate between the soul and the body, ; although it appears to be in the head, it is actually in the whole body, , . the human mind is distinguished into regions, as the world is distinguished into regions as to the atmospheres, , ; the supreme region of the mind is called celestial, the middle region spiritual, and the lowest region natural, , . the mind is successively opened from infancy even to extreme old age, . as a man advances from science into intelligence, and from intelligence into wisdom, so also his mind changes its form, . with some, the mind is closed from beneath, and is sometimes twisted as a spire into the adverse principle; with others that principle is not closed, but remains half open above, and with some open, . with men there is an elevation of the mind into superior light, and with women there is an elevation of the mind into superior heat, . the mind of every man, according to his will and consequent understanding, actually dwells in one society of the spiritual world, and intends and thinks in like manner with those who compose the society, . the lower principles of the mind are unchaste, but its higher principles chaste, . every man has an internal and an external mind, with the wicked the internal mind is insane, and the external is wise; but with the good the internal mind is wise, and from this also the external, . with the ancients, the science of correspondences conjoined the sensual things of the body with the perceptions of the mind, and procured intelligence, . _obs._--the mind is composed of two faculties which make man to be man, namely, the will and the understanding. the mind composed of the spiritual will and of the spiritual understanding, is the internal man; it incloses the inmost man or soul (_anima_), and it is inclosed by the natural mind or external man, composed of the natural will and understanding. this natural mind, together with a sort of mind still more exterior, called the _animus_, which is formed by the external affections and inclinations resulting from education, society, and custom, is the external mind. the whole organized in a perfect human form, is called spirit (_spiritus_). the spirit in our world is covered with a terrestrial body, which renders it invisible; but, freed from this body by natural death, it enters the spiritual world, where its spiritual body is perfectly visible and tactile. miracles.--why there are none in the present day, . mire.--in hell lascivious delights are represented under the appearance of mire, &c., . mistress, . modesty is one of those virtues which have respect to life, and enter into it, . monasteries.--what becomes in the other life of those who have been shut up in monasteries, , . virgins devoted to the monastic life, . monogamists.--all in heaven live married to one wife, . monogamical marriages, , , . they correspond to the marriage of the lord and the church, and originate in the marriages of good and truth, . monogamy.--why monogamy exists with christian nations, - . mote.--wonderful things respecting it, . mother.--the church in the world is called mother, , . morality, genuine, is the wisdom of life, . spiritual morality is the result of a life from the lord according to the truths of the word, . multiplicable.--every thing is multiplicable _in infinitum_, . munificence is one of those virtues which have respect to life, and enter into it, . muses, nine, or virgins represent knowledges and sciences of every kind, . nakedness signifies innocence, . natural, the, derives its origin from the spiritual, . difference between the natural and spiritual, - . the natural principle is distinguished into three degrees; the so-called natural, the natural sensual, and the natural-corporeal, . the natural man is nothing but an abode and receptacle of concupiscences and lusts, . there are three degrees of the natural man, . those who love only the world, placing their heart in wealth, are properly meant by the natural, ; they pour forth into the world all things of the will and understanding, covetously and fraudulently acquiring wealth, and regarding no other use therein, and thence but that of possession, . nature is the recipient whereby love and wisdom produce their effects or uses, ; thus nature is derived from life, and not life from nature, . all the parts of nature derive their subsistence and existence from the sun, . nature is in all time, in time, and in all space, in space, . nature, with her time and space, must of necessity have a beginning and a birth, . wherefore nature is from god, not from eternity, but in time, that is, together with her time and space, . necessity for apparent love and friendship in marriages, for the sake of order being preserved in houses, , and following, . nemesis, . novitiates, .--novitiate spirit, . see _spirits_. nuptials celebrated in heaven, - . there are nuptials in the heavens as in the earths, but only with those in the heavens who are in the marriage of good and truth; nor are any others angels, . by the words of the lord, "those who shall be accounted worthy to attain another age, neither marry nor are given in marriage," no other nuptials are meant than spiritual nuptials, and by spiritual nuptials is meant conjunction with the lord, . these spiritual nuptials take place in the earths, but not after departure thence, thus not in the heavens, . to celebrate nuptials signifies to be joined with the lord, . to enter into nuptials is to be received into heaven by the lord, . why nuptials in the world are essential solemnities, . obstructions of inmost life, whence they proceed, . occiput, , . ochim, the, in hell, represent the images of the phantasies of the internals, , . ode sung by virgins in the spiritual world, . odors, the, whereby the chaste pleasures of conjugial love are presented to the senses in the spiritual world, are the perfumes arising from fruits, and the fragrances from flowers, . offensive appearances, odors, and forms, under which unchaste delights are presented to the view in hell, . offices and employments in the spiritual world, . offsprings, the, derived from the lord as a husband and father, and from the church as a wife and mother, are all spiritual, . the spiritual offsprings which are born from the lord's marriage with the church are truths and goods, . from the marriages of the angels in the heavens are generated spiritual offsprings, which are those of love and wisdom, or of good and truth, . spiritual offsprings, which are produced from the marriages of the angels, are such things as are of wisdom from the father, and of love from the mother, . see _storge_. oil signifies good, . old men, decrepit, and infirm old women are restored by the lord to the power of their age, when from a religious principle they have shunned adulteries as enormous sins, . olive-trees in the spiritual world represent conjugial love in the highest region, , one, the, from whom all things have life and from whom form coheres, is the lord, . in heaven two married partners are called two when they are named husband and wife, but one when they are named angels, . when the will of two married partners become one, they become one man (_homo_), . operations, all, in the universe have a progression from ends through causes into effects, . opinions on celestial joys and eternal happiness, . opposite.--there is not any thing in the universe which has not its opposite, . opposites, in regard to each other, are not relatives, but contraries, . when an opposite acts upon an opposite, one destroys the other even to the last spark of its life, . marriages and adulteries are diametrically opposite to each other, . opposition of adulterous love and conjugial love, - . opulence in heaven is the faculty of growing wise, according to which faculty wealth is given in abundance, . orchestra, . order, all, proceeds from first principles to last, and the last becomes the first of some following order, . all things of a middle order are the last of a prior order, . there is successive order and simultaneous order; the latter is from the former and according to it, . in successive order, one thing follows after another from what is highest to what is lowest, . in simultaneous order, one thing is next to another from what is inmost to what is outermost, . successive order is like a column with steps from the highest to the lowest, . simultaneous order is like a work cohering from the centre to the superficies, . successive order becomes simultaneous in the ultimate, the highest things of successive order become the inmost of simultaneous order, and the lowest things of successive order become the outermost of simultaneous order, . successive order of conjugial love, , . organization, the, of the life of man according to his love, cannot be changed after death, . a change of organization cannot possibly be effected, except in the material body, and is utterly impossible in the spiritual body after the former has been rejected, . organs.--such as conjugial love is in the minds or spirits of two persons, such is it interiorly in its organs, . in these organs are terminated the forms of the mind with those who are principled in conjugial love, . origin of evil, . origin of conjugial love, , , , - , , . origin of the mahometan religion, . origin of the beauty of the female sex, - . outermost, the, lowest things of successive order become the outermost of simultaneous order, . _obs._--the outermost is predicated of what is most exterior, in opposition to the inmost, or that which is most interior. owls in the spiritual world are correspondences and consequent appearances of the thoughts of confirmators, . pagans, the, who acknowledge a god and live according to the civil laws of justice, are saved, . palace representative of conjugial love, . small palace inhabited by two novitiate conjugial partners, . description of the palace of a celestial society, . palladium, *. palm-trees, in the spiritual world, represent conjugial love of the middle region, . palms of the hands, in the, resides with wives a sixth sense, which is a sense of all the delights of the conjugial love of the husband, *. paper on which was written arcana at this day revealed by the lord, . paper bearing this inscription, "the marriage of good and truth," . paradise, spiritually understood, is intelligence, . paradise on the confines of heaven, . paralysis, , . parchment in heaven.--roll of parchment containing arcana of wisdom concerning conjugial love, . sheet of parchment, on which were the rules of the people of the first age, . parnassides, sports of the, in the spiritual world, . these sports were spiritual exercises and trials of skill, . parnassus, *, , . particulars are in universals as parts in a whole, . whoever knows universals, may afterwards comprehend particulars, . _obs._--particulars taken together are called universals. partner.--those who have lived in love truly conjugial, after the death of their married partners, are unwilling to enter into iterated marriages, the reason why, . see _married partners_. pathology, . peace is the blessed principle of every delight which is of good, . peace, because it proceeds immediately from the lord, is one of the two inmost principles of heaven, . peace in their homes gives serenity to the minds of husbands, and disposes them to receive agreeably the kindnesses offered by their wives, . peace is in conjugial love, and relates to the soul, . pegasus.--by the winged horse pegasus the ancients meant the understanding of truth, by which comes wisdom; by the hoofs of his feet they understood experiences, whereby comes natural intelligence, . pellicacy, , , . perception, common, is the same thing us influx from heaven into the interiors of the mind, . by virtue of this perception, man inwardly in himself perceives truths, and as it were sees them, . all have not common perception, . there is an internal perception of love, and an external perception, which sometimes hides the internal, . the external perception of love originates in those things which regard the love of the world, and of the body, . _obs._--perception is a sensation derived from the lord alone, and has relation to the good and true, _a.c._ . perception consists in seeing that a truth is true, and that a good is good; also that an evil is evil, and a false is false, _a.c._ . its opposite is phantasy. see _phantasy, obs_. peregrinations of man in the societies of the spiritual world, during his life in the natural world, . periods whereby creation is preserved in the state foreseen and provided for, , . periosteums, . peter, the apostle, represented truth and faith, . phantasy, .--those are in the phantasy of their respective concupiscences who think interiorly in themselves, and too much indulge their imagination by discoursing with themselves; for these separate their spirit almost from connection with the body, and by vision overflow the understanding, . what is the fate of those after death who have given themselves up to their phantasy, , . errors which phantasy has introduced through ignorance of the spiritual world and of its sun, . _obs._--phantasy is an appearance of perception: it consists in seeing what is true as false, and what is good as evil and what is evil as good, and what is false as true, _a.c._. . phantoms.--who those are who in the other life appear as phantoms, . philosophers, difference between, and _sophi_, . the ancient people, who acknowledged the wisdom of reason as wisdom, were called philosophers, . see _sophi_. philosophical considerations concerning the abstract substance, form, subject. &c., , . philosophy is one of those sciences by which an entrance is made into things rational, which are the grounds of rational wisdom, . physics is one of the sciences by which an entrance is made into things rational, which are the ground of rational wisdom, . place.--in the spiritual world there are places as in the natural world, otherwise there could be no habitations and distinct abodes, . nevertheless place is not place, but an appearance of place, according to the state of love and wisdom. . places of instruction in the spiritual world, . places, public, in the spiritual world, , . planes successive, formed in man, on which superior principles may rest and find support, . the ultimate plane in which the sphere of conjugial love and its opposite terminate is the same, . the rational plane, with man, is the medium between heaven and hell; the marriage of good and truth flows into this plane from above, and the marriage of evil and false flows into it from beneath, . planets.--revelations made at the present day concerning the inhabitants of the planets, . see treatise by the author on _the earths in the universe_. plastic force in animals and vegetables, whence it proceeds, . plato, *. platonist.--arcana unfolded by a platonist, *. pleasures.--sensations, with the pleasures thence derived, appertain to the body, . the delights of adulterous love are the pleasures of insanity, , . pledges.--after a declaration of consent, pledges are to be given, . these pledges are continual visible witnesses of mutual love, hence also they are memorials thereof, . poland, . poles, , . political self-love, its nature and quality, . it would make its votaries desirous of being emperors if left without restraint, . politics is one of those sciences by which an entrance is made into things rational, which are the ground of rational wisdom, . polygamical love is the love of the external, or natural man, . in this love there is neither chastity, purity, nor sanctify, . polygamist, no, so long as he remain such, is capable of being made spiritual, . conjugial chastity, purity, and sanctity cannot exist with polygamists, . polygamy, of, - . whence it originates, . polygamy is lasciviousness, . polygamy is not a sin with those who live in it from a religious principle, as did the israelites, . why polygamy was permitted to the israelitish nation, . popes.--dreadful fate of two popes who had compelled emperors to resign their dominions, and had behaved ill to them, both in word and deed, at rome, whither they came to supplicate and adore them, . portico of palm-trees and laurels, . posterior, the, is derived from the prior, as the effect from its cause, . that which is posterior exists from what is prior, as it exists from what is prior, . between prior and posterior there is no determinate proportion, . power, active or living, and passive or dead, . whence proceeds the propagative, or plastic force, in seeds of the vegetable kingdom, . precept.--he who from purpose or confirmation acts against one precept, acts against the rest, . the precepts of regeneration are five, see n. : among which are these, that evils ought to be shunned, because they are of the devil, and from the devil; that goods are to be done, because they are of god, and from god; and that men ought to go to the lord, in order that he may lead them to do the latter, . predicates.--a subject without predicates is also an entity which has no existence in reason (_ens nullius rationis_), . predications are made by a man according to his rational light, . predications of four degrees of adulteries, and following. difference between predications, charges of blame, and imputations, . prelates, why the, of the church have given the pre-eminence to faith, which is of truth, above charity, which is of good, . preparation for heaven or for hell, in the world of spirits, has for its end that the internal and external may agree together and make one, and not disagree and make two, *. presence.--the origin or cause of presence in the spiritual world, . man is receptible of the lord's presence, and of conjunction with him. to come to him, causes presence, and to live according to his commandments, causes conjunction, . his presence alone is without reception, but presence and conjunction together are with reception, . the truth of faith constitutes the lord's presence, . preservation is perpetual creation, . whence arises perpetual preservation, . pretender.--every man who is not interiorly led by the lord is a pretender, a sycophant, a hypocrite, and thereby an apparent man, and yet not a man, . priest, chief, of a society in heaven, . primary.--what is first in respect to end, is first in the mind and its intention, because it is regarded as primary, . things primary exist, subsist, and persist, from things ultimate, . primeval.--in the world, at the present day, nothing is known of the primeval state of man, which is called a state of integrity, . what the primeval state of creation was, and how man is led back to it by the lord, . prince of a society in heaven, and following, . principle, the primary, of the church is the good of charity, and not the truth of faith, . principles and principiates, . _obs._--principiates derive their essence from principles, _t.c.r_., . all things of the body are principiates, that is, are compositions of fibres, from principles which are receptacles of love and wisdom, _d.l. and w_., . probity is one of those virtues which have respect to life, and enter into it, . problem concerning the soul, . proceed, to.--all things which proceed from the lord, are in an instant from first principles in last, . procreation, sphere of the love of, . progression.--there is no progression of good to evil, but a progression of good to a greater and less good, and evil to a greater and less evil, . a progression from ends through causes into effects is inscribed on every man in general, and in every particular, , . decreasing progression of conjugial love, . prolification corresponds to the propagation of truth, . spiritual prolification is that of love and wisdom, , . origin of natural prolifications, . the sphere of prolification is the same as the universal sphere of the marriage of good and truth, which proceeds from the lord, . all prolification is originally derived from the influx of love, wisdom, and use from the lord, from an immediate influx into the souls of men, from a mediate influx into the souls of animals, and from an influx still more mediate into the inmost principles of vegetables, . prolifications are continuations of creation, . the principle of prolification is derived from the intellect alone, . in the principle of prolification of the husband is the soul, and also his mind as to its interiors, which are conjoined to the soul, . its state with husbands, if married pairs were in the marriage of good and truth, . promulgation, cause of the, of the decalogue by jehovah god upon mount sinai, . propagate, to.--love and wisdom, with use, not only constitute man (_homo_), but also are man, and propagate man, . a feminine principle is propagated from intellectual good, . propagation, all, is originally derived from the influx of love, wisdom, and use from the lord, from an immediate influx into the souls of men, from a mediate in flux into the souls of animals, and from an influx still more mediate into the inmost principles of vegetables, . propagations are continuations of creation, . propagation of the soul, , , , , . the propagation of the human race, and thence of the angelic heaven, was the chief end of creation. . propagate, or plastic force of vegetables and animals, whence it originated, . proprium, man's, from his birth is essentially evil, . the _proprium_ of man's (_homo_) will, is to love himself, and the _proprium_ of his understanding is to love his own wisdom, . these two propriums are deadly evils to man, if they remain with him, . the love of these two propriums is changed into conjugial love, so far as man cleaves to his wife, that is, receives her love, . providence, the divine, of the lord extends to every thing, even to the minutest particulars concerning marriages, and in marriages, , . the operations of uses, by the lord, by the spheres which proceed from him, are the divine providence, , . _obs._--the divine providence is the same as the mediate and immediate influx from the lord, _a.c._ . see the _treatise on the divine providence_, by the author. prudence is one of the moral virtues which have respect to life, and enter into it, . nothing of prudence can possibly exist but from god, . prudence of wives in concealing their love, . this prudence is innate, . it was implanted in women from creation, and consequently by birth, . of self-derived prudence, . pulpit in a temple in the spiritual world, . pu, or pau, , , . _obs._--this is the greek word [greek: pou], written in ordinary characters; the author gives the latin translation at n. . (in quodam pu seu ubi.) this word expresses the uncertainty in which philosophers and theologians are on the subject of the soul. pure.--it is not possible that any love should become absolutely pure, with men or with angels, , . to the pure all things are pure, but to them that are defiled, nothing is pure, . purification the spiritual, of conjugial love may be compared to the purification of natural spirits, as effected by the chemists, . wisdom purified may be compared with alcohol, which is a spirit highly rectified, . purity, the, of heaven is from conjugial love, . in like manner the purity of the church, . purple, the, color from its correspondence signifies the conjugial love of the wife, . purpose.--that which flows forth from the very essence of a man's life, thus which flows forth from his will or his love, is principally called purpose, . as soon as any one from purpose or confirmation abstains from any evil because it is sin, he is kept by the lord in the purpose of abstaining from the rest, . pustules, , . put away, to.--putting away on account of adultery is a plenary separation of minds, which is called divorce, . other kinds of putting away, grounded in their particular causes, are separations, . put off, to.--man after death puts off every thing which does not agree with his love, . how a man after death puts off externals and puts on informals, * pythagoras, *. pythagoreans, *. quality of the love of the sex in heaven, . the quality of every deed, and in general the quality of every thing depends upon the circumstances which mitigate or aggravate it, . rainbow painted on a wall in the spiritual world, . rational principle, the, is the medium between heaven and the world, . above the rational principle is heavenly light, and below the rational principle is natural light, . the rational principle is formed more and more to the reception of heaven or of hell, according as man turns himself towards good or evil, . _obs._--the rational principle of man partakes of the spiritual and natural, or is a medium between them, _a.c._, . rationality, spiritual, comes by means of the word, and of preachings derived therefrom, . natural, sensual, and corporeal men enjoy, like other men, the powers of rationality, but they use it while they are in externals, and abuse it while in their internals, , . rationality, with devils, proceeds from the glory of the love of self, , and also with atheists, who enjoy a more sublime rationality than many others, . rationality and liberty.--when man turns himself to the lord, his rationality and liberty are led by the lord; but if backwards, from the lord, his rationality and liberty are led by hell, . reaction.--in all conjunction by love there must be action, reception, and reaction, . read, to.--while man reads the word, and collects truths out of it, the lord adjoins good, ; but this takes place interiorly with those only who read the word to the end that they may become wise, . real.--love and wisdom are collected together in use, and therein become one principle, which is called real, . reason, human, is such that it understands truths from the light thereof, as though was not heretofore distinguished them, . reasoners.--they are named such who never conclude any thing, and make whatever they hear a matter of argument and dispute whether it be so, with perpetual contradiction, . what their fate is in the other life, . reasonings, the, of the generality commence merely from effects, and from effects proceed to some consequences thence resulting, and do not commence from causes, and from causes proceed analytically to effects, . truth does not admit of reasonings, . they favor the delights of the flesh against those of the spirit, . reception is according to religion, . without conjunction there is no reception, . see _reaction_. recipient.--man is a recipient of god, and consequently a recipient of love and wisdom from him, . a recipient becomes an image of god according to reception, . reciprocal principle, the, of conjunction with god, is, that a man should love god, and relish the things which are of god, as from himself, and yet believe that they are of god, , . without such a reciprocal principle conjunction is impossible, . rectification.--the purification of conjugial love may be compared to the purification of natural spirits, effected by chemists, and called rectification, . reformed, to be.--man is reformed by the understanding, and this is effected by the knowledges of good and truth, and by a rational intuition grounded therein, . regeneration is a successive separation from the evils to which man is naturally inclined, . regeneration is purification from evils, and thereby renovation of life, . the precepts of regeneration are five, . see _precepts_. by regeneration a man is made altogether new as to his spirit, and this is effected by a life according to the lord's precepts, . regions of the mind.--in human minds there are three regions, of which the highest is called the celestial, the middle the spiritual, and the lowest the natural, . in the lowest man is born; he ascends into the next above it by a life according to the truths of religion, and into the highest by the marriage of love and wisdom, . in the lowest region dwells natural love, in the superior spiritual love, and in the supreme celestial love, . in each region there is a marriage of love and wisdom, . the pleasantnesses of conjugial love in the highest region are perceived as blessednesses, in the middle region as satisfactions, and in the lowest region as delights, . in the lowest region reside all the concupiscences of evil and of lasciviousness; in the superior region there are not any concupiscences of evil and of lasciviousness, for man is introduced into this region by the lord when he is reborn; in the supreme region is conjugial chastity in its love, into this region man is elevated by the love of uses, . reign, to, with christ is to be wise, and perform uses, . relation, there is no, of good to evil, but a relation of good to a greater and less good, and of evil to a greater and less evil, . what is signified by the expression, for the sake of relatives, . relatives subsist between the greatest and the least of the same thing, , . religion constitutes the state of the church with man, . religion is implanted in souls, and by souls is transmitted from parents to their offspring, as the supreme inclination, . with christians it is formed by the good of life, agreeable to the truth of doctrine, . conjugial love is grounded in religion, . where there is not religion, neither is there conjugial love, . there is no religion without the truths of religion; what is religion without truths, . religion, as it is the marriage of the lord and the church, is the initiament and inoculation of conjugial love, . that love in its progress accompanies religion, . the first internal cause of cold in marriages is the rejection of religion by each of the parties, . the second cause is, that one has religion and not the other, . the third is, that one of the parties is of one religion, and the other of another, . the fourth is the falsity of religion, . _obs._--there is a difference which it is important to bear in mind, between religion and the church; the church of the lord, it is true, is universal, and is with all those who acknowledge a divine being, and live in charity whatever else may be their creed; but the church is especially where the word is, and where by means of the word the lord is known. in the countries where the word does not exist, or is withdrawn from the people and replaced by human decisions, as among the roman catholics, there is religion alone, but there is, to speak correctly, no church. among protestants, there is both religion and a church, but this church has come to an end, because it has perverted the word. renew, to.--every part of man, both interior and exterior, renews itself, and this is effected by solutions and reparations, . renunciation of whoredoms, whence exists the chastity of marriage, how it is effected, . repasts.--in heaven, as in the world, there are repasts, . representations.--among the ancients the study of their bodily senses consisted in representations of truths in forms, . representative.--to those who are in the third heaven, every representative of love and wisdom becomes real, . respiration of the lungs, the, has relation to truth, . rest.--what is the meaning of eternal rest, . retain, to--in whatever state man is he retains the faculty of elevating the understanding, . revelations made at the present day by the lord, . rib, by a, of the breast is signified, in the spiritual sense, natural truth, . right, the, signifies good, . it also signifies power, . rites, customary.--there are customary rites which are merely formal, and there are others which, at the same time, are also essential, . rivalship or emulation between married parties respecting right and power, . emulation of prominence between married partners is one of the external causes of cold, . rules of life concerning marriages, . universal rule, , . sabbath, the.--the life of heaven from the worship of god, is called a perpetual sabbath, . celebration of the sabbath in a heavenly society, , . sacrilege.--see _sacrimony_. sacrimony.--in heaven, marriage with one wife is called sacrimony, but if it took place with more than one it would be called sacrilege, . sagacity is one of the principles constituent of natural wisdom, . sanctities.--the marriage of the lord and the church, and the marriage of good and truth, are essential sanctities, . sanctity of the holy scriptures, . sanctuary of the tabernacle of worship amongst the most ancient in heaven, . satans.--they are called satans who have confirmed themselves in favor of nature to the denial of god, . those who are evil from the understanding dwell in the front in hell, and are called satans, but those who are in evil from the will, dwell to the back and are called devils, . see _devils_. satan wishing to demonstrate that nature is god, . _obs._--in the word, by the devil is understood that hell which is to the back, and in which are the most wicked, called evil genii; and by satan, that hell in which dwell those who are not so wicked, who are called evil spirits, _h. and h._, . satisfaction.--in love truly conjugial exists a state of satisfaction, . saturnine or golden age, *. satyrs.--in the spiritual world the satyr-like form is the form of dissolute adultery, . saved, to be.--all in the universe who acknowledge a god, and, from a religious principle, shun evil as sins against him, are saved, . science is a principle of knowledges, . there is no end to science, . man is not born into the science of any love, but beasts and birds are born into the science of all their loves, . man is born without sciences, to the end that he may receive them all; whereas, supposing him to be born into sciences, he could not receive any but those into which he was born, . science and love are undivided companions, . science of correspondences, the, was among the ancients the science of sciences, . it was the knowledge concerning the spiritual things of heaven and the church, and thence they derived wisdom, . it conjoined the sensual things of their bodies with the perceptions of their minds, and procured to them intelligence, . this science having been turned into idolatrous science, was so obliterated and destroyed by the divine providence of the lord, that no visible traces of it were left remaining, . nevertheless, it has been again discovered by the lord, in order that the men of the church may again have conjunction with him, and consociation with the angels; which purposes are effected by the word, in which all things are correspondences, . see _correspondences_. scorbutic phthisic, , . scripture, the sacred, which proceeded immediately from the lord, is, in general and in particular, a marriage of good and truth, . seat, the, of jealousy is in the understanding of the husband, . seducers.--their sad lot after death, . see, to, that what is true is true, and that what is false is false, is to see from heavenly light in natural light, . seeds spiritually understood are truths, . by the seed of man, whereby iron shall be mixed with clay, and still they shall not cohere, is meant the truth of the word falsified, . formation of seed, , , . self-conceit, or self-derived intelligence.--the love of wisdom, if it remains with man, and is not transcribed into the woman, is an evil love, and is called self-conceit, or the love of his own intelligence, , . the wife continually attracts to herself her husband's conceit of his own intelligence, and extinguishes it in him, and verifies it in herself, . he who, from a principle of self-love, is vain of his own intelligence, cannot possibly love his wife with true conjugial love, . semblances, conjugial, - . semination corresponds to the potency of truth, . it has a spiritual origin, and proceeds from the truths of which the understanding consists, . sensations with the pleasures thence derived appertain to the body, and affections with the thoughts thence derived appertain to the mind, . sense.--every love has its own proper sense, . spiritual origin of the natural senses, . see _taste, smell, hearing, touch, sight_. each of these senses has its delights, with variations according to the specific uses of each, . the sense proper to conjugial love is the sense of touch, . the use of this sense is the complex of all other uses, . wives have a sixth sense, and which is a sense of all the delights of the conjugial love of the husband, and this sense they have in the palms of their hands, *. sensual.--natural men who love only the delights of the senses, placing their heart in every kind of luxury and pleasure, are properly meant by the sensual, . the sensual immerse all things of the will, and consequently of the understanding, in the allurements and fallacies of the senses, indulging in these alone, . separations of married partners. legitimate causes thereof, - . serene, principle of peace, *. series.--all those things which precede in minds form series, which collect themselves together, one near another, and one after another, and these together, compose a last or ultimate, in which they co-exist, . the series of the love of infants, from its greatest to its least, thus to the boundary in which it subsists or ceases, is retrograde, the reason why, . serpent, the, signifies the love of self-intelligence, . by the serpent, gen. iii. is meant the devil, as to the conceit of self-love and self-intelligence, . in hell, the forms of beasts, under which the lascivious delights of adulterous love are presented to the sight, are serpents, &c., . sex.--the love of the male sex differs from that of the female sex, . origin of the beauty of the female sex, - . cause of the beauty of the female sex, . sheep, in the spiritual world, are the representative forms of the state of innocence and peace of the inhabitants, . sheepfold signifies the church, . shower, golden, *, . sight.--there is in man an internal and an external sight, . natural sight is grounded in spiritual sight, which is that of the understanding, . the love of seeing, grounded in the love of understanding, has the sense of seeing; and the gratifications proper to it are the various kinds of symmetry and beauty, . how gross the sight of the eye is, . silver signifies intelligence in spiritual truths, and thence in natural truths, . the silver age, . simple.--every thing divided is more and more multiple, and not more and more simple, . simultaneous.--there is simultaneous order and successive order, . that simultaneous order is grounded in successive, and is according to it, is not known, . sin.--all that which is contrary to religion is believed to be sin, because it is contrary to god; and, on the other hand, all that which agrees with religion is believed not to be sin, because it agrees with god, . sincerity is one of those virtues which have respect to life, and enter into it, . singing in heaven, , *. sirens, fantastic beauty of, in the spiritual world, . sisters.--the lord calls those brethren and sisters who are of his church, . six.--the number six signifies all and what is complete, . sleep, the, into which adam fell, when the woman was created, signifies man's entire ignorance that the wife is formed, and, as it were, created from him, . sleep, to, gen. ii. , signifies to be in ignorance, . sleep in heaven, . slothful, to the, in the spiritual world, food is not given, . small-pox, , . smelling, natural, is grounded in spiritual smelling, which is perception, . the love of knowing those things which float about in the air, grounded in the love of perceiving, is the sense of smelling; and the gratifications proper to it are the various kinds of fragrance, . sobriety is one of those virtues which have respect to life, and enter into it, . society, every, in heaven may be considered as one common body, and the constituent angels as the similar parts thereof, from which the common body exists, . socrates, *. socratics, *. solitary, there is neither good nor solitary truth, but in all cases they are conjoined, . solutions and reparations by which every part of man, both interior and exterior, renews itself, . somnambulists act from the impulse of a blind science, the understanding being asleep, . sons in the word signify truths conceived in the spiritual man, and born in the natural, , . those who are regenerated by the lord are called in the word sons of god, sons of the kingdom, . sons-in-law, what, and daughters-in-law signify in the word, . songs in heaven, , . heavenly songs are in reality sonorous affections, or affections expressed and modified by sounds, . singing in heaven is an affection of the mind, which is let forth through the mouth as a tune, *. affections are expressed by songs, as thoughts are by discourse, . sophi.--the most ancient people did not acknowledge any other wisdom than the wisdom of life, and this was the wisdom of those who were formerly called _sophi_, . soul, the, is the inmost principle of man, , , . it is not life, but the proximate receptacle of life from god, and thereby the habitation of god, . it is a form of all things relating to love, and of all things relating to wisdom, . it is a form from which the smallest thing cannot be taken away, and to which the smallest thing cannot be added, and it is the inmost of all the forms of the whole body, . propagation of the soul, , . the soul of the offspring is from the father, and its clothing from the mother, , . the principle of truth in the soul is the origin of seed, in which is the soul of man, , . it is in a perfect human form, covered with substances from the purest principles of nature, whereof a body is formed in the womb of the mother, . the soul of man, and of every animal, from an implanted tendency to self-propagation, forms itself, clothes itself, and becomes seed, ; because the soul is a spiritual substance, which is not a subject of extension but of impletion, and from which no part can be taken away, but the whole may be produced without any loss thereof, hence it is that it is as fully present in the smallest receptacles, which are seeds, as in its greatest receptacle, the body, . the soul of every man, by its origin, is celestial, wherefore it receives influx immediately from the lord, . the soul and the mind are the man, since both constitute the spirit which lives after death, and which is in a perfect human form, . the soul constitutes the inmost principles not only of the head, but also of the body, . the soul and mind adjoin themselves closely to the flesh of the body, to operate and produce their effects, . a masculine soul, . how a feminine principle is produced from a male soul, . how a union of the souls of married partners is effected, . see _mind, obs_. space.--those things which, from their origin, are celestial and spiritual, are not in space, but in the appearances of space, . the soul of man being celestial, and his mind spiritual, are not in space, . spaniards, , . species.--why the creator has distinguished all things into genera, species, and discriminations, . speech, the, of wisdom is to speak from causes, . from the thought, which also is spiritual, speech flows, . sphere.--all that which flows from a subject, and encompasses and surrounds it, is named a sphere, . from the lord, by the spiritual sun, proceeds a sphere of heat and light, or of love and wisdom, to operate ends which are uses, . the universal sphere of generating and propagating the celestial things, which are of love; and the spiritual things, which are of wisdom, and thence the natural things, which are of offspring, proceeds from the lord, and fills the universal heaven and the universal world, . the divine sphere which looks to the preservation of the universe in its created state by successive generations, is called the sphere of procreating, . the divine sphere which looks to the preservation of generations in their beginnings, and afterwards in their progressions, is called the sphere of protecting the things created, . there are several other divine spheres, which are named according to uses, as the sphere of defence of good and truth against evil and false, the sphere of reformation and regeneration, the sphere of innocence and peace, the sphere of mercy and grace, &c., , . but the universal of all is the conjugial sphere, because this is the supereminent sphere of conservation of the created universe, . this sphere fills the universe, and pervades all things from first to last, ; thus from angels even to worms, . why it is more universal than the sphere of heat and light which proceed from the sun, . in its origin, the conjugial sphere, flowing into the universe, is divine; in its progress in heaven with the angels, it is celestial and spiritual; with men it is natural; with beasts and birds, animal; with worms merely corporeal; with vegetables, it is void of life; and, moreover, in all its subjects it is varied according to their forms, . this sphere is received immediately by the female sex, and mediately by the male, . the sphere of conjugial love is the very essential sphere of heaven, because it descends from the heavenly marriage of the lord and the church, . whereas there is a sphere of conjugial love, there is also a sphere opposite to it, which is called a sphere of adulterous love, . this sphere ascends from hell, and the sphere of conjugial love descends from heaven, , . these spheres meet each other in each world, but do not conjoin, , . between these two spheres there is equilibrium, and man is in it, , . man can turn himself to whichever sphere he pleases; but so far as he turns himself to the one, so far he turns himself from the other, , . a sphere of love from the wife, and of understanding from the man, is continually flowing forth, and unites them, . a natural sphere is continually flowing forth, not only from man, but also from beasts--yea, from trees, fruits, flowers, and also from metals, . there flows forth--yea, overflows from every man (_homo_)--a spiritual sphere, derived from the affections of his love, which encompasses him, and infuses itself into the natural sphere derived from the body, so that these two spheres are conjoined, . every one, both man and woman, is encompassed by his own sphere of life, densely on the breast, and less densely on the back, . spire.--with whom the mind is closed from beneath, and sometimes twisted as a spire into the adverse principle, . spirit, the.--there are two principles which, in the beginning, with every man who from natural is made spiritual, are at strife together, which are commonly called the spirit and the flesh, . the love of marriage is of the spirit, and the love of adultery is of the flesh, . see _flesh_. spirits.--see _mind, obs_. by novitiate spirits are meant men newly deceased, who are called spirits because they are then spiritual men, . who those are, who, after death, become corporeal spirits, . spiritual--the difference between what is spiritual and natural is like that between prior and posterior, which bear no determinate proportion to each other, . spiritual principles without natural, which are their constituent have no consistence, . spiritual principles considered in themselves have relation to love and wisdom, . the things relating to the church, which are called spiritual things, reside in the inmost principles with man, . by the spiritual is meant he who loves spiritual things, and thereby is wise from the lord, . a man (_homo_) without religion is not spiritual, but remains natural, . to become spiritual is to be elevated out of the natural principle, that is, out of the light and heat of the world into the light and heat of heaven, . man becomes spiritual in proportion as his rational principle begins to derive a soul from influx out of heaven, which is the case so far as it is affected and delighted with wisdom, . spiritually, to think, is to think abstractedly from space and time, . sports of wisdom in the, heavens, . literary sports, . conjugial love in its origin is the sport of wisdom and love, , . games and shows in the heavens, . the sixth sense in the female sex is called in the heavens the sport of wisdom with its love, and of love with its wisdom, *. spring.--in heaven the heat and light proceeding from the sun cause perpetual spring, . in heaven, with conjugial partners, there is spring in its perpetual conatus, . all who come into heaven return into their vernal youth, and into the powers appertaining to that age, . stables signify instructions, . stage entertainments. see _actors_. states.--the state of a man's life is his quality as to the understanding and the will, . the state of a man's life from infancy, even to the end of life, is continually changing, . the common states of a man's life are called infancy, childhood, youth, manhood, and old age, . no subsequent state of life is the same as a preceding one, . the last state is such as the successive order is, from which it is formed and exists, . what was the primeval state, which is called a state of integrity, . of the state of married partners after death, - . there are two states into which a man enters after death--an external and an internal state; he comes first into his external state, and afterwards into his internal, *. statue, the, which nebuchadnezzar saw in a dream represented the ages of gold, silver, copper, and iron, . stones signify natural truths, and precious stones spiritual truths, . store, abundant, , . storehouse.--the conjugial principle of one man with one wife is the storehouse of human life, . storge.--the love called _storge_ is the love of infants, . this love prevails equally with the evil and the good, and, in like manner, with tame and wild beasts; it is even in some cases stronger and more ardent with evil men, and also with wild beasts, . the innocence of infancy is the cause of the love called _storge_, . spiritual storge, . study, what was the, of the men who lived in the silver age, . study of sciences in the spiritual world, . stupidity of the age, . sublimation.--the purification of conjugial love may be compared to the purification of natural spirits, as effected by chemists, and called sublimation, . subject, every, receives influx according to its form, . all a man's affections and thoughts are in forms, and thence from forms, for forms are their subjects, . a subject without predicates is an entity which has no existence in reason, . see _substance_. subsistence is perpetual existence, . substance.--there is no substance without a form, an unformed substance not being any thing, . there is not any good or truth which is not in a substance as in its subject, . every idea of man's, however sublimated, is substantial, that is, affixed to substance, . material things derive their origin from things substantial, . in man, all the affections of love, and all the perceptions of wisdom, are rendered substantial, for substances are their subjects, . see _form_. substantial.--the difference between what is substantial and what is material is like the difference between what is prior and what is posterior, . spiritual things are substantial, . spirits and angels are in substantial and not in materials, . man after death is a substantial man, because this substantial man lay inwardly concealed in the natural or material man, . the substantial man sees the substantial man, as the material man sees the material man, . all things in the spiritual world are substantial and not material, whence it is that there are in their perfection in that world, all things which are in the natural world, and many things besides, . every idea of man's, however sublimated, is substantial, that is, attached to substances, . successive.--there is a successive order and a simultaneous order, and there is an influx of successive order into simultaneous order, . see _order_. summary of the lord's commandments, , . sun.--there is a sun of the spiritual world as there is a sun of the natural world, . the sun of the spiritual world proceeds immediately from the lord, who is in the midst of it, . that sun is pure love , , . it appears fiery before the angels, altogether as the sun of our world appears before men, . it does not set nor rise, but stands constantly between the zenith and the horizon, that is, at the elevation of degrees, . the spiritual sun is pure love, and the natural sun is pure fire, , . whatever proceeds from the spiritual sun partakes of life, since it is pure love; whatever proceeds from the natural sun partakes nothing of life, since it is pure fire, . the spiritual sun is in the centre of the universe, and its operation, being without space and time, is instant and present from first principles in last, . for what end the sun of the natural world was created, . the fire of the natural sun exists from no other source than from the fire of the spiritual sun, which is divine love, . suppers.--in heaven, as in the world, there are suppers, . survivor, .--see _deceased_. swammerdam, . swans, in the spiritual world, signify conjugial love in the lowest region of the mind, . swedenborg.--he protests in truth that the memorable relations annexed to the chapters in this work are not fictions, but were truly done and seen; not seen in any state of the mind asleep, but in a state of full wakefulness, . that it had pleased the lord to manifest himself unto him, and send him to teach the things relating to the new church, . that the interiors of his mind and spirit were opened by the lord, and that thence it was granted him to be in the spiritual world with angels, and at the same time in the natural world with men, , , . state of anxiety into which he fell when once he thought of the essence and omnipresence of god from eternity, that is, of god before the creation of the world, . the angels, as well as himself, did not know the differences between spiritual and natural, because there had never before been an opportunity of comparing them together by any person's existing at the same time in both worlds; and without such comparison and reference those differences were not ascertainable, . on a certain time, as he was wandering through the streets of a great city inquiring for a lodging, he entered a house inhabited by married partners of a different religion; the angels instantly accosted him, and told him they could not on that account remain with him there, . he had observed for twenty-five years continually, from an influx perceptible and sensible, that it is impossible to think analytically concerning any form of government, civil law, moral virtue, or any spiritual truth, unless the divine principle flows in from the lord's wisdom through the spiritual world, . he declares, that having related a thousand particulars respecting departed spirits, he has never heard any one object, how can such be their lot when they are not yet risen from their sepulchres, the last judgment not being yet accomplished? . swedes, , . sweetness.--in heaven, the chaste love of the sex is called heavenly sweetness, . sympathies.--in the spiritual world sympathies are not only felt, but also appear in the face, the discourse, and gesture, . with some married partners in the natural world, there is antipathy in internals, combined with apparent sympathy in their externals, . sympathy derives its origin from the concordance of spiritual spheres, which emanate from subjects, . tabernacle.--in heaven, the most ancient people dwell in tabernacles, because, whilst in the world, they lived in tabernacles, . tabernacle of their worship exactly similar to the tabernacle of which the form was showed to moses on mount sinai, . tables of wood and stone on which were the writings of the most ancient people, . tablet with this inscription, "the covenant between jehovah and the heavens," . tartarus, .--shades of tartarus, . tartary.--the ante-mosaic word, at this day lost, is reserved only in great tartary, . taste, sense of.--the love of self-nourishment, grounded in the love of imbibing goods, is the sense of tasting, and the delights proper to it are the various kinds of delicate foods, . temperance is one of those moral virtues which have respect to life and enter into it, . temple, description of a, in heaven, . temple of wisdom, where the causes of the beauty of the female sex were discussed, . temporal.--idea of what is temporal in regard to marriages, effect that it produced on two married partners from heaven present with swedenborg, . theatres in the heavens, .--see _actors_. thing, every, created by the lord is representative, . think, to, spiritually is to think abstractedly from space and time, and to think naturally is to think in conjunction with space and time, . to think and conclude from an interior and prior principle is to think and conclude from ends and causes to effects, but to think and conclude from an exterior or posterior principle, is to think and conclude from effects to causes and ends, . the spiritual man thinks of things incomprehensible and ineffable to the natural man, . thought is the _existere_, or existence of a man's life, from the _esse_ or essence, which is love, . spiritual thoughts, compared with natural, are thoughts of thoughts, . spiritual thoughts are the beginnings and origins of natural thoughts, . spiritual thought so far exceeds natural thought as to be respectively ineffable, . thunder.--clapping of the air like thunder is a correspondence and consequent appearance of the conflict and collision of arguments amongst spirits, . tones, discordant, brought into harmony, . touch, to.--this sense is common to all the other senses, and hence borrows somewhat from them, . it is the sense proper to conjugial love, . the love of knowing objects, grounded on the love of circumspection and self-preservation, is the sense of touching, and the gratifications proper to it are the various kinds of titillation, . the innocence of parents and the innocence of children meet each other by the touch, especially of the hands, . see _sense_. trades.--in the spiritual world there are trades, . tranquillity is in conjugial love, and relates to the mind, . transcribed, to be.--whereas every man (_homo_) by birth inclined to love himself, it was provided from creation, to prevent man's perishing by self-love, and the conceit of his own intelligence, that that love of the man (_vir_) should be transcribed into the wife, , , , . transcription, the, of the good of one person into another is impossible, . tree, a, signifies man, . the tree of life signifies man living from god, or god living in man, . to eat of this tree signifies to receive eternal life, . the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, signifies the belief that life for man is not god, but self, . by eating thereof signifies damnation, . trinity, the divine, is in jesus christ, in whom dwells all the fulness of the godhead bodily, . truth.--what the understanding perceives and thinks is called truth, . truth is the form of good, , . there is the truth of good, and from this the good of truth, or truth grounded in good, and good grounded in that truth; and in these two principles is implanted from creation an inclination to join themselves together into one, . the truth of good, or truth grounded in good, is male (or masculine), and the good of truth, or good grounded in truth, is female (or feminine), , . see _good and truth_. truth does not admit of reasonings, . truths pertain to the understanding, . two.--in every part of the body where there are not two, they are divided into two, . tziim.--in hell, the forms of birds, and under which the lascivious delights of adulterous love are presented to the view, are birds called tziim, . ulcers, . ultimate.--it is a universal law that things primary exist, subsist, and persist from things ultimate, . that the ultimate state is such as the successive order is, from which it is formed and exists, is a canon which, from its truth, must be acknowledged in the learned world, . ulysses, companions of, changed into hogs, . unchastity, difference between, and what is not chaste, . unchastity is entirely opposed to chastity, . there is a conjugial love which is not chaste, and yet is not unchastity, . the love opposite to conjugial love is essential unchastity, . if the renunciations of whoredoms be not made from a principle of religion, unchastity lies inwardly concealed like corrupt matter in a wound only outwardly healed, . unclean or filthy, every, principle of hell is from adulterers, . uncleanness, , . understanding, the.--man has understanding from heavenly light, . the understanding considered in itself is merely the ministering and serving principle of the will, . it is only the form of the will, . man is capable of elevating his intellect above his natural loves, . see _will and understanding_. union.--spiritual union of two married partners is the actual adjunction of the soul and mind of the one to the soul and mind of the other, . conjugial love is the union of souls, , , . union between two married partners in heaven is like that of the two tents in the breast, which are called the heart and the lungs, . unity, the, of souls between two married partners in heaven is seen in their faces; the life of the husband is in the wife, and the life of the wife is in the husband--they are two bodies but one soul, . universals.--whoever knows universals may afterwards comprehend particulars, because the latter are in the former as parts in a whole, . good and truth are the universals of creation, , . there are three universals of heaven and three universals of hell, . a universal principle exists from, and consists of singulars, . if we take away singulars, a universal is a mere name, and is like somewhat superficial, which has no contents within, . a universal truth is acknowledged by every intelligent man, . every universal truth is acknowledged as soon as it is heard, in consequence of the lord's influx and at the same time of the confirmation of heaven, . universe.--the universe, with all its created subjects, is from the divine love, by the divine wisdom, or what is the same thing, from the divine good, by the divine truth, . all things which proceed from the lord, or from the sun, which is from him, and in which he is, pervade the created universe, even to the last of all its principles, . all thing in the universe have relation to good and truth, . in every thing in the universe good is conjoined with truth, and truth with good, . use is essential good, , . use is doing good from love by wisdom, . creation can only be from divine love by divine wisdom, in divine use, . all things in the universe are procreated and formed from use, in use, and for use, . all use is from the lord, and is effected by angels and men, as of themselves, . uses are the bonds of society; there are as many bonds as there are uses, and the number of uses is infinite, . there are spiritual uses, such as regard love towards god, and love towards our neighbor, . there are moral and civil uses, such as regard the love of the society and state to which a man belongs, and of his fellow-citizens among whom he lives, . there are natural uses, which regard the love of the world and its necessities, : and there are corporeal uses, such as regard the love of self-preservation with a view to superior uses, . the delight of the love of uses is a heavenly delight, which enters into succeeding delights in their order, and according to the order of succession exalts them and makes them eternal, . delights follow use, and are also communicated to man according to the love thereof, . the delight of being useful derives its essence from love, and its existence from wisdom, . this delight, originating in love and operating by wisdom, is the very soul and life of all heavenly joys, . those who are only in natural and corporeal uses are satans, loving only the world and themselves, for the sake of the world; and those who are only in corporeal uses are devils, because they live to themselves alone, and to others only for the sake of themselves, . happiness is derived to every angel from the use he performs in his function, . the public good requires that every individual, being a member of the common body, should be an instrument of use in the society to which he belongs, . to such as faithfully perform uses, the lord gives the love thereof, . so far as uses are done from the love thereof, so far that love increases, . the use of conjugial love is the most excellent of all uses, , . conjugial love is according to the love of growing wise, for the sake of uses from the lord, . how can any one know whether he performs uses from self-love, or from the love of uses? . every one who believes in the lord, and shuns evils as sins, performs uses from the lord; but every one who neither believes in the lord, nor shuns evils as sins, does uses from self, and for the sake of self, . all good uses in the heavens are splendid and refulgent, . blessed lot of those who are desirous to have dominion from the love of uses, . _obs._--use consists in fulfilling faithfully, sincerely, and carefully, the duties of our functions, _t.c.r._, . those things are called _uses_ which, proceeding from the lord, are by creation in order, _d.l. and w_., . uses of apparent love and friendship between married partners, for the sake of preserving order in domestic affairs, , and following, . utility of apparent love and apparent friendship between married partners, for the sake of preserving order in domestic affairs, , and following, . vapor.--from reason it may be seen that the soul of man after death is not a mere vapor, . variety.--there is a perpetual variety, and there is not any thing the same with another thing, . heaven consists of perpetual varieties, . distinction between varieties and diversities, . see _diversities_. vegetables.--wonders in the productions of vegetables, . vein.--there is a certain vein latent in the affection of the will of every angel which attracts his mind to the execution of some purpose, . vein of conjugial love, , , , , , , . ventricles of the brain, . vernal, the, principle exists only where warmth is equally united to light, . with men (_homines_) there is a perpetual influx of vernal warmth from the lord, it is otherwise with animals, . in heaven, where there is vernal warmth, there is love truly conjugial, . violation of spiritual marriage, - . violation of spiritual marriage is violation of the word, . violation of the word is adulteration of good, and falsification of truth, . this violation of the word corresponds to scortations and adulteries, . by whom, in the christian church, violation of the word is committed, . virginity.--fate of those who have vowed perpetual virginity, , , . virgins, , , , , , . the affection of truth is called a virgin, . the virgins (matt. xxv. ) signify the church, . quality of the state of virgins before and after marriage in heaven, . virgins of the fountain, , . the nine virgins, or muses, signify knowledge and science of every kind, . how a virgin is formed into a wife, . virtues, moral, and spiritual virtues, . various graces and virtues of moral life represented in theatres in heaven, . manly virtue, , . visible.--every one may confirm himself in favor of a divine principle or being, from what is visible in nature, - . vision, posterior, . vitiated states of mind and body which are legitimate causes of separation, , . wars, the, of jehovah. the name of the historical books of the ante-mosaic word, . water from the fountain, to drink, signifies to be instructed concerning truths, and by truths concerning goods, and thereby to grow wise, . weasels.--who they are who appear at a distance in the spiritual world like weasels, . whirlpools which are in the borders of the worlds, . white, the color, signifies intelligence, . white, what is, in heaven is truth, . whoredom, spiritual, is the falsification of truth, which acts in unity with that which is natural, because they cohere, . whoredoms in the spiritual sense of the word signify the connubial connection of what is evil and false, . they signify the falsification of truth, . whoredom is the destruction of society, . they are imputed to every one after death, not according to the deeds themselves, but according to the state of the minds in the deeds, . whoredoms in the spiritual sense signify the connection (_connubium_) of evil and false, . toleration of such evils in populous cities, . widow.--why the state of a widow is more grievous than that of a widower, . wife, a, is the love of a wise man's wisdom, . she represents the love of her husband's wisdom, . the wife signifies the good of truth, . in heaven, the wife is the love of her husband's wisdom, and the husband is the wisdom of her love, . the wife perceives, sees, and is sensible of the things which are in her husband, in herself, and thence as it were herself in him, . there is with wives a sixth sense, which is the sense of all the delights of the conjugial love of the husband, and this sense is in the palms of the hands, *. conjugial love resides with chaste wives, but still their love depends on the husband's, *. wives love the bonds of marriage if the men do, . wives seated on a bed of roses, . in a rosary, . acts which certain wives employ to subject their husbands to their own authority, . see _woman, married partners_. will, the, is the receptacle of love, for what a man loves that he wills, . will principle, considered in itself, is nothing but an affect and effect of some love, . whoever conjoins to himself the will of a man, conjoins to himself the whole man, . the will acts by the body, wherefore, if the will were to be taken away, action would be instantly at a stand, . will and understanding.--the will is the man himself, and the understanding is the man as grounded in the will, . the life of man essentially is his will, and formally is his understanding, . the will is the receptacle of good, and the understanding is the receptacle of truth, . love, charity, and affection, belong to the will, and perception and thought to the understanding, . all things which are done by a man are done from his will and understanding, and without these acting principles a man would not have either action or speech, otherwise than as a machine, . whoever conjoins to himself the will of another, conjoins also to himself his understanding, . the understanding is not so constant in its thoughts as the will is in its affections, . he that does not discriminate between will and understanding, cannot discriminate between evils and goods. . the will alone of itself acts nothing, but whatever it acts, it acts by the understanding, and the understanding alone of itself acts nothing, but whatever it acts, it acts from the will, . with every man the understanding is capable of being elevated according to knowledges, but the will only by a life according to the truths of the church, . the natural man can elevate his understanding into the light of heaven, and think and discourse spiritually, but if the will at the same time does not follow the understanding, he is still not elevated, for he does not remain in that elevation, but in a short time he lets himself down to his will, and there fixes his station, , . the will flows into the understanding, but not the understanding into the will, yet the understanding teaches what is good and evil, and consults with the will, that out of those two principles it may choose, and do what is agreeable to it, . the will of the wife conjoins itself with the understanding of the man, and thence the understanding of the man with the will of the wife, . in adultery of the reason, the understanding acts from within, and the will from without, but in adultery of the will, the will acts from within, and the understanding from without, . wisdom is nothing but a form of love, . it is a principle of life, . wisdom, considered in its fulness, is a principle, at the same time, of knowledges, of reason, and of life, . what wisdom is as a principle of life, , . wisdom consists of truths, . the understanding is the receptacle of wisdom, . the abode of wisdom is in use, . wisdom cannot exist with a man but by means of the love of growing wise, . wisdom with men is twofold, rational and moral; their rational wisdom is of the understanding alone, and their moral wisdom is of the understanding and life together, , . rational wisdom regards the truths and goods which appear inwardly in man, not as its own, but as flowing in from the lord, . moral wisdom shuns evils and falses as leprosies, especially the evils of lasciviousness, which contaminate its conjugial love, . the things which relate to rational wisdom constitute man's understanding, and those which relate to moral wisdom constitute his will, . wisdom of wives, . the perception, which is the wisdom of the wife, is not communicable to the man, neither is the rational wisdom of the man communicable to the wife, , . the moral wisdom of the man is not communicable to women, so far as it partakes of rational wisdom, . wisdom and conjugial love are inseparable companions, . the lord provides conjugial love for those who desire wisdom, and who consequently advance more and more into wisdom, . there is no end to wisdom, . temple of wisdom, . sports of wisdom, , *. see _love and wisdom_. wise.--a wise one is not a wise one without a woman, or without love, a wife being the love of a wise man's wisdom, . woman, the, was created and born to become the love of the understanding of a man, , . woman was created out of the man, hence she has an inclination to unite, and, as it were, reunite herself with the man, . conjugial love is implanted in every woman from creation, . woman is actually formed into a wife, according to the description in the book of creation, . in the universe nothing was created more perfect than a woman of a beautiful countenance and becoming manners, . the woman receives from the man the truth of the church, . woman, by a peculiar property with which she is gifted from her birth, draws back the internal affections into the inner recesses of her mind, . affection, application, manners, and form of woman, , . women were created by the lord affections of the wisdom of men, . they are created forms of the love of the understanding of men, . women have an interior perception of love, and men only an exterior, *. in assemblies where the conversation of the men turns on subjects proper to rational wisdom, women are silent, and listen only, the reason why, . intelligence of wisdom, . women cannot enter into the duties proper to men, . difference between females, women, and wives, . see _wife_. wonders conspicuous in eggs, . wood signifies natural good, . woods of palm-trees, and of rose-trees, . word, the ancient, at this day is lost, and is only reserved in great tartary, . the historical books of this word are called the wars of jehovah, and the prophetic books the enunciations, . word, the, with the most ancient, and with the ancient people, . word, the, is the lord, . in every thing of the word there is the marriage of good and truth, . the word is the medium of conjunction of the lord with man, and of man with the lord, . in its essence it is divine truth united to divine good, and divine good united to divine truth, . it is the perfect marriage of good and truth, . in every part of the word there is a spiritual sense corresponding to the natural sense, and by means of the former sense the men of the church have conjunction with the lord, and consociation with angels, . the sanctity of the word resides in this sense, - . while man reads the word, and collects truths out of it, the lord adjoins good, . workhouses, infernal, . see also , , . works are good or bad, according as they proceed from an upright will and thought, or from a depraved will and thought, whatever may be their appearance in externals, . good works are uses, . world of spirits, the, is intermediate between heaven and hell, and there the good are prepared for heaven, and the wicked for hell, *, , , . it is in the world of spirits that all men are first collected after their departure out of the natural world, , . the good are there prepared for heaven, and the wicked for hell; and after such preparation, they discover ways open for them to societies of their like, with whom they are to live eternally, , . world, the natural, subsists from its sun, which is pure fire, . there is not anything in the natural world which is not also in the spiritual world, , . in the natural world, almost all are capable of being joined together as to external affections, but not as to internal affections, if these disagree and appear, . world, the spiritual, subsists from its sun, which is pure love, as the natural world subsists from its sun, . in the spiritual world there are not spaces, but appearances of spaces, and these appearances are according to the states of life of the inhabitants, . all things there appear according to correspondences, . all who, from the beginning of creation have departed by death out of the natural world, are in the spiritual world, and as to their loves, resemble what they were when alive in the natural world, and continue such to eternity, . in the spiritual world there are all such things there as there are on earth, and those things in the heavens are infinitely more perfect, . _obs._--the spiritual world in general comprehends heaven, the world of spirits, and hell. worms.--wonders concerning them, . silk-worms, . worship, the, of god in heaven returns at stated periods, and lasts about two hours, . wrath.--if love, especially the ruling love, be touched, there ensues an emotion of the mind (_animus_); if the touch hurts, there ensues wrath, . writers.--the most ancient writers, whose works remain to us, do not go back beyond the iron age, . see _writings_. writings, the, of the most ancient and of the ancient people are not extant: the writings which exist are those of authors who lived after the ages of gold, silver, and iron, . writings of some learned authoresses, examined in the spiritual world in the presence of those authoresses, . the writings, which proceed from ingenuity and wit, on account of the elegance and neatness of the style in which they are written, have the appearance of sublimity and erudition, but only in the eyes of those who call all ingenuity by the name of wisdom, . writing in the heavens, , . xenophon, *. youth.--in heaven, all are in the flower of youth, and continue therein to eternity, . all who come into heaven return into their vernal youth, and into the powers appertaining to that age, and thus continue to eternity, . infants in heaven do not grow up beyond their first age, and there they stop, and remain therein to eternity, , ; and that when they attain the stature which is common to youths of eighteen years old in the world, and to virgins of fifteen, . youth.--in heaven they remain forever in state of youth, . see _age_. youth, a.--the state of marriage of a youth with a widow, . how a youth formed into a husband, . youthful.--with men, the youthful principle is changed into that of a husband, . zeal is of love, . zeal is a spiritual burning or flame, . zeal is not the highest degree of love, but it is burning love, . the quality of a man's zeal is according to the quality of his love, . there are the zeal of a good love and the zeal of an evil love, . these two zeals are alike in externals, but altogether unlike in internals, . the zeal of a good love in its internals contains a hidden store of love and friendship; but the zeal of an evil love in its internals contains a hidden store of hatred and revenge, . the zeal of conjugial love is called jealousy, . wives are, as it were, burning zeals for the preservation of friendship and conjugial confidence, *. zealous (_zelotes_).--why jehovah in the word is called zealous, . produced from scanned images of public domain material from the google print project.) daisy; or, the fairy spectacles. by the author of "violet; a fairy story." boston: phillips, sampson, and company. . entered, according to act of congress, in the year , by phillips, sampson, and company, in the clerk's office of the district court of the district of massachusetts. stereotyped at the boston stereotype foundry. publishers' advertisement. the universal commendation bestowed upon the exquisite little story of "violet," published last year, has led to the issue of this second book, by the same author. it will be found to possess the same delightful simplicity of style, the same sympathy with nature, the same love of the good and the true, which characterized its predecessor. to those parents who would bring their children into contact with a mind of perfect purity, strong in correct principles, loving and liberal in nature, and refined in tastes and sympathies, the publishers commend this little volume. daisy; or the fairy spectacles. chapter i. the old fairy. there was a great forest, once, where you might walk for miles, and never hear a sound except the tapping of woodpeckers, the hooting of owls, or the low bark of wolves, or the strokes of a woodman's axe. for on the borders of this wild, solitary place one man had built his little house, and lived there. it was very near the trees which he spent his time in cutting down; and peter thought this all he cared about. but when the summer wore away, and the cold, lonely winter months came on, and there was no one to keep his fire burning and the wind from sweeping through his home, and no one to smile upon him and comfort him when he came back tired from his hard day's work, peter grew lonely, and thought he must find a wife. so he went to a market town, a whole day's journey off; for he knew it was a fair-day, and that all the young women of his acquaintance would be there, and many more beside. at first he looked about for the most beautiful, and asked her if she would be his wife; but the beauty tossed her head, and answered, not unless he lived in a two-story house, and had carpets on his floors, and a wagon in which she could drive to town when she chose. all this, was very unlike the home of poor peter, who had nothing in the world but his rough little cabin and a barrow in which he wheeled his wood. the next maiden told him he had an ugly scar on his face, and was not good looking enough for her; and, besides, his clothes were coarse. the next declared that she was afraid of wolves, and would rather marry one of the village youths, and live where she could hear the news, and on fair-days watch the people come and go. so peter started for his lonely home again, with a sadder heart than he left it; for there was no chance that he could ever grow handsome or rich, and therefore he thought he must always dwell alone; instead of the music of kind voices, with which he had hoped to make his evenings pleasant, he was still to hear only the cracking of boughs, and hissing of snakes, and the barking of wolves. but suddenly he met in the road some people who seemed more wretched than himself--an old, bent woman, clad in rags, and with such an ugly face that, strong man as he was, peter could not look at her without trembling, and a girl whom she led, or rather dragged along, through the dusty road. the girl looked as if she had been weeping and was very tired; she did not raise her swollen eyes from the ground while peter talked with her companion. the old dame said she was a silly thing, crying her eyes out because her mother was dead, when she ought to be thankful to be rid of one so old, and sick, and troublesome. the girl began to cry again, and the woman to scold her loudly. "just so ungrateful people are," she said; "when i have promised to find a place where you can live at service, and earn money to buy a new gown, you must needs whimper about the old body that's well enough in her grave." "perhaps the poor child is lonely," said peter, who had a kind heart under his rough coat, and knew, besides, from his own experience, what a hard thing it is to live with no one to love us and be grateful for our care. [illustration: she put the girl's hand into his.] the girl looked up at peter with her pale, sad face; but her lips trembled so that she could not thank him. and he began to think how this poor beggar must have a gentle and loving heart, because she had taken such good care of her old mother, and, notwithstanding she was so troublesome, had been grieved at losing her. so he made bold to ask once more what he had been refused so many times that day, and had never thought to ask again, whether she would marry him, and live in his little cabin, and cook his meals, and keep his fires burning, and smile and comfort him when he should come home tired from his work. and at these words a bright smile came into the face of the old woman, and seemed for an instant to take its ugliness away. she put the girl's hand into his, and said to her, "one who can forget his own trouble in comforting another will make you a good husband, susan." all at once the old woman had disappeared; and peter and susan, hand in hand, were travelling towards the cabin in the wood. they looked about in every direction; but she was gone. then they looked in each other's faces, and seemed to remember that they had seen each other before; at least, peter knew he had always meant to have exactly such a wife as susan, and susan was sure that, if she had looked through the world, she could have found no one so manly, and kind, and generous as peter. i may as well tell you a secret, to begin with--that it was no accident which led the young woman into peter's path, but a plan of the old dame. and she was not the withered hag she seemed, but the youngest and most beautiful fairy that ever entered this earth--the strongest, too, and richest, for the earth itself is only a part of her treasure; and should she forsake it for a moment, our world would wither like a flower cut from its stem, and be blown away with the first wind that came. but you must find out for yourselves the fairy's name. chapter ii. the woodland home. to susan peter's cabin seemed like a palace; for he had taken care that it should look clean and pleasant when his new wife came. it was shaded with the beautiful boughs of the wood; and the door stood open, for he had no lock and key. there were inside some comfortable seats, and a fireplace, and table, and some wild flowers in a cup; and on the floor were patches of sunshine that had crept through the leaves, and made the room look only cooler and shadier. peter opened a closet, and showed his stores of meal and sugar, and all his pans and dishes; and he took from his pocket the stuff for a new gown, which he had bought at the fair on purpose for his wife, and wheeled from its dark corner an easy chair he had made for her, and hung upon the wall a little looking glass, so that she might not forget, he said, to keep her hair smooth, and look handsome when he should come home at evening. poor susan could hardly believe her own senses: but a few hours ago she had been a beggar in the streets, without one friend except the old woman that dragged her through the dust and scolded her. many a night they had slept out of doors, with only a thorny hedge for shelter and the damp grass for a bed; and if it rained, and they were out, had had no fire to dry their shivering limbs; and when they woke up hungry in the morning, had no breakfast to cook or eat. and now the lonely beggar girl was mistress of a house, and the wife of a man whom she would not exchange for the whole wide world, and who seemed pleased with her, and even proud of her. so you see, dear children, that it is never worth while to be unhappy about our trials, because we do not know what may happen the next minute. we never can guess what good fortune is travelling towards us, and may, when times seem darkest, be standing outside of our door. the poor debtor in jail may suddenly hear that he has been made a prince; the dear friend that is sick, and seems almost sure to die, may arise all the stronger, and the dearer, too, for the illness which frightened us; the sad accident that causes such pain, and perhaps mutilates us for life, may have kept off from us some more dreadful pain--we cannot tell. but of this we may always be sure, that the good god, who never sleeps nor grows tired, loves and watches over us, and sends alike joy and sorrow, to make our souls purer, and fitter to live in his beautiful home on high. susan never was sorry that the strange old dame had put her hand in peter's; for he led her through the pleasantest paths he could find, and when the way grew rough, he was so careful of her comfort, and so grieved for her, that she almost wished it might never be smooth again. they were very poor, and worked hard from morning until night, and often had not quite clothes enough to wear nor food enough to eat; but they were satisfied with a little, and loved each other, and enjoyed their quiet, shady home. many a time they talked over the strange events of their wedding day, and wondered if they had really happened, or were only the recollections of a dream; and susan would declare that she had not yet awakened from her dream, and prayed she never might; for the cold, cruel, lonely world she always knew before that day had changed to a beautiful, sunny home, where she still lived, as merry as a bird. susan was not so ignorant as you might think; for before her old mother was taken sick, she had lived at service, and though unkindly treated, had learned to do many things, and could prepare for peter little comforts of which he never dreamed before. she had, too, a pleasant voice, and she and her husband sang together of evenings; so that it happened, after his wife came, peter never heard the snakes or wolves again. ah, and there were more cruel, more fearful snakes and wolves that susan kept away. suppose she had been ill natured or discontented, and instead of enjoying her house, had tormented peter because it was not a more splendid one; and when he came home tired, instead of singing pleasant songs to him, had fretted about her little troubles, and they had vexed and quarrelled with each other; do you think the far-off voices of snakes and wolves outside would have made the poor man's home as doleful as those angry, peevish voices within, which no lock could fasten out? chapter iii. daisy. perhaps by this time you are wondering what has become of the fairy. this is exactly what susan used to wonder; and when, at evening, she went out to tell peter that supper was ready, and it was time for him to leave off work, if a leaf fell suddenly down, or a rabbit ran across her path, she would start and look about cautiously; for it seemed to her the old woman might at any time come creeping along under one of the tall arches which the boughs made on every side, or even she might be perched among the dusky branches of the trees. peter used to laugh at her, and ask if she could find nothing pretty and pleasant in all the beautiful wood, that she must be forever searching for that ugly face. but, to tell the truth, when he walked home alone after dark, and the wind was dashing the boughs about, and sighing through them, and strange-looking shadows came creeping past him, peter himself would quicken his pace, and whistle loudly so as not to hear the sounds that came thicker and thicker, and seemed like unearthly voices. he could not help a feeling, such as susan had, that the old fairy was hidden somewhere in the wood, and that her dreadful face might look up out of the ground, or from behind some shadowy rock. he did not know what a lovely, smiling face was hidden beneath the dame's wrinkles and rags; he did not know that this spirit, he dreaded so much, was his best and kindest friend; and that, while he feared to meet her, she was always walking by his side, and keeping troubles away, and it was even her kind hand that parted the boughs sometimes, to let the sunshine stream upon his little home. it is very foolish to fear any thing, for our fears cannot possibly keep danger away; and suppose we should sometimes meet living shadows, and dreadful grinning faces, in a lonely place, it is not likely they would eat us up; and it is a great deal better and braver for us to laugh back at them than to be frightened out of our senses, and run into some real danger to escape a fancied one. the fairy was not to be found by seeking her, but she came at last of her own accord. when peter came home from his work, one night, and passed the place where susan usually met him, she was not there; he walked slowly, for it was a beautiful evening, and he did not wish to disappoint his wife, who thought more of her walk with him than of her supper. no susan appeared, for all his lingering; and when his own door was reached, who should stand there but the old woman, her ugly face bright with smiles; and in her arms a little child, as small, and helpless, and homely as you would wish to see. but it belonged to peter and susan; and if children are ever so homely, their own parents always think them beautiful. you never saw a person so pleased as peter; he hugged his little girl, and danced about with her, and went out to the door, when it was light, to look at her face, again and again. it seemed to him as if a miracle had been wrought on purpose for him; and already he could fancy the little one running about his home, building up gardens out of sticks and stones, and singing with a voice as musical as her mother's, and even pleasanter, because it would sound so childish and innocent. of course susan was pleased with what delighted peter so much; and neither of them minded the little homely face, except once, when peter declared it looked like the old woman herself, and he was afraid it had caught her ugliness. "what's that--what's that?" exclaimed the fairy, whom he supposed to have gone away; for he was too happy to think much about _her_. up she started from susan's easy chair, with her great eyes glittering at him, and her wide mouth opening as if she would devour the baby. "i said she looked like her godmother," answered peter, holding his child a little closer, and moving towards the door to look at its face again. "then," cried the old dame, "i must christen her. there is nothing rich or beautiful about her looks, and it would be foolish to call her by a splendid name. she will live in lonely, lowly places, and grow without any one's help, and always have a bright, fresh, loving face, that looks calmly up to heaven: we must call her daisy. take care of her heart, now, peter; and this gift of mine will be a more precious one than ever was bestowed upon a queen." so she fumbled a while in her great pocket, and brought out a pair of rusty spectacles, which she offered peter: but he did not know this, for he was looking at susan; and the fairy laid them upon the little, sleeping bosom of the child, and hobbled off into the dark, and was not seen in peter's house again for many a day. "what folly is the meddlesome old dame about, i wonder?" said peter to himself, taking up the spectacles, and about to throw them away; but the child opened her eyes, and took them in her little hand in such a knowing way, he must needs have her mother see it. "dear soul!" exclaimed susan; "she will be such a comfort to me, when i am here alone all day with my work! what shall we name her? it must be something bright and pleasant; and it seems to me there is nothing prettier than daisy." now, while peter and the old woman were talking by the door, susan had been fast asleep, and had not heard what they said. "the dame has talked you into that fancy," answered peter. "i should call the little one susan." "what dame?" asked the wife, in surprise. "you cannot mean that the old woman has been here." if he had ever heard susan speak an untruth, peter would have thought she was deceiving him now; but he felt that she was good and true, and thought, perhaps, after all, she had been so drowsy as to forget the dame's visit; so he patiently told about it, spectacles and all. susan took them in her hand with some curiosity, and even tried them upon daisy's face; they were large and homely, besides being all over rust. while daisy wore them, the moonlight broke through the boughs again, to show her little face, looking so old, and wise, and strange, that susan snatched the spectacles off, and threw them into a drawer, where she quite forgot them, and where they lay, growing rustier, for years. chapter iv. great picture books. you would not suppose that susan's home could be any different because such a poor little thing as daisy had come into it; but bright and pleasant as it was before, it was a hundred times brighter and pleasanter now. the child was so gentle and loving, and so happy and full of life, that susan and peter felt almost like children themselves, in watching her. no matter how tired peter was at night, he would frolic an hour with daisy, tossing the little thing in the air, lifting her up among the boughs till she was hidden from sight. and susan would leave her work any time to admire daisy's garden, or to dress the wooden doll that peter had made for her. as for daisy's self, she was the busiest little soul alive, after she once learned to walk; for at first she could only lie and look up at the leaves, and the great sky, so far, far off, and see the slow, white clouds sail past the tops of the trees, and watch the birds, that hopped from branch to branch and looked down at her curiously, wondering if she were any thing good to eat. daisy would hold up her little hands, to tell them they'd better not try, and then the bird would turn it off by singing away as if he had no such thought, and watch her as he warbled his gay little song, that said, "o daisy, i'm having a beautiful time; are you?" then daisy would coo, and laugh, and clap her hands, which was her song, and which meant, "yes, indeed; only wait till i can use my feet, and have a run with you." peter made a rough kind of cradle out of willow twigs, and hung it in a tree, so that the fresh, green leaves shaded it, and kept away the flies, and fanned daisy's face, as she lay there swinging, when the day was warm, like a little hangbird in her nest. no wonder the child was always fond of birds, when she began so early to live with them and listen to their songs. but daisy learned to walk in time; and then she was constantly flying about, like the butterflies she loved. for the little girl thought even more of butterflies than of birds; they seemed to her like beautiful flowers sailing through the air, and making calls upon the other flowers, that were fastened down to the earth,--poor things!--as she used to be before she learned to walk. she would pick the flowers sometimes, and toss them into the air to see if they didn't fly, and tell them they were silly things to fall back on the ground and wilt, when, if they only would not be afraid, they might float off, with all their wings, and see a little of the world. daisy's hands were always full of flowers; and she brought some to the cabin which susan had never seen before; for the good woman could not leave her work long enough to go in such out-of-the-way places as they chose to blossom in. daisy had no work except to amuse herself; and she never tired of trudging under the trees, crowding her way among the tall weeds by the river bank, and creeping behind great rocks, or into soft, mossy places in the heart of the quiet wood; and here she was sure of finding strange and lovely things. these were the little girl's books; she had no spelling and history like yours, but studied the shapes of leaves and clouds, and the sunshine, and river, and birds. she did not know all their names, but could tell you where the swallow lived, and where wild honeysuckles grew, and the humming bird hid her little eggs, and how many nuts the squirrel was hoarding for winter time, and how nicely the ant had cleaned her house for spring, and when the winged seeds on the maple tree would change to broad green leaves, and the leaves themselves would change to colors as gay as the sunset, and then all droop and wither, and leave the bright little stars to wink at her through the naked boughs. the birds all knew daisy, and were not afraid of her; they would bring their young ones about the door, that she might feed them with crumbs and seeds. and even the sly little rabbits, that started if a leaf fell, came quietly and nibbled grass from daisy's hands, and let her stroke their long, soft ears. you may wonder that susan was not afraid the snakes and wolves would devour her little girl; but, as i told you before, she never could help thinking that the old woman was somewhere in the wood, and remembering how she had smiled at looking into the baby's face, thought she would not let daisy come to any harm. and she was right; for the fairy only lifted her finger when the little girl passed, and the wolf that had begun to watch and growl at her would crouch back in his den, and fall asleep. but he would not have frightened daisy, had he come forth; she did not know the name of fear, and, glad to see a new play-fellow, would perhaps have climbed on his back, and, patting his mouth so gently with her little hand that he forgot to growl, would have told him now he might gallop along, and take her home to her mother. chapter v. trouble for daisy. it was fortunate that susan was so happy while she could be; for the poor woman little dreamed how soon her sunny home was to become a sad, dark place for her. peter used to go forth in the morning, whistling as gayly as any of the birds; and daisy following him, proud enough that she could carry his little dinner basket for the short way she went. she did not know that what was such a heavy load to her was only a feather for the strong man to lift, and so delighted in thinking she had grown old enough to help her dear father. still peter had to watch his dinner closely; for daisy would espy some beautiful flower or vine looking at her from away off in the shade; and down the basket would go, and the little girl was off to take a nearer look, and see if she could not break off a branch to carry home to her mother. sometimes peter walked so fast, or daisy staid so long, that they lost each other; and then the father made a call that could be heard for miles, which frightened all the birds home to their nests, and must have startled the old dame herself, wherever she might be lurking in the wood. but the call was music to daisy; and before many minutes, she would come bounding into her father's arms, almost hidden in the waving white blossoms with which she had loaded herself. and all this while, unless peter himself took care of it, what would become of his dinner! when susan went to meet her husband at evening, now, daisy was sure to be with her--one moment holding her hand, the next skipping away alone, or kneeling to gather bright pebbles and sheets of green moss, to make banks and paths in her garden. she fluttered about in the sunshine like the butterflies she loved, and was as harmless and gentle. but, alas! one night, no peter came to meet them; and though daisy kept thinking she heard his step or his voice, it could only be the fall of some dead limb or the hooting of an owl. the night grew darker, and it lightened so sharply that daisy clung to her mother's skirts, and begged her to hide somewhere under a rock until the storm should be past, as the little girl felt almost sure her father had done. but susan groped her way on, with the wind blowing the branches into their faces, and the dead boughs snapping and falling about them, and the snakes, that they had never seen before, gliding across the path, hissing, and running their forked tongues out with fear. and at length they found poor peter, dead, on the ground. the tree which he had been cutting down had fallen suddenly, and crushed his head so under its great trunk that they only knew him by his clothes. chapter vi. the sweetest flower. small as daisy was, she saw that her father could never speak to her again; she remembered how kind he had always been; how many good times they had had together; how, that very morning, he had waited, on his way to work, and climbed a tall tree, only to tell her whether the eggs were hatched in the blue-jay's nest. she thought, too, how he had let her go farther than usual, and then walked back with her part way, to be sure she was in the right path, and how gently he had kissed her at parting, and told her to be a good girl, and help her mother. ah, she would take care to do that now, and never forget the last words which her dear father spoke to her. when our friends are taken away, we remember every little kind word, or look, or smile they ever gave us--things we hardly noticed while they were alive; and daisy could remember only kindness, only smiles and pleasant words. she thought no one could ever have had so good a father as peter was to her, and that no little girl could be so lonely and wretched as she was now. who was there left to call her up in the morning before the birds, and to make her garden tools, and swing her in the boughs, and listen to her stories at night about the rabbits and flowers? it seemed as if her heart would break. but daisy had one pleasant thought to comfort her--it seemed like a sweet flower that her father had dropped down from his new home in paradise, and which she would always wear in her bosom; and perhaps he would know her by it when, after a great many years, she should go to live with him there. this dear thought was, that when peter lived, she had done every thing in her power to please him and make him forget his weariness, and that he had known of this thoughtfulness, and loved her for it, and had always felt younger and happier when she was by his side. if your brothers and sisters or parents die, whether by accident or sickness, are you sure that they would leave you such a comforter as daisy had? think about it; for when you stand by their coffins, and it is too late to change the past, and the cold lips have spoken their last word, this little flower will be worth more to you--though no one may see it except yourself--than all the treasure in the world. but if you have been cold and cruel, there will come into your heart, instead, when you think of them, a dismal shadow, which all the light of the blessed sun cannot drive away. chapter vii. the woodman's funeral. daisy did not see the lightning, nor hear the snakes, nor feel the drops of rain that began to patter down; she only felt the cold hand that would never lead her through the wood again; for when she lifted it, it fell back on the ground, dead--dead! she asked her mother if they were not going home; but susan said her home was with peter; and if he staid out in the dark wood, she must stay there, too. she was frightened, and wild with sorrow, and did not know what she was saying, and began, at last, to blame the old woman, who had brought her there, she said, to be so happy for a little while, and always afterwards lonely and wretched--the old hag! "what old hag!" said a voice close to susan's ear, that brought her senses back quickly. "is this all your gratitude, susan? and are you going to kill your child, out here, with the cold and damp, because your husband's gone? come! we must bury him; and then away to your home, and don't sit here, abusing your best friend." daisy, you know, had never seen the woman, and she had never looked so dreadfully as now; she was pale and starved, and her great eyes glittered like the eyes of the snakes, and her voice was sharp and shrill enough to have frightened one on a pleasanter night than that. with peter's axe the fairy sharpened two stout sticks; one of these she made susan take, and there, by the light of the quick flashes of lightning, and a little lantern that the woman wore like a brooch on her bosom, daisy watched them dig her father's grave. the fallen tree was one of the largest in the wood, and the two women could not lift it; so they dug the earth away at the side and underneath the trunk; and when the place was deep enough, poor peter's body dropped into its grave. while her mother and the fairy were filling it over with earth, daisy went for the moss which she had gathered to show her father, and, by the light of the fairy's lamp, picked the sweetest flowers, and fragrant grasses, and broad leaves that glistened with the rain, and scattered them on the spot. then, with one of susan's and one of daisy's hands in hers, the old dame hurried them out of the wood. they stumbled often over the broken boughs, and stepped, before they knew it, on the snakes, that only hissed and slid away among the grass. susan was crying bitterly, and their guide kept scolding her, and daisy heard the wolves growl in their dens. she had heard of great funerals, where there were carriages and nodding plumes, and heavy velvet palls, and bells tolling mournfully; but daisy thought it was because her father had been such a good man, that his funeral was so much grander. she knew that all about his grave, and on, on, farther than eye could see, the great forest trees were bending and nodding like black plumes, and sounds like groans and sighs came from them as they dashed together in the wind; the lightning was his funeral torch; and the thunder tolled, instead of bells, at peter's grave; and the black clouds swept on like a train of mourners; and the great, quick drops of rain made it seem as if all the sky were weeping tears of pity for the little girl. ah, and daisy could not see how the dreadful old woman only seemed such, and was, in truth, a good and gentle fairy, who meant still to watch over the little orphan with tender care, as she had always done; whose soft, white wings, even now, were spread above, to shelter her from the cold rain and wind, and whose kind heart was full of pity for that little aching heart of hers. you and i, and all the people we know, walk through the world with this same strange fairy; who seems to frown, and scold, and force us on through cruel storms, and yet who is really smiling upon us, and shielding our shrinking forms with tender care, and leading us gently home. have you thought yet what can be the fairy's name? chapter viii. daisy's mission. no sooner had daisy stepped inside of her mother's door, than there came such a crash of thunder as she had never heard; and the little house shook as if it must surely fall. the old trees ground their boughs together, and, blown by the wind, the night birds dashed with their wet wings against the door; the screech owl hooted, for the young were washed out of her nest; and the rain leaked under susan's door sill, ran across the floor, and put out the little fire of brushwood which was burning on the hearth. and daisy thought of her father, out alone in this fearful night, and how the cold rain must be dripping into his grave. she peeped through the window. the sharp, jagged lightning made the sky look as if it were shattering like a dome of glass. she wondered if that lightning might not be the light of heaven she had heard about, and whether, if the sky should really fall, heaven and earth would be one place, and by taking a long, long journey, she could find her father, and live with him. and she thought that, for the sake of having him to take her by the hand again, she would walk to the end of a hundred worlds. then the sky seemed to daisy like a great black bell; and the thunder was the tongue of it that tolled so dismally over her father's grave. she was startled by a bony hand laid upon her shoulder, and looking up, heard the old woman say in her sharp, shrill voice, "come, little girl! don't you know i am hungry after all this work? fly round, and get me something to eat." and when daisy noticed her poor, starved face, she wondered that she had not thought to offer her some food. so she went to the closet,--the same one which poor peter had shown to his wife with so much pride,--and pointed to bread and a dish of milk,--for the shelves were so high that daisy could not reach them,--and drew her mother's easy chair into the dryest place she could find, and begged the dame to seat herself. she did not wait to be asked twice, but hobbled into the chair, and, to daisy's wonder, ate all the bread at a mouthful, and drank the milk at a swallow, and then, looking as hungry as ever, asked for more. so the little girl brought meat, and then some meal, and some dried fruit, and even cracked nuts; but the more she brought, the more the fairy wanted. if daisy had feared any thing, she would have trembled when, at last, the old dame fixed her glittering eyes upon her, and began to talk. "couldn't you do any better, daisy, than this," she said, "for your mother's friend and yours? are you not ashamed, when i am so hungry and tired, to give me such mean food?" "i am sorry, if you do not like it," said daisy; "it is the best we ever have." "don't tell me that," and the dame began to look angry. "do you call it good food that leaves me thin as i was before, and as hungry, and my clothes as ragged, and does not rest or soothe my poor old aching bones?" "if you wait till mother has done crying, she can make a drink out of herbs that will stop the aching--i am sure of that," said daisy, looking up in the fairy's face. "but i want it now; and, o, i am so cold! and she will cry all night. do, daisy, find me something else to eat." the poor old woman shivered as she spoke, and tears came into her eyes. "if it were daytime, i could find you berries and nuts out doors, for mother says i have sharp eyes." "have you--have you? and could you find my hut? there is a beautiful loaf of bread and a flask of medicine on the table. o, dear! this dreadful pain again!" and the ugly face grew uglier, as its wrinkles seemed all knotting up with agony. "i am almost sure i could find it, and i am so sorry your bones ache; pray, let me try." "what! go out into the dreadful night, with the owls, and wolves, and snakes, and with bats flapping their wings in your face, and the thunder rolling and rumbling overhead?" "none of these things ever hurt me, and i don't believe they will now. may i try?" "just listen to the wind and rain, and see the lightning cut through the darkness like a sword; and think, daisy, if you should see your father, just as he lay in the wood, with his head all crushed." "my father has gone to heaven," said the little girl; "that is only his body out in the woods, just as that is his coat on the wall; and i shall see nothing except the nice loaf of bread and the medicine, and think only how they will cure your pain." without another word, the fairy took the lantern from her bosom, and fastening it to daisy's, led her to the door, and pointed out into the black night. "who could see to hurt me, when it is so dark!" the little girl exclaimed. "now, tell me which way i shall turn, and see if i am not back soon." "walk only where the light of the lantern falls." she was saying more; but the wind slammed the door suddenly, and daisy found herself alone. chapter ix. fairy food. the lantern made a little pathway of light, sometimes leading straight forward, sometimes turning, running among thick bushes or over the rocks; and daisy went bravely on, never minding the frightened birds that fluttered through her light, like moths, nor the sad sigh of the wind, nor the dripping trees. she looked for pleasant things, instead of frightful ones; and let me whisper to you, that, with fairy help or without it, we always find, in this world, what we are looking for. the mosses seemed like a green carpet for her feet, and the pebbles like shining jewels; and the little flowers looked up at her like friends, and seemed to say, "we are smaller and weaker than you are, daisy; but we stay out here every night, and nothing harms us." and the trees bowed, and folded their leaves above her, as she passed, so gently, that she thought they were trying to shelter and take care of her. at length the light paused before a rock; but daisy could find no house, until she parted a clump of bushes, and then saw the entrance to a cave. she crept in; and as her lantern filled the place with light, she saw what a damp, uncomfortable home the old dame had, with only some stones for seats, and a table, and a ragged bed, and a smoky corner where she built her fire. there, however, upon the table stood the loaf and flask which daisy had come to find; she took them and hurried away, for it seemed as if the old dame's face were looking at her out of the rocky wall on every side. [illustration: the loaf and flask.] it was a heavier load for the little girl than her father's basket had been; but she had a strong heart, if her hands were weak. she ran along, trying to get before the light, that was always just in front of her, and singing the merriest songs she knew, so as not to hear the wind nor think about the faces on the wall. she reached home safely, but could not open the door; for the latch was high, and the dame had gone fast asleep. daisy thought she must wait until daylight out there in the cold, and sat on the step, feeling disappointed and sad enough. but one of her tame rabbits, awakened, perhaps, more easily than the dame, hopped out of his burrow, and nestled in daisy's lap, and looked up at her with his gentle eyes, while she warmed her hands in his fur, and did not feel so much alone. at last the old woman started from her sleep, and wondering what had become of daisy, went to look for her. she seized the bread with a cry of joy, and breaking a morsel, ate it eagerly, as she led daisy towards the fire, which she had built up again. "now, see the difference between your food and mine." as the fairy spoke, daisy looked up, and saw, to her surprise, the wrinkles smooth away, and a beautiful light break over the old brown face, the wide mouth shrink to a little rosy one, all smiles, and pearly teeth inside. the fairy's eyes grew brighter than ever; but the dreadful glittering look had gone, and they were full of joy, and peace, and love. "wait, now, till i take my medicine." her voice had changed to the softest, most silvery one that daisy ever heard. and when she had tasted the drink, her poor old crooked hands grew plump and white, her bent form straightened, and, what made daisy wonder more, even her clothes began to change. first they looked cleaner, then not so faded, then the rags disappeared, and they seemed new and whole; and then they began to grow soft and rich, till the ragged cotton gown was changed to velvet and satin, the knotted old turban to delicate lace, that hung heavy with pearls, but was not so delicate and beautiful as the golden hair that floated about the fairy wherever she moved. "poor child!" she said; "you are tired and cold; come, rest with me;" and taking daisy in her arms, began to sing the sweetest songs, that seemed to change every thing into music, even the wailing tempest and her mother's sobs. and all the while that tender, loving face bent over her, and the gentle hands were smoothing her wet hair, and folding her more closely to the fairy's heart. upon this pillow our tired daisy fell asleep. chapter x. daisy's dreams. strange and pleasant dreams came to daisy as she slept; and in all of them she could see the beautiful fairy floating over her head, and her father walking by her side. it seemed to her that, as she watched the lightning, the sky really broke like a dome of glass, and came shattering down, and that after it floated the loveliest forms, and odors and music came pouring down, and light which was far clearer, and yet not so dazzling as the light of earth. the clouds came floating towards her, and all their golden edges were bright wings, that waved in time with the music; then came falling, falling slowly as snow flakes, what seemed little pearly clouds, but blossomed into flowers and then changed into sweet faces, that all smiled on her as they passed by. among these the little girl searched eagerly for her father's face, when all at once he took her in his arms, and said, "ha, my daisy! is it you?" in his own merry, pleasant way. this startled her so much that she awoke, only to fall asleep again, and dream another dream as wonderful. but at length the morning sun had crept around the side of the cottage, found its way through the window, and fell so full on daisy's face, that she could dream only of dazzling, dazzling light, which seemed burning into her eyes, and made her open them wide, at length. and then, alas! how every thing was changed! her first thought was of the fairy; but she had gone, and daisy had been sleeping in her mother's easy chair, and felt cold and lonely as she looked around upon the silent room. no music there, no flowers and angelic faces, and clouds like chariots of pearl, with golden wings to hurry them along; no father to take her in his arms, and call her his little daisy. she closed her eyes, and tried to sleep again, for it seemed to her a great deal better to dream than to be awake in such a dreary little world as that. but suddenly daisy thought of her mother, and almost at the very moment was aroused by a moan from another part of the room. she ran to susan's side, and found her sick, and wretched as she was the night before; so daisy bathed her head, and brought her some fresh water from the spring; and when she could not comfort her in any other way, began to tell her dreams, how she had seen her father again, and felt sure he must be still alive. as susan listened, she dried her tears, and kissed daisy so fondly that the little girl no longer wished to be asleep, but was glad that she had power to run about, and prattle, and amuse her lonely mother. for she remembered peter's last words now, that she must be a good girl, and help, not herself, not sit still and have pleasant dreams, but help her mother. and this daisy felt resolved to do, if only for his sake. chapter xi. the dame's bundle. as soon as her mother smiled once more, daisy asked her what had become of the splendid fairy, and when she would be back again, and how it happened that the light and music had gone with her from their home. susan had seen no fairy, and could not believe that daisy was thinking of the poor old wrinkled dame. when she told the story of her journey to the cave, and the loaf of fairy bread, and the old dame's sudden change, the mother stroked daisy's hair, and said that this was only another of her wonderful dreams, and that, instead of going to the rain, the rain had come to her, pelting upon the window so hard, it had, perhaps, sprinkled her face--that was all; and the light of the fairy was, she supposed, the light of the morning sun, that had pried her little sleepy lids apart, at last. daisy felt bewildered and sorrowful at this, for she did not like to give up her new friend; but her mother told her how long she had known the dame; how she had put her hand in peter's, years ago; and afterwards put daisy in his arms, a little thing, no larger than her wooden doll, that could only lie in the grass or swing in its nest among the boughs, and look up at the sky. daisy thought, if she could have such another dear little thing to play with, and love, and tell her stories to, she should be contented with her home, and willing to wait for her father, and forget the vision of the fairy that had folded her so tenderly in her arms. so she went on asking questions about the dame; and then her mother remembered the gift of the iron spectacles. of course daisy wished to see them; but where they were no one knew. and susan consoled her by saying they were but homely and worthless things. "all things are worthless unless we make use of them," said the shrill voice of the dame, who in her sudden way appeared all at once in the room. "i only wonder that i don't grow tired of helping you," she said; "for you give me nothing except ingratitude. here, take this, and see what fault you can find with it." she tossed a bundle into susan's arms, put a loaf on the table, and pointed daisy to the rubbish heap outside the door; then frowning angrily at susan, "pretty extravagance! to make believe you are poor, and throw away what is worth more than all the gold on earth. why didn't you make the child wear my gift?" "she was homely enough, at first, without it," susan answered; "and after she grew better looking, why should i waste my time looking up those old rusty spectacles, to make her a fright again?" "you will have no such trouble with the other one." as the fairy spoke, a lovely little face peeped out from the bundle in susan's arms. "now, tell what i shall give her, with her name." susan had never seen such a beautiful child, and, poor as she was, felt grateful to the dame for this new gift; but she begged for leave to name the little one herself. "i will call it peterkin, after my husband. ah, how the dear man would have loved it!" and susan began to cry. "then her name will not match her face; if you want a peterkin, i will bring you one instead of this; but her name must be maud." so susan gave up the name for the sake of the child's good looks, and begged the dame to keep her always so beautiful, and to make her rich. "that's easy enough; you should have asked me, susan, to make her heart rich and beautiful. yet rich she shall be; and no one in all the earth shall have so handsome a face. but, remember, it is on one condition i promise--that maud and daisy shall always live together, rich or poor; that they shall never spend a night apart, until daisy goes to live with her father again." susan promised, and was thanking the dame with all her heart, though looking at the lovely little face that nestled in her bosom, when daisy flew into the room. "o mother, mother! i've seen her again, and prettier than she was at first. she smiled at me, and stroked my hair, and then went floating off among the trees, like all the faces in my dream." "then she and the dame are not one; for, look!" "look where? has the dame been here again?" "to be sure; i was talking with her when you came; and the door has not been opened since." but no old woman was in sight; daisy looked under the table, and in the closet, and every dark corner; but she was not there; and the little girl told her mother that she must have been dreaming, now. but susan showed her what the dame had brought, and even put the little thing in daisy's arms. it was hardly larger than a bird, and pretty as a flower, and as helpless, too. and daisy almost forgot the fairy in this new delight; she thought that all the visions in the air were not so sweet and lovely as her sister's face. she could not look at it enough; and at length taking out from her pocket a pair of spectacles, gravely put them on, and looked at her sister again. susan laughed; she couldn't help it, daisy looked so drolly. she saw that the spectacles were the very ones the dame had brought; for she thought there could hardly be another pair so old and rusty in the world. the little girl said she had found them in a dust heap, where susan remembered that she had emptied the rubbish from some old boxes, the day before. daisy had but just cleaned the glasses with her apron, and was holding them up to find if they were clear, when she saw, through them, the beautiful fairy floating by, and smiling on her as she passed. she thought, after all, it might have been the glasses that had changed the sour old woman into a smiling fairy; but when she looked at her sister's sweet little face through them, it was not half so beautiful--it seemed cold and hungry, and the smile was gone. susan felt very sure that the dame was real, for all about her were the care and trouble she had brought; and had she not dragged her on through cruel storms, and scolded her when she was trying to do her best? and if the beautiful smiling vision was real, why did it always float away? susan forgot that the dame, too, floated away when her errands were done. so daisy did not know but she had been dreaming again, though with her eyes wide open; and yet she could not forget how softly she had been folded once in the fairy's arms. perhaps it was because the little girl believed in her, and was always watching and hoping to see her again, that the beautiful bright form sometimes floated past her eyes. chapter xii. a leaf out of daisy's book. after a great many days of rain, the storm ceased; and glad enough was daisy, for she had grown tired of staying in the house, or of being drenched and almost blown away when she ventured out of doors. the sun came out, one morning, and did not hide in clouds again, as usual, but poured its beautiful beams down on the earth, till the dark forest trees seemed touched with gold, and the little drooping flowers lifted up their heads once more. daisy, as she looked from the cabin window, and saw and heard the raging storm, had often wondered what would become of her friends the birds--if their nests would not be shaken from the trees, and their little unfledged young ones would not shiver with cold. then, too, the butterflies, she feared, would have their bright wings washed away or broken; and the flowers would have their petals shaken off, and be snapped from their slender stems. but we are apt to dread a great deal worse things than ever happen to us; and though daisy did find some fallen nests and dead birds scattered on the ground, she could see that the storm had done more good than harm. for every bird there were hundreds of insects lying dead--not bees and butterflies, but worms and bugs, that bite the flowers, and make them shrivel up and fade, and that gnaw the leaves off the trees and all the tender buds, and sting and waste the fruit. the toads were having a feast over the bodies of these little mischief makers; and the birds were swinging on the tips of the leafy boughs, and singing enough to do your heart good; bees came buzzing about as busily as though they meant to make up for all the time they had lost; and a beautiful butterfly, floating through the sunshine, settled upon a flower at daisy's feet, and waved his large wings, that looked soft and dry as if there had never been a drop of rain. then the trees were so bright and clean, with the dust all washed away, and fresh as if they had just been made; they waved together with a pleasant sound, that daisy thought was like a song of joy and praise; and every little leaf joined in the chorus, far and wide, stirring, and skimming, and breathing that low hymn of happiness. the wood was fragrant, too; and in all its hollows stood bright little pools, that reflected the sky, and sparkled back to the sun; the grass and flowers had grown whole inches since daisy saw them last, and the mosses were green as emerald. quite near the cabin, though hidden from it by the trees, was a wide river, that had swollen with the rain, and was rushing on with a sound so loud that it shook the leaves, and seemed like a mighty voice calling to daisy from a great way off. so she found her way to its shore, and saw that the bridge across it had been swept away; and as it went foaming and tearing along, whole trees, and boats, and rafts were whirling in the tide that was rushing on, on, on, she wondered where. then the little girl remembered how long she had been away from home, and hurried back to tell her mother about the bridge, stopping now and then to snatch a flower as she passed. her hands were full when she bounded into the cabin; and she looked as bright, and fresh, and full of joy as any thing out doors. but her mother sat in a corner, feeling very sad, and hardly looked at daisy's flowers, and said it was nothing to her how bright the sun shone so long as it never could rest again on peter's face. "why," said daisy, "i thought father was happy in heaven, and where he did not have to work so hard, and there were never any storms, and the flowers were prettier than these." "that is true enough," susan answered; "but it will not keep us from being lonely, and cold, and hungry, too, sometimes." "but we are not hungry now, and perhaps the queer old dame may bring us some more of her bread, or else i'm pretty sure the fairy will take care of us. who feeds the flowers, mother?" "god." "what, ours--up in heaven?" "there is only one god, daisy; he gives us meat and milk, and gives the flowers dew and air." "then i suppose they were thinking about him this morning." "why?" "because, when i first went out, they seemed as if they were dreaming--just as i felt when i dreamed; so that i wondered if they hadn't seen the fairy pass, or if their eyes were sharper than ours, and they could see faces floating in the air when there were none for us. it was damp, at first, and there were great shadows; but presently the sunshine poured in every where, and still they kept looking straight up into the sky--a whole field of them, down by the river bank; and, do see! even these i've brought you are looking up now at our wall as if they could see through it. if god can see through walls, can't we, when we are looking after him?" "i don't know but we might, daisy. you ask strange questions." "just answer one more, mother. if the flowers have the same god with us, why do they always look so happy, and beautiful, and young? does he think more of them than he does of us?" "no, child--not half so much. we suffer because god made us wiser than the flowers." "why, they get trampled on, and beaten in the wind, and have their stems broken, and have to stay out doors in the cold all night, (daisy was thinking of her midnight walk,) and sometimes they don't have any sunshine for a week: we should call that trouble, and i know what i think about it." "tell me." "why, you see, the flowers are always looking at the sky, and don't mind what is happening around them, nor wait to think who may step on their pretty faces. suppose we are wiser; why can't we live as they do, mother, and think about god and heaven, instead of always ourselves?" "i know a little girl who lives very much like them now," said daisy's mother, kissing her. "but, my dear child, how strangely you have looked ever since you put on those old spectacles!" "why, am i not the same daisy? am i changing to a fairy, like the dame?" "i fear not; they leave a sort of shadow on your face, and make you homely. it seems to me, daisy, i'd throw the old things away." "o, don't say that--not if they make me like the old woman herself. i guess it doesn't matter much how we look down here." "down where?" "why, on the earth; for you know father was not handsome; and when i saw him in heaven, in my dream, o, he had such a beautiful face!" so daisy went on prattling about her father until susan dried her tears; for when she thought of peter now, it was not the poor crushed body in the wood, which she had wept about, but the beautiful, smiling angel in paradise. and when cares gathered thicker about her, and want seemed so near that susan grew discouraged, daisy would bring her flowers; and the mother would remember then how they were always looking up to the kind god, and so look up herself, and thinking about him, forget her sorrows and her cares. chapter xiii. maud. the little maud grew more beautiful every day; she was fair as a lily, except that you might think rose leaves had been crushed to color her cheeks. her bright eyes were shaded by long, silky lashes; and her pretty mouth, when it was shut, concealed two rows of delicate, pearly teeth. her hair hung in a cloud of dark-brown curls, touched on the edges with a golden tinge. the old dame took care that her dress should be always fine; and while she gave daisy the coarsest woollen gowns, brought delicate muslins for maud. but daisy did not mind this; she was glad to see her beautiful sister dressed handsomely; and, besides, how could she crowd through the bushes by the river bank, or sit on the ground looking at grass and flowers through her spectacles, if her own dresses were so frail? it was not, after all, so very amusing as daisy had hoped, to take care of miss maud, when she began to run about and play. she did not dare to go in the wood, for fear of bugs and snakes; she did not like to sail chips in the river, and make believe they were boats; she tossed away daisy's wooden doll, and called it a homely thing; she pulled up her sister's flowers, and always wanted to go in a different place and do a different thing from her. the little girl found it hard to give up so many pleasures; but she kept thinking that maud would be older soon, and would know better than to be so troublesome. and maud was no sooner large enough to run about than daisy wished her young again; for she took pains to tread on the prettiest flowers, and call them old weeds, and would chase every butterfly that came in sight, and tear his wings off, and then laugh because he could not fly; she pinched the rabbits' ears until they grew so wild they were almost afraid of daisy, and seemed to have no pleasure except in making those about her very uncomfortable. yes, maud had one other pleasure--she loved to sit beside the still pools in the wood, that were like mirrors, and watch the reflection of her handsome face. but after this, she was sure to go home peevish and discontented, telling her mother and daisy what a shame it was to live in such a lonely place, and have no one admire her beauty; and to be so poor, and depend on the charity of "that hag," as she called the dame. then she loved to tell daisy what a common-looking little thing _she_ was, and how the mark of those ugly spectacles was always on her face, and every day it grew more homely and serious, and as if she were a daughter of the dame. "as for myself," maud would end, "i am the child, i know, of some great man; the dame has stolen me away from him, i feel sure, and then thinks i ought to be grateful because she brings me these clothes." at this, daisy would look up through her spectacles, and say, meekly, "it doesn't matter much who is our father here; for god, up in heaven, is the father of us all, and gives great people their fine houses, just as he gives these flowers to you and me; for mother told me so." then maud would toss her head, and ask, "what is mother but an old woodcutter's wife, that has worked, perhaps, in my father's kitchen?" "god doesn't care where we have worked, but how well our work is done," said daisy. "o, nonsense! who ever saw god? i want a father that can build me a fine house, all carpeted, and lighted with chandeliers, and full of servants, like the houses mother tells us about sometimes." "why, maud, what is this world but a great house that god has built for us? all creatures are our servants; the sun and stars are its chandeliers; the clouds are its beautiful window frames; and this soft moss is the carpet. look, what dear little flowers grow among it, and gaze up as if they were saying, 'yes--god made us all.'" "who wants a house that every one else can enjoy as much as we, and a father that is not ashamed to call every dirty beggar his child?" daisy thought her home all the pleasanter for this, and loved her heavenly father more, because he had room in his heart for even the meanest creature; but she could not make her sister feel as she did, nor try, as daisy tried, to be patient, and gentle, and happy. chapter xiv. the spectacles. ashamed as maud was of her mother, she found new cause for unhappiness, when, one day, susan died. "who is there, now," asked the beauty, "to make my fine dresses, and keep them clean, and to pet me, and praise my beauty, and carry me to the fair sometimes, so that every one may look at my face, and wish hers were half so handsome?" "poor, dear mother, your hard work is done," said daisy, in her gentle way, bending over the dead form that susan had left. "you will never see the old dame's face again, nor hear the wolves growl in the wood, nor tire yourself with taking care of us." the corpse's hands were hard and rough, but they had grown so with working for her children; and daisy kissed them tenderly, and filled them with fresh flowers, and bore her mother's body far into the still wood, and buried it under the same great tree that lay still, like a tombstone, across peter's grave. though daisy was no longer a child, she could not have done this without fairy help. all the way, she felt as if other arms than hers were bearing her mother's form, and as if new strength were in her own when they handled the heavy spade. as daisy worked there alone in the wood,--for she could not see the fairy, who was helping her,--the little birds sang sweet and tender songs, as if they would comfort their friend. for daisy had loved her mother dearly, and remembered her loving, parental care, and could not but be sorrowful at losing her, even for a little while. yet she tried to calm her aching heart, because maud, she knew, would need all her care now, and must be served, and entertained, and comforted more carefully than ever, so that she might not constantly miss her mother, and spend her days in weeping over what could not be helped. the young girl did not think how much more toil, and care, and unhappiness was coming to herself; for it was always daisy's way to ask what she could do for others, and not what others might do for her. and, children, if you want your friends, and god himself, to love you, depend upon it there is no way so sure as this--to forget yourselves, and think only whom you can serve. it is hard, at first, but becomes a pleasure soon, and as easy and natural as, perhaps, it is now for you to be selfish. you must not be discouraged at failing a few times; for it takes a great deal of patience to make us saints. but every step we move in the right way, you know, is one step nearer to our home in heaven--the grand and peaceful home that christ has promised us. we left daisy in the wood, with the birds singing above her, as she finished her pious work; perhaps, with finer ears, we might have heard angels singing songs of joy above the holy, patient heart that would not even grieve, because another needed all its strength. but the birds' songs ceased; they fluttered with frightened cries, instead; the wind rose, and the boughs began to dash about, and the night came on earlier than usual. daisy saw there was to be another fearful storm; and her first thought was of maud, alone in the lonely wood. how she wished for wings, like the birds, that she might fly home to her nest! but, instead, she must plod her way among the underbrush, which grew so thick in places, and the wind so tangled together across the path, that she went on slowly, hardly knowing whether she were going nearer home or deeper into the wood. "silly girl, where are your spectacles?" said a voice by daisy's side; and the old woman seized her arm, and dragged her over the rough path, as she had done once before. "there is no need of them, now i have your lamp," said daisy in a sad voice; for she was thinking of dear faces that her eyes would never rest upon again. "that's as much as you know. but you cannot cheat me, daisy. have my glasses been of so little use that you put them in your pocket, and choose rather to look through tears?" "i did not mean to cry; but how can any one help it when----" "i know--i know; you needn't tell me of your sorrows, but take out the spectacles." so daisy did as she was told, and never had the glasses seemed so wonderful; for, besides that now the old dame's lamp gave a clearer light, something made daisy lift her eyes, and, instead of two poor bodies lying asleep in the storm, she saw a splendid city far, far up upon the tops of the tallest trees, and peter and susan walking there, hand in hand, and smiling upon her as peter had smiled in her dream. "well," said the shrill voice of the dame, "will you give me back my glasses now, and keep your tears?" "o, no!" and daisy seized the old woman's withered hand, and turned to thank her; but she was not there: one moment daisy felt the pressure of a gentle hand in hers, and then the beautiful fairy floated from before her sight, far up above the trees, and stood, at last, with her father and mother. all three were smiling upon her now, and pointing upwards to the trees, whose leaves were broader and more beautiful than any in the wood. but the young girl stumbled, and fell among the thorns, and seemed all at once to awake from a dream; for, the dame's lamp gone, her path had grown narrow and dark again; and she found it would not do to look any more at the city of gold, until she should find her own poor cabin in the wood. chapter xv. the father's house. at length daisy knew that her home was near; for, above all the howling of the storm, she heard her sister's sobs and frightened cries. very tired she was, and cold, and drenched with rain, and sad, besides, for she could not enter the door without thinking of the burden she had borne away from it last. but, instead of rest and comforting words, maud ran to meet her with whining and bitter reproaches, and called her cruel to stay so long, and foolish to have gone at all, hard-hearted to neglect her mother's child, and would not listen to reason nor excuse, but poured forth the wickedness of her heart in harsh and untrue words, or else indulged her selfish grief in passionate tears and cries. alas! the wolves and snakes that susan kept away from the cabin had entered it now, and our poor daisy too often felt their fangs at her sad heart. she gave her sister no answering reproaches back, and did not, as she well might, say that it was maud's own fault she had been left alone; for she had refused, when daisy asked her help in making their mother's grave. when we see people foolish and unreasonable, like maud, we must consider that it is a kind of insanity; they don't know what they are saying. now, when crazy people have their wild freaks, the only way to quiet them is by gentleness; and we must treat angry people just the same, until _their_ freaks pass. you would not tease a poor crazy man, i hope; and why, then, tease your brother or sister when their senses leave them for a little while? as soon as maud would listen, daisy began to tell about the beautiful city she saw through her spectacles, and how the dreadful old dame had changed to a graceful fairy, and floated up above the trees. but her sister interrupted her, to ask why she had never told before of the wonderful gift in her spectacles, and called her mean for keeping them all to herself. she knew very well that the reason was, daisy had never found any one to believe in what she saw, and that even her mother laughed at her for wearing such old things. maud snatched them eagerly now from daisy's hand, but said, at first, she could only see the lightning and the rain, and then suddenly dashed them on the ground, with a frightened cry. for she had seemed, all at once, to stand out in a lonely wood, by night, and to look through the ground, at her feet, and see as plainly as by daylight the dead form of her mother, with the rain drops, that pelted every where, dripping upon the flowers which daisy had put in her folded hands. maud would not tell this to her sister, but said peevishly, "your old glasses are good for nothing, as i always thought; and you only want me to wear them so as to spoil my beauty, and make me as homely as you. tell me again about the place you saw our mother in, though i don't believe a word of what you say." daisy knew better, and answered, "it was a more beautiful city than any we ever thought about in the world. this earth seemed like its cellar, it was so dull and cold here after i had seen that glorious light; the trees looked in it as if they were made of gold." "o, you are always talking about light and trees; tell me about the people and the houses." "the houses were so bright, i cannot tell you exactly how they looked; the foundations of them were clear, dazzling stones, of every color; even the streets were paved with glass; and the walls were gold, and the gates great solid pearls!" "what nonsense, daisy! didn't the shop-keeper tell us, at the fair, that one little speck of a pearl cost more than my new gown? now, what of the people?" "you didn't look at the houses, after once seeing them; they had such lovely faces, and such a kind, gentle look, i could cry at only thinking of them now." "don't cry till you've finished your story. were any of them handsomer than the rest? and what kind of dresses did they wear?" "their clothes were made of light, i should think; for they were softer than spider webs, and kept changing their shape and color as the people moved about." "how could they?" "why, all the light poured from one place, that i could not look into; and even the heavenly people, when they turned towards it, folded their wings before their faces." "that is where i should build my house." "o, no, my sister; that is where our heavenly father has built his throne; and it is the light from him that makes the whole city splendid, without any sun or moon. you cannot tell what a little, dark speck i felt before god: i trembled, and did not know where to turn, when one of the people came and took my hand." "how frightened i should have been! did he have wings?" "i can't remember; but he moved--all in the heavenly city move--more quickly and more easily than birds. they want to be in a place, and are there like a flash of light; and they can see and hear so far, that the beautiful man who spoke to me said he saw me kiss our mother's hands, and put flowers in them, and carry her into the wood." "did he say any thing about me?" "yes--that some time you would love him better than any one else. and he told me why the people's clothes kept changing: when they went nearer our father, their faces, and every thing they wore, became more splendid and lovely, but as they moved away from him, grew darker and coarser; and yet, maud, the commonest of all the people there is beautiful as our fairy, and wears as splendid clothes." "what was the man's name? i hope he was not common, if i must love him." "no, he was the greatest in heaven; all the men and angels bowed to him, and they called him christ." "o, i would give every thing to see him; you never shall go through the wood alone, daisy, for fear he will come again when i'm away." "he could come to our house as well as to the grave. and i'll tell you another strange thing about the city, maud: some of the roads, you know, are glass, and some are gold; and there is a beautiful river, like crystal, shaded with palm trees, and sweeping on till it is lost in the great light." "i don't see any thing wonderful in that, if the rest of your story be true." "i have not finished: these broad roads ended in narrow paths; and from the river trickled tiny streams, that somehow came down over the golden walls of the city, and over the clouds, and the tops of trees, into this very earth we are standing on." "o daisy! are you sure? could i find one of the paths, and so climb up to heaven, and find the beautiful christ i am to love?" "yes, he told me so himself, and pointed to all the people on earth that were in those paths; and i saw a brightness about them, and a calm look in their faces, such as god's angels have. and then christ told how all who tasted of the streams grew strong; beautiful, and glad; sick people, that stepped into them, were healed; and those who washed in the water were never unclean again." and daisy did not tell, because she feared it might make her sister envious and sad, that the beautiful one had kissed her forehead, and said, "daisy, you have picked many a flower beside these streams, and they have soothed your father's weariness, and healed your mother's aching heart; and when you come to live with me, and i place them all on your head in a wreath that shall never fade, no angel in heaven will wear a more beautiful crown." daisy looked up at him then, and asked, "but will you take them away from my mother? and shall not maud have some? only let me live near you, and give her the crown." christ smiled, and then looked sad, and said, "it will be long before your sister is willing to walk in such straight, narrow paths, and dwell beside such still waters, as she must in order to find these flowers; but you will always be pointing them out to her; and, in the end, she will love me better than she loves any one else. i would gladly help her, daisy, for your sake; but only they who love can dwell with me." chapter xvi. the watchman. so tired was daisy, after all the labor and excitement of the day, that as soon as she had finished her story she fell asleep. maud tried until she was tired to arouse her sister, and make her talk some more; but daisy, except for her quiet breathing, was like one dead. maud could not sleep; she listened to the howling of the storm, and then remembered the grave she had seen through daisy's spectacles, out there in the night; and then her sister's vision of the beautiful, shining city, whose people were clothed in light, and thought of the highest among them all, the king, who waited for her love. "he will not care for daisy, with her wise little face, when once he has seen mine," thought maud. "i shall wear my finest garments, and put on my most stately and haughtiest look, to show him i am not like common people. i hope he does not know that every thing i have comes from that wretched old dame." here there sounded a rattling at the door latch, as if some one were coming into the cabin. maud's heart beat loud and fast for fright; she imagined that dreadful things were about to happen, and scolded poor daisy, as if she could hear, for pretending to be asleep. then came quick flashes of lightning, that made the room like noonday for one instant; and then thunder in crashing peals, that sounded more dreadful in the silent night; and then a stillness, through which maud could hear the voices of the wolves, and the heavy, pelting drops. sometimes she thought the river would swell, and swell, till it flooded into the cabin, and drowned them both; sometimes she thought the lightning would kill her at a flash, or the wolves would break through the slender door, and eat her up, or the wind would blow the cabin down, and bury her. wasn't it strange that the thought never came to her, as she lay there trembling, what a poor, weak thing she was, and how good the fairy had been to keep all mischief from her until now? she did think of the fairy, at length, and resolved to call her help, if it were possible. she lighted a lamp, and held it so near daisy's eyes as almost to burn the lashes off; this she found better than shaking or scolding, for daisy started up from her pleasant dreams, and asked where she was and what was happening. "that!" said maud, as a still sharper flash of lightning ran across the sky, and then thunder so loud that it drowned maud's angry voice. daisy covered her face, for the lightning almost blinded her, and then first found that she had fallen asleep with the fairy spectacles on. "come, selfish girl," said maud, "look through your old glasses; and if they are good for any thing, you can find what has become of the dame, and if she is still awake and watching over us." then daisy told how she had been once to the old woman's cave; and if it were not for leaving her sister alone, would go again to-night. maud would not listen to this at first, but told daisy that she was deceiving her, and only wanted to creep off somewhere and sleep, and leave her to be eaten by the wolves. as she spoke, daisy's face lighted all at once with the beautiful smile which peter saw, the day that she was born. "o maud, listen, and you will not be afraid," she said in her gentle voice. "i seemed to see, just now, the night, and the storm, and our cabin, and myself asleep--all as if in a picture. the lightning flashed and thunder rolled; the wolves were creeping about the door, and sniffing at the threshold, and the cabin rocked in the wind like a cradle. "but just where you are standing, maud, was an angel bending over me, and shading my eyes from the dazzle with her own white wings. she had such a quiet, gentle face as i never saw any where except in my vision of our father's house." "were her eyes black, or blue like mine? i wonder if christ ever saw her." "i do not remember the color; but her eyes were full of love, and pity, and tenderness; and when i seemed to awake, and look up at her, she pointed out into the night." "and there, i suppose, you will pretend that you saw something else very fine--as if i should believe such foolish stories! but talk on, for it keeps you awake." "no, maud, nothing seemed beautiful after the angel's face; but i saw a strong city, with walls, and towers on the walls, and with watchmen walking to and fro to keep robbers away. and i saw a great house, as large as a hundred of ours, with heavy doors, and bolts, and locks, and many servants--strong men, sleeping in their beds, for it was night. "and in one of the inmost rooms, where all was rich and elegant, and the carpet was soft as moss, and the muslin curtains hung like clouds, lay a girl about my age, but a great deal more beautiful, asleep." "was she handsomer than i?" interrupted maud. "i had not time to ask myself; for, as i looked, the door opened softly, and two thieves crept in, and snatched the jewels that lay about the room, and then, seeing a bracelet on her white arm, went towards the bed. "i was about to scream, when the fairy softly put her hand before my mouth, and pointed again. "as soon as the thief touched her arm, the girl awoke, and shrieked aloud; and, when they could not quiet her cries, the men struck at her with their sharp knives, and left her dead. "then the angel whispered, 'daisy, there is only one hand that can save; there is one eye that watches, over rich and poor, the crowded city and the lonely wood, alike. that eye is god's; unless he keep the city, the watchman walketh in vain.' "so, maud, the angel will take care of us, if we only trust in her." maud's fears were quieted so far by daisy's words, that she urged her sister now to go and seek the dame, and leave her there alone. the truth was, maud had a feeling that, if poor little daisy had an angel to watch over her, she, who was so much more beautiful, could not be left to perish. perhaps, even the glorious christ would come; and if he did, she would rather not have her sister in the way. chapter xvii. the fairy's cave. the old dame had built a fire in the corner of her cave, and sat, alone, watching the embers. presently she heard a sound unlike the storm--a parting of the bushes outside, a crackling of dry sticks upon the ground; and, all at once, daisy's bright face appeared, seeming to bring a sunshine into the gloomy den. daisy was dripping with rain, and felt a little afraid that the dame would scold her because her feet made wet tracks on the floor. but the fairy seemed in a merry mood to-night--perhaps she was glad of some one to keep her company. she laughed till the old cave rang again, when her visitor told that she had been frightened by the storm; for she said it was music in her ears, and ought to be in the ears of every one. so she drew a stool before the fire for daisy, and, while wringing the dampness from her dress, asked what had become of the spectacles. "o, they are safe enough," answered daisy. "i know now how much they are worth, and what a splendid present you gave me, though it seemed so poor. you are very good to us, dame." "better than i seem--always better than i seem," she muttered, looking into the fire still. "now, if you think so much of your glasses, put them on." daisy wiped the water from them on a corner of the fairy's dress, for her own was too wet, and did as she was told. and, down, down miles beneath the cave, she saw fires burning, blazing, flashing, flaming about, and filling the whole centre of the earth; beside them the lightning was dull, and the old dame's fire seemed hardly a spark. she saw whole acres of granite--the hard stone that lay in pieces about the wood, half covered with moss and violets; acres of this were rolling and foaming like the river in a storm, melted and boiling in the fiery flames. "why, in a few minutes, the cave itself, and all the earth, will melt, and we shall be burned up," said daisy, alarmed. "o, no," laughed the fairy. "the fire was kindled thousands of years before you were born; and the granite your violets grow upon has boiled like this in its day; but we are not burned yet, and shall not be. there's a bridge over the fire." and, surely enough, when daisy looked again, she saw great cold ribs of rock rising above the flames and above the sea of boiling stone, up and out, like arches on every side. upon this rock the earth was heaped, layer above layer, until on its outside countries, and cities, and great forests were planted, and fastened together, it seemed, by rivers and seas. in the beds of rivers, in crevices of rock, in depths of the earth, were hidden precious stones and metals; and where the rocks rose highest, they formed what we call mountains, that buried their soaring heads in the sky, and stretched along the earth for many hundred miles. "what can this rock be made of?" asked daisy. "look!" and, to her wonder, she saw that it was all little cells, crowded with insects of different kinds. she asked the dame how many there were in one piece of stone which she picked up, and which was about an inch square. "about forty-one thousand millions of one kind, and many more of another," she answered carelessly. "you could not make maud believe that," thought daisy; and the dame, as if seeing into her mind, continued,-- "but it is only the one little world we live in which you have seen thus far: look above." the roof of the cave seemed gone; and daisy beheld the stars, not far off and still, as they had always seemed, but close about her, whirling, waltzing, chasing each other in circles, with such tremendous speed that it made one dizzy to watch. and they were no longer little points of light, but worlds like ours--many of them larger than our earth, which was whirling too, and seemed so small that daisy hardly noticed it amidst the beaming suns. there were no handles, no fastenings, no beams, or ropes, or anchors to those flying worlds, that dashed along at such mad speed; she wondered they did not strike against each other, and shatter, and fall. "o, no," said the dame; "the hand which made these worlds can keep them in their places. but how many stars do you suppose there are?" "o, i could not count them in a week." "no, nor in a lifetime. it takes more than that to count one million; and there are more than twenty million worlds." "there will be no use in telling that to maud," thought daisy; "she'll never believe me." and again the fairy saw into her heart, and answered, "only the pure in heart can see god, and believe in him. maud thinks there is no truth, because her weak mind cannot grasp it. "now, daisy, think that all these worlds are god's--made, and watched, and loved by him. you see in many of them mountains such as the piece of stone you looked into; you see rivers, earth, and sky; and i tell you the truth when i say, that all of these are crowded, fuller than you can dream, with creatures he has made. and cannot he who made the lightning govern it? so, do not fear the howling of the storm again; it is your father's voice." "how great he is! i am afraid of him!" said daisy. "you may well be afraid to offend him, but only that; for god is a gentle, loving father. he feels when the tiniest insect in this stone is hurt; and the same mighty hand that guides the stars, and roofs over the fires that might burn up our earth,--the same hand led you through the storm to-night, or, daisy, you would not have found my cave." the dame's last words reminded daisy that she had left her sister alone; and though maud had surprised her by saying that she need not hurry back, maud might have changed her mind, and complain of the very thing she asked an hour before. she flew home, therefore--falling many a time, and wounding her hands with the sharp sticks in her path. great trees were torn up by the roots, and came crashing down, in the dark, scattering earth and pebbles far and wide; but daisy walked among them all unharmed, and was not even frightened; for she knew some kind hand must be guiding her, and thought of the watchman who never sleeps. reaching the cabin, she found maud in a quiet slumber; and, lying down beside her, daisy was soon dreaming over again all she had seen through the spectacles. chapter xviii. daisy alone. the sisters lived together comfortably enough in the wood, for the old dame still supplied their wants; and daisy grew so accustomed to maud's complaints and reproaches, that she did not mind them so much as at first. then it was such a joy when, sometimes, maud would be pleased and satisfied, and speak a kind word or two, that her sister forgot all the rest. the fairy had been in the habit, after susan's death, of taking maud to the fair sometimes, where she could see the people, and choose handsome gowns for herself, and hear what was going on in the world. meantime daisy would remain at home, cleaning the house and washing maud's dresses, and baking some nice thing for her to eat when she should come home tired from the fair. you may think this hard for daisy; but you are mistaken, this time, for she was never so merry as when working thus alone. there was no one to meddle and complain when she was trying to do her best. let maud depart, and all was peace in daisy's home. maud seemed to think that daisy was made for her servant; and when she wished to enjoy herself alone, or to do some kind deed,--for other people lived, now, in the neighborhood of the cabin,--her sister would always interfere, and complain and whine so grievously that daisy yielded to her. but maud away, and her work all finished in the house, daisy would clap on her spectacles, and then such a wonderful world as stretched around her! nothing was common, or mean, or dead; all things were full of beauty and surprise, when she looked into them. the insects that stung maud, and made her so impatient, would settle quietly on daisy's hand, and let her find out how their gauzy, glittering wings were made, and see all the strange machinery by which they could rise and fly, and the little beating hearts and busy heads they had. then they would go slowly circling to their homes; and daisy would softly follow, and find how they lived, and what they ate, and what became of them in winter time, and all about their young. the birds, meantime, would come and sing to her about their joy, their young, their fairy nests, their homes among the shady summer leaves; the poorest worm, the ugliest spider, had something in him curious and beautiful. then she would study the plants and trees, see the sap rising out of the ground, and slowly creeping into every branch and leaf, and the little buds come forth, and swell, and burst, at length, into lovely flowers. she would sit upon the mossy rocks, and think how far down under the earth they had been, and how full they might be of living creatures now; and then bending over the violets that had grown in their crevices, would count their tiny veins, and find how air and sunshine had mixed with the sap to color and perfume them. all these works of his hands made daisy feel how near the great god was to her, and that she could never go where he had not been before, and where his eye would not follow her. and then, amidst her troubles and toils, she had but to think of the beautiful city above, where peter and susan were waiting for her, where the spirits clothed in light would be her teachers and friends, and she would see as far, perhaps, as they, and learn more a thousand times than even her wonderful spectacles could teach her now. but, one day, the dame took a fancy in her head that she was too old to go to the fair again, and, in future, daisy must go instead, and take care of maud. this pleased neither of the sisters; for daisy now must lose her only hours of quiet; and maud, instead of the old crone who had passed for her servant, must appear with the shabby little daisy, of whose meek, serious face, and country manners, she was very much ashamed. then there was the mark of the spectacles to attract attention, and make every one ask who it could be that had such a wise look on a face so young. but the two sisters started, one morning, for the fair, on the selfsame road on which peter had met his wife, and along which he had led her home, to make his cabin such a happy place. it was not so bad for maud to have daisy with her as she had feared; for the good natured sister carried all her parcels, found out cool springs where they could drink, and pleasant spots where they could sit in the cool grass and rest sometimes, instead of hurrying on through the dust, as the dame had always done. then daisy had a cheerful heart, and was pleased with every thing she met, and so full of her stories and cheerful songs, that the way seemed not half so long to maud as when she went with the dame. ah, but maud didn't think how much shorter and brighter her sister's path through life would have been had _she_, instead of her selfish temper, a good and gentle heart like that which was cheering her now. daisy took her spectacles along, you may be sure; and besides that she saw through them many a flower, and bird, and stone, and countless other things to which her sister was as good as blind, maud found them very useful at the fair. for the glasses showed things now exactly as they were--in the rich silk, rough places or cotton threads; calicoes, gay enough to the naked eye, through these looked faded and shabby. was any thing shopworn, moth eaten, or out of fashion, the spectacles told it as plainly as if they had spoken aloud. and just so, seen through these magical glasses, the people changed. a man with a smiling face and pleasant words would appear dishonest and cunning, when daisy put on her spectacles. a maiden with a proud and beautiful face looked humbled, all at once, and sad, and dying of a broken heart. people that walked about in splendid clothes, and looked down on the others, seemed suddenly poor beggars, hiding beneath their garments as if they were a mask. the dame would never carry bundles for maud, nor allow herself to be hurried or contradicted in any way; but daisy bore all the burdens of her own accord, and yielded to maud's caprices, however foolish they might be, if they troubled no one except herself. but on their way home, something occurred in which daisy resolved to have her own way; and maud was so angry that she would not walk with her sister, and hurrying on, left her far behind. chapter xix. the quarrel. it was the old dame that caused the sisters' quarrel. a few miles from the cabin she appeared, creeping through the dusty road, with a bundle of sticks three times as big as herself on her head. "pretty well!" exclaimed maud. "the old creature could not find strength enough to walk a little way with me; but she can pick up sticks all day for herself, and carry home more than i could even lift." the dame made no reply; perhaps she did not hear the beauty's words; but maud was so vexed that she brushed roughly past, and upset all her sticks, and the poor old dame in the midst of them. the fairy lifted her wrinkled arm, which was covered with bleeding scratches, and shook her finger angrily at maud, who only laughed, and said, "it is good enough for you; take care, next time, how you stand in my way. i am the one to be angry, after you've scattered your sharp old sticks all over the road to fray my new silk stockings. come, daisy, make a path for me through them." daisy helped the dame to her feet again, and wiped away the dust and blood, and bound the arm up with her own handkerchief, and then began patiently to pick up all the sticks, and fasten them in a bundle. she did this while maud and the fairy were quarrelling and reproaching each other. we could often make up for a fault or accident in the time which we spend mourning over it and deciding whose was the fault. maud, in her heart, was not sorry for what her sister had now done, because she feared the fairy, and knew, if she went too far in offending her, that she might never appear again; and then miss maud would eat coarse food, and wear shabby clothes, like her sister daisy. still she pretended to be angry, and scolded daisy well for undoing what she had done, and comforting the old woman when she chose to punish her. yet more vexed was she when daisy took the sticks on her own head; for the dame seemed tired and faint, and trembled like a leaf from the fright and pain of her fall. maud drew herself up haughtily, and asked if she was expected to walk in a public road in company with a lame old hag and a fagot girl. her eyes flashed, and the color glowed in her delicate cheeks, as she spoke; daisy thought she had never seen her sister look so beautiful, and even took out the glasses that she might look more closely at the handsome face. alas, what a change! serpents seemed coiling and hissing about maud's breast; her eyes were like the eyes of a wolf; the color on her cheeks made daisy think of the fires she had seen burning so far down in the centre of the earth; and the ivory whiteness of her forehead was the dead white of a corpse. it was not strange that, maud's beauty gone, her sister grew less submissive; for daisy, even with her spectacles, had found nothing except beauty to love in her sister. she thought a lovely heart must be hidden somewhere underneath the lovely face. but now she had looked past the outside, and all was deformed and dreadful. "i should like to know if you mean to answer," said maud pettishly; "i told you either to throw down the sticks, or else i would walk home alone." "i must help the poor dame; and as for our walk, we both know the way," was daisy's quiet answer. so they parted; and daisy began to cheer the dame, who groaned dreadfully, by telling of all the fine things at the fair, and the use she had made of her spectacles, and how grateful she must always be for such a wondrous gift. it pleased the dame to have her glasses praised; and so she forgot to limp and grumble about her wounds, and walked on gayly enough by daisy's side, telling sometimes the wisest, and sometimes the drollest, stories she had ever heard. but their mirth was interrupted by the sound of sobs; and daisy's quick eyes discovered, sitting among the bushes by the way, a little girl, all rags and dust, crying as if her heart would break. "never mind her; she will get over it soon enough," said the dame. "i wonder how you would have liked it, had i said that about you, an hour ago," thought daisy, but made no reply, except to turn and ask the child what she could do for her. "o, give me food, for i am starved, and clothes, for i am cold, and take me with you, for i am so lonely," sobbed the child. "then don't cry any more, but take my hand; and here are some wild grapes i picked just now--taste how fresh and sweet they are." the little girl laughed for joy, with the tears still glistening on her face, and soon leaving daisy's hand, skipped about her, flying hither and thither like a butterfly, filling her hands with flowers, and then coming back, to look up curiously in the strange old face of the dame. "you are a good soul, after all," said the fairy, when daisy returned to her side. "see how happy you have made that little wretch!" "yes, and how easily, too! o, why do not all people find out what a cheap comfort it is to help each other? i think, if they only knew this, that every one would grow kind and full of charity." daisy did not dream that the child listened, or would understand what she was saying; but the little girl, tears springing into her eyes again, answered softly, "o, no, not all." "why, have you found so many wicked people, my poor child?" "perhaps they are not wicked; but they are not kind;" and the girl's voice grew sadder. "some time before you came, a beautiful lady passed; she was not dressed like you, but a hundred times handsomer; and i thought she would have ever so much to give away; so i asked her for a penny to buy bread." "and did she give you one?" asked daisy, who saw that the lady must have been her sister maud. "not she; she called me names, and pushed me away so roughly that i fell into a bunch of nettles; and they stung till it seemed as if bees were eating me up. look there!" so she held up her poor little arms, that were pinched with poverty, as the dame's with age; they were mottled, white and red or purple, with the nettle stings; and only looking at them made her cry again. but daisy comforted her. "there, i wouldn't mind; she did not mean to hurt you. and, besides, you must blame me; for i offended her, and made her cross. she is my sister." "o, dear, then i don't want to go home and live with you; let me go back and die, if i must. that lady would beat me, and pull my hair, i know. when you met me, i was not crying for hunger, though i was so hungry, nor for cold, though my clothes were all worn out, but because she was so unkind. don't make me live with her." here the fairy drew the little girl towards her, and whispered, "daisy has to live with her, and be fretted at and worked hard all the time; if you go, maud will have another to torment, and will leave her sister in peace sometimes." then the tears were dried at once; and the child, taking daisy's hand, said firmly, "wherever you lead me i will go." daisy never knew what made her change her mind, for she had not heard the fairy's whisper; but angels in heaven knew it, and saw how, at that moment, the child unconsciously stepped into one of the golden paths that lead to the beautiful city on high. for no good deed, no good thought or intention even, is lost. few, perhaps, behold them here; but hosts of the heavenly people may always be looking on. and even if they were not, it is better to be good and kind: the good deed brings its own reward; it makes our hearts peaceful; it makes us respect ourselves, so that we can look serenely in the face of every one, and, if they blame us, answer, "i have done the best i could." chapter xx. twilight. when maud had gone far enough to lose sight of daisy and the dame, she slackened her pace, and looked about to see how beautiful the path had grown. the trees met in green arches above her head; the road side was sprinkled with lovely flowers, fragrant in the evening air; and the breeze, stirring freshly, gave motion and a sweet, low sound to every thing. insects were chirping merrily, and stars began to twinkle through the boughs. even maud did not feel lonely; she had much to remember about the fair--all her purchases, all the compliments she had heard paid to her beauty, all daisy's usefulness, and how sure she would be to make her go again. but the scene about her grew every moment quieter and more beautiful; so that, leaving her worldly thoughts, a solemn feeling came over maud, and she began to think of the still more beautiful place which was some time to be her home,-- and then of that glorious one whom she was to love; mean and coarse seemed her earthly lovers when she thought of him, and their compliments vulgar and idle beside his gracious words. "ah, if i could but see this christ once," thought maud, "so that i might know what would please him, and could always remember him just as he really is! it is strange that he does not come when he must know how i am longing to behold his face." and, in truth, maud had never for an hour forgotten her sister's vision, but was constantly thinking what more she could do to make herself attractive when the beautiful one should come. she would not go out at noon, for fear of tanning her complexion; she hardly ate enough to live, because of a fancy that angels have very poor appetites; she gave up the sweet smile which she had preserved with so much care, and looked serious, and even sad. and the foolish girl made it an excuse for not doing her share of the household work, that she could not go to heaven with the stains of labor on her hands. "what more can he require of me?" thought maud. "let him but say, and i will do any thing to serve this greatest of all the angels--will die--will be his slave!" in the twilight, maud saw, all at once, beside her a being more beautiful than she had even thought her christ. he was thin and pale; he looked tired, and there were drops of blood on his forehead and tears in his eyes. yet was there something noble and good about him, that seemed grander than all the beauty of this earth, and melted the heart of the haughty maud; so that she asked him to come to her cabin for food, and promised to make the old dame give him clothes. he shook his head, and answered, "i have come to you before, naked, and hungry, and tired, and sad; but you drove me away." "o, no, you are mistaken," said maud; "i never saw you in my life before." "when you refused food and shelter to the poor, old, and wretched, you were starving and freezing me." "how could i know that?" said maud, a little peevishly. "but, come, take my hand, and i will lead you where there is shelter and food." he drew back from the hand she offered. "i cannot touch these fingers; wicked words are written over them." "no such thing!" said maud, thoroughly vexed. "there is not a man at the fair but would be proud to take my hand. read the wicked words, if you can." "waste, weakness, indolence, selfishness, scorn, vanity," he read, as if the hand were a book spread out before him. and then the beautiful being disappeared; and maud, never dreaming that she had spoken with christ, and hearing her sister's voice not far behind, hurried on quickly, so as to be in the cabin first. chapter xxi. the fairy letters. maud was so tired of being alone, and so anxious, besides, to ask if daisy had seen the stranger who disappeared from her, that she ran good naturedly enough to the door, to welcome her sister. but when she saw the dame's wretched old face, and the little beggar whom she had thrust away so scornfully, and daisy herself bending under the heavy load of sticks, maud's wrath came back again. "here i shall have to wait an hour for my supper," she complained, "because you chose to lag behind, and tire yourself with bringing burdens for other folks. i should like to know where you will put your precious friends: not in _our_ house--be very sure of that." but the dame quickly silenced her by asking, "who has fed, and clothed, and taken care of you and all your kith and kin? who gave you the gown on your back and the beauty in your cheeks? and when you found your sister lying half dead by the roadside,--as you would have been but for my care,--what were you willing to do for her? o maud, for shame!" "she is no sister of mine," answered maud, making way; however, as she spoke, for the beggar to enter her door. "ask daisy," was the dame's reply. "o maud, i was so sorry that you left us," daisy said; "for the beautiful man i saw in heaven, whom you are to love, came and spoke to me, with a look and words i can never forget in all my life." "where was it?" asked the sister eagerly. "in that part of the road which our father used to call the church, because the trees made such grand arches overhead, and it was so still and holy, with the stars looking through the boughs. you remember the elm, with the grape vine climbing up among its boughs, and hanging full of fruit: i met him there." "but he could not be half so beautiful as the man i saw in that very place," boasted maud. "i talked with him a while; then i suppose he heard you coming, for he went away." the old dame's bright, sharp eyes were fixed upon her; and maud cast her own eyes down in shame, as daisy continued,-- "the dame's bundle of wood was very heavy, and this little girl dragged so upon my skirts as we toiled on, that i knew she must be tired. i was feeling glad that i happened to meet them, because i am both young and strong, you know, and used to work, when, as i told you, christ appeared, standing beneath the elm." [illustration: and he looked into my face.] "how ashamed you must have felt! i suppose he thought you the old dame's daughter, or a beggar, perhaps. i'm glad you did not bring him to our cabin; how it would look beside his palace in the golden city above! what did he say to you?" "'blessed, o daisy, are the merciful,' he said; 'i was hungry, and you gave me food; thirsty, and you gave me drink. i was sad, and you cheered me; tired, and i rested on your arm.' "'o, no,' i answered, 'you must be thinking of some one else. i never saw you before, except in my vision once.' "he took my hand, and looked into my face with such a gentle smile that i did not feel afraid, and pointed at the wood: 'this burden was not the old dame's, but mine; the blood you wiped away was mine; when you fed and comforted this little one, you were feeding and comforting me. you never can tell how much good you are doing, daisy; poor girl as you are, you may give joy to my father's angels. look through your spectacles.' "so i looked, and there sat the poor little beggar, (see, she has fallen asleep from weariness!) moaning and sobbing in the grass, as when we found her first; and an angel stood beside her, weeping, too." "an angel beside _her_?" interrupted maud. "yes, a beautiful angel, with the calm, holy look which they all wear in heaven, but i never saw upon this earth; he wept because she had no friend; and, just then, i was so fortunate as to come past, and, not seeing the angel, i asked her to take my hand, and run along beside me. "but now i saw that, when the child began to smile, the angel also smiled, and lifted his white wings and flew--o, faster than lightning--over the tree tops, and past the clouds; and the sky parted where he went, until i saw him stand before the throne, in the wonderful city above. "and christ said, 'he stands there always, watching her, unless she needs him here; and when her earthly life is over, he will lead her back, to dwell in my father's house. for the great god is her father, and yours, and mine; she is my sister: should i not feel her grief?'" maud's heart fell, for she felt that the being whom she had met must also have been christ, and asked daisy if he looked sad and tired, and had wounds in his hands. "o, no--what could tire him, maud? he looked strong, and noble, and glad, and seemed, among the dark trees, like a shining light." "alas! then it was i who tired him, and made him sorrowful," thought maud; then said, aloud, "but, daisy, are you sure he took your hand? see, it is smeared with the old dame's blood, and soiled with tears you wiped from the beggar's face, and stained and roughened with hard work: are you sure he touched it?" "the whole was so strange, that i dare not be sure whether any part of it was real," replied daisy, who was so modest that she did not wish to tell all christ had said. "_i_ am sure, then," outspoke the dame. "he took her hand, and--listen to me, maud!--he said, 'this blood, these tears, these labor stains, will be the brightest jewels you can wear in heaven; have courage, and be patient, daisy--for beautiful words are written here, that never will fade away.'" and when maud asked what they were, the dame replied sharply, "exactly the opposite of words that are written on somebody's fine hands: self-sacrifice, and generosity, and faith, and earnestness, and love. such words as these make daisy's rough hands beautiful." chapter xxii. the face and the heart. "can i give up my beautiful face, and become a poor little drudge, like daisy?" asked maud of herself. "no, it's a great deal too much trouble. i can find plenty of friends at the fair; and so i will forget the sad, sweet face that has haunted me all these months." so maud never told that she had looked upon christ; though every time daisy spoke of him, she felt it could be no other. the winter came on; and the report of maud's beauty had spread so far, that she was invited to balls in the neighboring towns; and she no longer walked, for people sent their elegant carriages for her. the dame took care that she should have dresses and jewels in abundance; and daisy could not but feel proud when she saw her sister look like such a splendid lady; though sometimes she would be frightened by seeing the eyes of a live snake glittering among maud's diamonds, and something that seemed like the teeth of a wolf glistening among her pearls. the beauty had many lovers, but she found some fault with each; until, one day, the handsomest and gayest man in all the country round asked her to marry him. she refused, at first, because he had not quite so much money as the others; but when she saw how many ladies were in love with him, maud felt it would be a fine thing to humble them, and show her own power. the old dame could give them money enough; and so she changed her mind, and began to make ready for her wedding. then you should have seen the splendid things that the old dame brought, day after day, and poured on the cabin floor--velvets, and heavy brocades, gay ribbons and silks, and costly laces; as for the pearls and diamonds, you would think she had found them by handfuls in the river bed, there were so many. meantime daisy had come across a very different jewel, though i am not sure but it was worth a cabin full of such as maud's. once she was walking with the little beggar girl, whom daisy called her own child now, and named susan, after her mother; before them, climbing the hill side, was a man in a coarse blue frock, who seemed like a herdsman. he was driving his cows, and turning back to look for a stray one, susan chanced to see his face; she broke from daisy, and with a cry of joy, ran into the herdsman's arms. his name was joseph; and daisy learned that, when the little girl's mother was sick, joseph had brought her food, and taken the kindest care of her; but his master sent him to buy some cows in a distant town, and before he reached home again, susan's mother did not need any more charity, and the poor child herself was cast out into the streets. they sat on the grass beside joseph; and daisy found that, for all his coarse dress, he loved beautiful things as well as herself, and had sat there, day after day, watching the river and sky, and finding out the secrets of the birds, seeing the insects gather in their stores, and the rabbits burrow, and listening to the whisper of the leaves. and, in cold winter nights, he had watched the stars moving on in their silent paths, so far above his head, and fancied he could find pictures and letters among them, and that they beckoned, and seemed to promise, if he would only try, he might come and live with them. then, out of some young shoots of elder, joseph had made a flute; and daisy was enchanted when he played on this, for, besides that she had never heard a musical instrument before, he seemed to bring every thing she loved around her in his wonderful tunes. she could almost see the dark pine tops gilded with morning light, and the cabin nestling under them; and then the song of a bird, and of many birds, trilled out from amidst the boughs, and the little leaves on the birch trees trembled as with joy, and her rabbits darted through the shade. again, she saw the wide river rolling on, the sky reflected in it, and the flowers on its banks just lifting their sweet faces to the sun, and every thing was wet with dew, and fresh, and silent. and then he played what was like a storm, with lightning, and huge trees crashing down, and the old dame seated before her fire in the cave, and daisy herself creeping alone through the dark, tired, and drenched with rain. daisy told her new friend that she lived in the wood, and what a beautiful sister she had at home, and how she wished that maud could hear his music. but joseph seemed contented to play for her, and could not leave his cows, he said, to look upon a handsome face; he did not care so much for bright eyes and pretty lips as for goodness and gentleness, that would make the ugliest face look beautiful to him. chapter xxiii. joseph. what with joseph's music, and all he had to say to them, daisy and susan sat for hours on the hill side, and promised, at parting, to come very soon again. but they found maud ready, as usual, to spoil all their pleasure, by fretting because they had left her alone, and had not come earlier, and a hundred other foolish things. she wouldn't hear a word about the music, but asked her sister if she was not ashamed to talk with a cow boy, and declared that neither she nor susan should go to the hill again. but it was no strange thing for maud to change her mind; so, one day, she told daisy she had dreamed about joseph's music, and must hear it, and they would all go that very afternoon. daisy was glad, you may be sure; but she had great trouble with her sister on the way, for maud would shriek at an earth worm, and start at a fly, and was afraid of bats, and snakes, and owls, and more other things than daisy ever thought of. then the sharp sticks cut through her satin boots; and when she sat a while to rest, the crickets ate great holes in her new silk gown, and mosquitos kept buzzing about her, and little worms dropped down sometimes from the boughs. when any of these things happened, of course poor daisy had to be scolded, as if it were her fault. if a shadow moved, or a bird flew quickly past, or a bee buzzed by,--thinking of any one except miss maud,--the beauty would fancy that a tiger or rattlesnake was making ready to spring at her, and suffered a great deal more from fright than she would from pain if the creatures she dreaded had really been near, and she had allowed them quietly to eat her up. when, after all this trouble, she found that joseph wore a coarse blue frock, and did not oil his curly hair, and hardly looked at her, while he was overjoyed at seeing daisy again, maud began to pout, and say she must go home. but joseph brought a kind of harp he had made from reeds and corn stalks; and when he began to play, maud started, for it was as if she stood under the arching trees again, and the beautiful being stood beside her, with his sad eyes, saying, "o maud, when you despise my little ones, you are despising me." she thought it must only be a kind of waking dream, however, and tossing her head, asked joseph if he could play any opera airs, and where he bought his harp, and who his teacher could have been. "the trees, and river, and birds, the morning wind and midnight sky, sorrow, and joy, and hope have been my teachers," he answered gravely. "they're an old-fashioned set, then," said maud. "we haven't had any of the tunes you play at our balls this year; and you must find more modern teachers, or else be content to take care of your cows." joseph heard not her sneers; he was talking with daisy; and every thing he said seemed so noble, and wise, and pure, so unlike the words of maud or of the fretful dame, that daisy could not help loving him with all her heart. the more she thought of joseph the less she said of him to maud; but whenever her sister was away, they were sure to meet; and the herdsman grew as fond of daisy as she was of him. in the long winter evenings, when maud was away at her balls, she little dreamed what pleasant times daisy had at home. when floating about in the dance, to the sound of gay, inspiring music, she thought of her sister only to pity her, and did not know that she was listening to sweeter music from joseph's humble harp of reeds. we often pity people who are a great deal better off than ourselves, forgetting that what seems fine to us may be tedious enough to them. then it was such a new thing for daisy to have any one think of _her_ comfort, and plan pleasant surprises for her, and even admire her serious face, and--best of all--appreciate her spectacles. as soon as joseph came, he wanted her to put them on, and tell him about a hundred things which he had looked at only with his naked eyes. daisy found so often that he had seen rightly and clearly, and had in humblest paths picked up most lovely things, and every where found what was best, she told him that he must have borrowed the old dame's lantern. but joseph said, no, he had only taken care that the lantern in his own breast should be free from dust and stains; while that burned clearly, there was no use in borrowing another's light. maud's lover took her to dances and sleigh rides, and gave her jewels and confectionery; daisy's lover took her to see the old sick mother he supported, and to look at his cows in their neat barn, and brought her a new apron sometimes from the fair, or a bag of chestnuts which he had picked up in the fall. but joseph gave the love of a fresh, honest heart; and daisy thought this better than all her sister's bright stones and sugar plums. chapter xxiv. the freshet. the spring came; and maud's wedding day was so near that she and daisy went to the town every week to make purchases. now, the river which they were obliged to cross always overflowed its banks in spring. although, in summer, daisy had often walked across it, by stepping from stone to stone in the rough bed, it had risen now to a height of many feet. then, blocks of ice came down from the mountain streams above, and swept along bridges, and hay ricks, and drift wood with them, just as happened once, you may remember, when susan was alive. a new bridge had been built; but it jarred frightfully when the heaped blocks of ice came down, or some great tree was dashed against it by the rapid stream. things were in this state when the two sisters reached home, one day, from town. when maud felt how the bridge jarred, she ran back screaming, and told daisy to go first, and make sure it was safe. daisy was not a coward; but this time she did think of her own life for once, or rather of joseph--how he would grieve if she were swept away and drowned. her heart beat faster than usual; yet she walked on calmly, and soon gained the other side. then she called back for maud to wait till she could find joseph, and secure his help. but maud, always impatient, grew tired of waiting, and mustering all her courage, stepped upon the bridge alone. she had hardly reached the centre when its foundations gave way; and, with a great crash and whirl, with the trees, and ice, and drift wood whirling after it, the bridge went sweeping down the stream. so joseph and daisy returned only in time to hear maud's shrieks, which sounded louder than the heavy, jolting logs, and creaking beams, and grinding ice. running across the bridge wildly, she beckoned for joseph to come to her--implored him to trust himself upon the blocks of ice, or else send daisy, and not leave her to perish alone. there came new drifts of ice from above, jolting against the bridge, and throwing maud from her feet; and so the heavy structure went whirling, tossing like a straw upon the stream. joseph turned to daisy. "if i go to her help, we both may slip from the unsteady blocks of ice, and drown. yet i may possibly save her; shall i go or stay?" "go," she said instantly. "then good by, daisy; perhaps we never shall look in each other's faces again." "not here, perhaps; but, go." "what's that?" asked the sharp voice of the dame. "foolish children! don't you know that, when maud is drowned, there will be no one to separate you, and, as long as she lives, she will not let you be married?" "she is my sister," said daisy. and joseph, stepping boldly upon the ice, creeping from log to log,--lost now in the branches of a tree, dashed into the water, and struggling out again,--found his way to the bridge, and threw his strong arm about the form of the fainting maud. but here was new trouble; for she declared that she would never venture where joseph had been, not if they both were swept away. finding her so unreasonable, the herdsman took maud, like an infant, in his arms, and, though she shrieked and struggled, stepped from the bridge just as its straining beams parted, and fell, one by one, among the drift wood in the stream. when maud stood safely on the shore, she was so glad to find herself alive, that she took off every one of her jewels and offered them to joseph. but the herdsman told her that he did not wish to be paid for what had cost him nothing, and had he lost his life, the jewels would have been no recompense. "so you want more, perhaps," said maud, the haughty look coming again into her handsome face. "well, what shall i give you for risking your precious life?" "daisy," he answered. "my sister? do you dare tell me that she would marry a cowboy?" "ask her." "yes," said daisy. "nonsense! you will live with me, daisy, in my new great house; and if you marry at all, it will be some rich, elegant man, so that you can entertain us when i and my husband wish to visit you." "i shall marry joseph or no one," daisy answered firmly. "well, then, joseph, cross the river on the ice once more, and daisy shall be your wife." maud thought she had found a way to rid herself of the troublesome herdsman; for it seemed to her the dreadful voyage could not be made again in safety; and then she half believed that joseph would sooner give up daisy than try. but, without a word, he darted upon the ice--slipped, as at first; and when daisy saw him struggling, she flew to his help--slipped where he slipped: a tree came sailing down, and struck them both. maud saw no more. but, all the way home, she heard in her ears the shrill voice of the fairy, saying, "i hope you are satisfied, now you have killed them both." chapter xxv. the fairy's last gift. maud went home to the lonely cabin; there was no one to make a fire, and dry her wet clothes, and comfort her. when little susan heard what had happened, she ran away to live with the mother of joseph; and maud was left alone. wearied with fright, and trouble, and remorse, the beauty sank upon her bed and fell asleep. but hardly were her eyes closed, when she seemed in a damp, cellar-like place herself, but, looking upward, saw the glorious golden city daisy told her about, with its pearly gates and diamond foundations, and the river shaded by beautiful palms, and throngs of angels walking on its banks. the ranks of angels parted, and she saw among them the beautiful one, who had met her in the wood--only he was bright and joyous now, and his wounds shone like stars; and--could it be? yes--he was leading daisy and joseph, not a poor drudge and humble herdsboy now, but, like the other angels, clothed in light, crowned with lilies, and joseph's harp of reeds changed to a golden harp, on which he still made music. she saw two other beautiful ones come forward and embrace her sister: one, she felt, was the father she had never seen, and one was susan, the good and humble mother of whom maud had been ashamed. then she awoke, to find herself alone in the cabin, which was damp and dark as she had dreamed; and she could only hear the night wind sighing, and the voices of the wolves and snakes. as soon as morning came, she hurried to the river bank, in hopes, thus late, to save her sister, or to hear, at least, some news from her. but she saw only floating logs and blocks of ice jarring and whirling down the river. and from that hour maud believed herself a murderer, and would gladly have given her own life to forget the dreadful scene, which kept rising before her, of the good, gentle sister drowning in the flood, and the sound of the dame's shrill voice asking, "now, are you satisfied?" but daisy did not drown. when joseph saw her danger, though almost dead himself, he took fresh courage, and made such bold, brave efforts that both he and daisy reached the shore. long, happy days they spent together on the earth. determined that she should have no more trouble with her sister, joseph took his wife over the sea to a pleasant island, where she had a happier, if not so splendid a home as maud. when he opened the door to show daisy her beautiful little house, who should stand within but the fairy, all dressed in her velvet and pearls, and looking as bright as if she too were glad that daisy's life was to be so happy now. many a gift the fairy brought them: little peters, and susans, and daisies came in her arms, to play before their door, and make the cottage merry with their songs, before _our_ daisy went to wear her crown in heaven. and many a pleasant tune joseph played to his wife and children on the home-made harp of reeds, before it was changed to a harp of gold, and chimed in with the angels' music, in our father's home above. when packing her things, to leave the cabin, maud left daisy's dresses, as they were not fine enough for her, and also some little things which her sister had treasured--among them, the spectacles. but once in her fine new home, and the wedding over, the first things she found, hanging in the fringe of her shawl, were daisy's spectacles. so she thought how queerly daisy used to look in them, and put the glasses on, to amuse her husband; but what was her surprise to find she could see plainly through them now! and, alas! the first thing they told her was, that this man, for whom she had left all her rich suitors, did not love her, but her money; despised her because her mother was so poor, and was much fonder of one of the ladies whom he had forsaken than of her. she told him this angrily; but he only laughed, and said she might have guessed it without spectacles, and asked how he could love any one who thought only of herself. she hoped he might be jesting, yet his words were soon proved true; for he not only neglected, but treated her harshly, and when she was saddest, dragged her to the balls which she no longer enjoyed, and laughed about her spectacles, which began to leave their mark upon her handsome face. "at least," thought maud, "i am very rich; there is no end to my jewelry. i will find out all its value through the spectacles." but though there were pearls and diamonds, emeralds, rubies, and sapphires, set in heavy gold, they seemed only a handful through the glasses; while she saw whole heaps of finer pearls lying neglected under the sea, and rubies, and emeralds, and diamonds scattered about on the sands, or in the heart of rocks, enough to build a house. melted along the veins of the earth she discovered so much gold, too, that her own didn't seem worth keeping; for maud only valued things when she thought others could not have so fine. do you remember what the dame said, when she placed the spectacles on little daisy's breast? "take care of her heart, now, peter, and this gift of mine will be a precious one." here was the trouble: maud, with all her beauty and wealth, had not taken care of her heart; and so, when daisy saw bright, and wise, and pleasant things through the glasses, maud saw only sad and painful ones. the beauty grew tired of life; her husband was so jealous that he would not allow any one to admire her; and she found the palace did not make her any happier than the cabin had done, nor did the open country seem any brighter than the wood. for it isn't whether we _live_ in a palace or a cave, but whether our hearts are cheerful palaces or gloomy caves, that makes the difference between sad lives and merry ones. so, one day, when the dame appeared with her gifts, maud said, "o, take them away--take back all the beauty, the power, and money you ever brought, and give me a heart like daisy's." "pretty likely," said the dame. "you asked for money--you and your mother, both; now make the most of it." but the old woman had hardly left the house when one of maud's servants brought her in, wounded, and weeping bitterly, for a wagon had run over her. "carry her home to her cave; why did you bring her to me?" said maud. but just then she seemed to see the cold, bare cave that daisy had told her about, with nothing except wooden stools and a smoky fireplace--no soft bed, no child to watch over and comfort the poor old dame. so maud called the servants back, and had the woman placed in her own room, and watched with her, and bathed her limbs, and though she was fretful, did not once neglect her through a long and tedious illness. at last, the dame felt well enough to go home, and bade good by to maud, who begged her not to go; "for," she said,--and the tears came into her eyes,--"you make me think of dear daisy, the only one that ever loved me, with this selfish heart." "no, no; i cannot trust you," said the dame, and disappeared. but she came back, with such a bundle in her arms as she had brought to susan once; and when maud looked up to thank her, lo! the dame had changed to a lovely fairy, with a young, sweet face--the same that daisy used to talk about. bending over maud, she wiped the tears from her face, and put the bundle in her arms, and disappeared. and when the little child learned to love her, maud forgot her fears and cares, her cruel husband and her selfish self, and found how much happier it makes us to give joy than to receive it. the little girl was named daisy, and grew up not only beautiful and rich, but wise and good; she spent her money nobly, and gained the love and added to the happiness of all her friends. but the one whom she made happiest was her own mother--maud. chapter xxvi. what it all means. now, dear children, i suppose you have guessed all my riddles, for they are not hard ones; but i will tell you the meaning of one or two. life is the old fairy, that comes sometimes frowning and wretched, sometimes smiling and lovely, but always benevolent, always taking better care of us than we take of ourselves. we should be silent, helpless dust, except for life; and whether we be great or humble, rich or poor, she gives us all we have. though she may seem to smile on you and frown upon your sister, be sure it is not because she loves you best; the fairy may yet change into a wrinkled dame, or the dame to a beautiful fairy. when you remember her, beware how you grieve or slight any one. if you are passing some poor beggar in the street, think, "had i on daisy's spectacles, i should see under all these rags a child of the great god, travelling on, as i am travelling, to live with him in the golden city above. while this man seems humble to me, angels may bow to him as they pass invisibly; for all the titles in this world are not so great as to be a child of god." when you are tempted to vex or laugh at some old woman, think, "under these wrinkles, lo! the great fairy, life, is hid; and she can curse or bless me, as i will." the old dame's lantern, and the light in his breast by which joseph saw, were instinct; which, if we could but keep it undimmed by the dust of earth, would always light our pathway. and the fairy bread is kindness, which alone can comfort the poor and sorrowful. they may use what we give in charity, and still be poor and sad; but an act of kindness makes them feel that they too are children of the same great god, and are therefore happy and rich, though they must walk about for a little while in rags. for they remember how, like us, they have a glorious home awaiting them in the city whose streets are gold; and then it doesn't seem so hard that they have less than we of the poor gold of earth. the spectacles are wisdom, which shows us all things as they are, not as they seem--which we may learn, like daisy, from insects, trees, and clouds, or, easier still, from words that the wise have written. believe me, this wisdom, which may seem but a tedious thing, will show any of you as wonderful visions as those i have told you about. so, when your lessons are hard, and you long to play, and wonder what's the use in books, think, "they are daisy's wondrous spectacles, that change our dull earth into fairy land." wearing these, you need never be lonely or afraid, but will feel god's strong and loving arm around you in the dreariest place. the sun will seem his watchful eye, the wind his breath, the flowers his messages. you will know that all good and lovely things are gifts from him. and you will not forget that the fairy, life, is still on earth, and, if we ask her, will lead us all to the wonderful city which daisy saw far up above the pines--where you, too, may be good and peaceful, like the rest, and wear a crown of lilies and a robe of light. phillips, sampson, & company publish peep at "number five;" or, a chapter in the life of a city pastor. by h. trusta, _author of_ "the sunny side," &c., &c. _twenty-fifth thousand._ the telltale; or, home secrets told by old travellers. by h. trusta, _author of_ "peep at number five," "sunny side," &c., &c. _tenth thousand._ the "last leaf from sunny side;" by h. trusta, _author of_ "peep at number five," "telltale," &c., &c. _thirteenth thousand._ father brighthopes; or, an old clergyman's vacation. by paul creyton. _uniform with "peep at number five," "last leaf,"_ &c. hearts and faces; or, home life unveiled. by paul creyton, _author of_ "father brighthopes," &c. _uniform with the above._ phillips, sampson, & co. publish the following juvenile works estelle's stories about dogs; containing six beautiful illustrations; being original portraits from life. printed on superfine paper. mo, colored engravings, cents; plain, cents. little mary; or, talks and tales. by h. trusta, author of "sunny side," "peep at number five," &c., &c. this little book is charmingly illustrated, and is a very beautiful book. it is made up of short lessons, and was originally written for the practical use of children from five to ten years of age. little blossom's reward; a christmas book for children by mrs. emily hare. beautifully illustrated from original designs, and a charming presentation book for young people. phillips, sampson, & co. publish the following juvenile works. by francis c. woodworth. editor of "woodworth's youth's cabinet," author of "the willow lane budget," "the strawberry girl," "the miller of our village," "theodore thinker's tales," etc., etc. uncle frank's boys' and girls' library _a beautiful series, comprising six volumes, square mo, with eight tinted engravings in each volume. the following are their titles respectively_:-- i. the peddler's boy; or, i'll be somebody. ii. the diving bell; or, pearls to be sought for. iii. the poor organ grinder, and other stories. iv. our sue: her motto and its uses. v. mike marble: his crotchets and oddities. vi. the wonderful letter bag of kit curious. "woodworth is unquestionably and immeasurably the best writer for children that we know of; for he combines a sturdy common sense and varied information with a most childlike and loveful spirit, that finds its way at once to the child's heart. we regard him as one of the truest benefactors of his race; for he is as wise as he is gentle, and never uses his power over the child-heart to instil into it the poison of false teaching, or to cramp it with unlovely bigotry. the publishers have done their part, as well as the author, to make these volumes attractive. altogether we regard them as one of the pleasantest series of juvenile books extant, both in their literary character and mechanical execution."--_syracuse (n. y.) daily standard._ phillips, sampson, & co. publish the following juvenile works christmas holidays at chestnut hill. by cousin mary. containing fine engravings from original designs, and printed very neatly. it will be found to be a charming little book for a present for all seasons. estelle's stories about dogs; containing six beautiful illustrations; being original portraits from life. printed on superfine paper. mo, colored engravings, cents; plain, cents. little mary; or, talks and tales. by h. trusta, author of "sunny side," "peep at number five," &c., &c. this little book is charmingly illustrated, and is a very beautiful book. it is made up of short lessons, and was originally written for the practical use of children from five to ten years of age.