There are those who affirm that none but the wicked are subjected to unpleasant thoughts. I have been acquainted with many persons, but I could never find one who was not ready to confess, there were moments of sadness that invaded the soul, the cause of which they could not explain. These spring, sometimes from a vicious temperament: the humours mixing themselves with the blood, carry to the brain those spirits that trace upon the imagination frightful and whimsical figures, from whence come those disagreeable dreams and visions that surprise us in the night. Dreams proceed often from heaven, often from the devil, and frequently from natural causes; thus we have thoughts of death, after conversation on the subject, or having read a book that treated of it. To speak plainly, it seems that Providence sends us such dreams, for the purpose of forcing our attention to the consideration of those subjects we are generally reluctant to reflect upon. Such is, without doubt, the origin of this I have had concerning death.

I read one night before retiring, the verse of Lucretius, one of the most learned men, and best poets of antiquity. I found an eminently beautiful passage, where he says, that all nature, with one consent, elevating her voice, speaks thus to mankind:—“Why, O mortals, do you groan for such a length of time, and why are you so sharply afflicted? Why do you submit to the slavery of flying from death, and the fear thereof? Why do you continually reflect upon the pleasures of youth? The enjoyments of this season have passed with the days you regret, as grain escapes from a sack, from whence it finds an issue. You are fatigued with the world; why do you not quit it, as one who returns satisfied from a feast, where the viands were exquisite, and the pleasure of the highest flavour? You are convicted of a strange folly: it is in your power to enjoy tranquillity; why not, then, seize upon possession? Why fear death, that will render you invulnerable?”Such are the sentiments of the poet, and they appear like those of a saint; but this is nature, or rather, natural reason, teaching us that death is not so frightful as we are apt to imagine; and I am not therefore surprised, that heathen philosophers have exhibited so constant an example of exalted morality.

Likewise I remember what Job has said upon the brevity of human life, and the swift arrival of death. “The life of man,” says this illustrious patriarch, “is of short duration: it is a flower, that before it is scarcely blown, is despoiled of its leaves: it is a shadow, which flies with the rapidity of the wind, without remaining stationary a single moment;” and yet, in spite of its brevity, life is subject to so much calamity, that it is doubtful whether it should not rather be called misery, than life.

Indulging in these grave meditations, I threw myself upon my bed, and slept. My spirit was free from external impressions. I thought there came into the places where my fancy had transported me, a great multitude of physicians, mounted upon mules, the housings of which, were clothes of the dead. In the suit of these physicians, who had an air of sourness and chagrin, followed a crowd of apothecaries, surgeons, and young barbers, who carried the drugs or instruments pertaining to their professions. When the physicians had descended from their mules, they began to dance a ballet, to the sound of the mortars and sieves the apothecaries and their adjuncts played upon. This ballet was interspersed with songs, in which the physicians took the upper part; the words of one of them were as follows:—

“Catholicum, rhubarbarae, opiata, theriaca,
Opoponach, O opium, O laudanum anodinum,
Polychrestum diureticum, senne anisatum.”

Two young physicians performed the air in these words:—

“Recipe, recipe, recipe, recipe senne,
Dragmas duas, dragmas duas, dragmas duas,
Semi-dragmum rhei electac,
Scrupulum unum polychresti,
Infundantur, percolentur, hauriantur,
Hor sext matutinÂ,
Recipe, recipe, recipe, etc.”

Two surgeons answered to that, seca; ure; that is to say, cut, burn; and directly both joined in chorus—these repeating recipe, the others ure, and the last dancing.

This troop having sat, there entered another composed of newsmongers, and people who followed them to learn what was transacted abroad in England, France, Holland, Italy, and other places. After these entered solicitors, stewards of noble estates, soldiers, priests, and other persons whom I did not know. This cavalcade was terminated by a woman of monstrous stature, meagre, pale, and having a very extraordinary equipage. Her head dress consisted of crowns, tiaras, electoral bonnets, mitres, red and black hats, hats of straw, turbans, and bonnets of wool and silk: upon one side of the head, she had her hair curled and powdered; upon the other, shaven after the fashion of monks. Her robe was tissue of thread, wool, and silk, ornamented with trimmings of gold and silver, chaplets, precious stones, and pearls: she had upon her feet and legs, shoes of iron, wood, and leather: she bore upon a sceptre, a shepherd’s crook, a scythe, and a great club: she had one eye open, and the other shut; and carried, pendant from her neck, a sand box, with crosses of the order of Saint James, of the Holy Ghost, and the medals of other military orders: her gait was alternately slow, then quick and precipitate. She approached my bed, and said, “Arise, Chevalier, follow me!”

“But, before I follow thee,” replied I, “inform me who you are.”

“I am Death,” answered she; “follow me!”

“Is it your pleasure, then, that I should die?”

“No, no! follow me, and leave behind thy garment; for a person is not to be clothed when he follows Death. I will show you my empire, and my subjects. I am the queen of queens, the empress of sovereigns, the sovereign of the human race; and the powers of earth are but my inspectors.”

“How!” exclaimed I, “dare you to say the king of Spain is your inspector? he who possesses so many territories in the world?”“Follow, follow,” said Death; “I will show you.”

Immediately all those who were there, went out in the same order they had entered: Death following the rear of the procession, and I following Death.

We traversed vast plains and deserts, which resembled cemeteries, or fields of battle, covered with dead. Directly I perceived, at a distance, an immense castle, built in the antique style; and when I had drawn near, I observed that the materials were nothing but bones cemented with blood and apothecaries’ drugs. The three porters in the court were very pleasant to the sight. The first resembled a harlequin assuming divers attitudes, and having upon his habits the figures of kingdoms and provinces of the earth; in such a fashion, indeed, that I seemed to look upon a geographical map: his name was the World. The second, who called himself the Flesh, was naked, like those figures of Priapus one sees upon medals. The third was armed, cap a pie, in gold and silver, like a curassier. They told me those three guards were the enemies of the world, and the porters of Death. The pavement of the court was of human sculls, as well as that of the chambers: these sculls were arranged in such a manner, that they resembled a chess board; some being white, and others, having the hair upon them, appeared black. In the middle of this court was a fountain of tears: the figures about the basin, represented Uneasiness, Envy, Jealousy, Despair, Knavery, Sickness, Medicine, War, Revenge, and Love. The tapestries of the chambers were all upon particular subjects. One might see in one piece, people contracting marriage; in another, lawyers pleading a case; in this, merchants preparing for bankruptcy; in that, honest thieves upon the grand tour, stripping the peasantry. The others represented an ecclesiastic, who, dying in his bed, has, in his last moments, the satisfaction of seeing his house pillaged; a courier riding from Madrid to Rome, to solicit a benefice; a tiler falling from the roof of a house; a drunken sailor precipitating himself from his vessel into the sea; a house burning with such rapidity, that its master is consumed in the flames; in fine, one might there perceive every species of human death.

But none of these impressed me with so much horror, as the paintings in fresco under the grand portico. There were here servants who strangled their master to obtain his money; children who assassinated their father, to come more speedily into possession of his property; subjects who kill their king, after having pronounced his condemnation; a woman who poisons her husband; and a mistress who does the same to her lover, to revenge his infidelity.

In the middle of this gallery, was a colossal figure, representing Ingratitude, and elevated upon a pedestal; the relief of which presented on the one side Cruelty, on the second Infidelity, on the third Interest, on the fourth Ambition. The base was ornamented with sculptural emblems of sporting cupids, satyrs, lions, and cats.

After having traversed the whole extent of this apartment, Death entered into a grand and magnificent hall; the sable hangings of which were sown with white drops, like the ornaments commonly seen on monuments in burying places. In this hall stood a throne composed of dead men’s bones, and which appeared like ivory: four leg bones formed the supporters; two arms, with their hands, the arms of the seat; a spinal bone, with those of the thighs, composed the back part; the two pommels above were two sculls, and the seat was of other bones. It was ascended by four steps, the first of which was called infancy, the second youth, the third manhood, and the fourth old age. Death being seated, the whole medical corps ranged themselves on either side, the others being seated at their feet.

Death spake for some time upon the limits of life, and of the grandeur of her empire: she finished her discourse by observing that there was but one way of coming into existence, but many ways of quitting it. She then gave a general order for the dead to appear, and all at once I saw them fall from the wainscot, and come from the walls and pavement. “Speak,” said the queen, “each in turn.”

The first who commenced, said, “I am Romulus, first king of Rome; my ministers not being able to tolerate my government, wished to change it; they caused me to be assassinated, and a report spread, that I had, in their presence, been translated to heaven.”

“I am,” said another, “CÆsar, first emperor of the Romans: the senate caused me to perish by the hand of my adopted son.”

A third, “I am the emperor Claudius, poisoned by my wife.”

A fourth, “I am Alexander the great; I died in the very bosom of a debauch.”

A fifth, “I am Codrus, king of the Athenians; I died for my country.”

“And I,” exclaimed a sixth, “am Charles the fifth, whose bones my son exhumed, and burnt.”

In like manner appeared many of the illustrious dead, now confounded with all kinds of people. When they had spoken, they formed a great circle, in the midst of which I perceived a large bottle, from whence issued a voice, that said, “I am that famous necromancer, the great magician of Europe. I caused myself to be cut in pieces by one of my servants, and shut up in this vessel, expecting my members would re-unite, and my body be renewed in its pristine youth; I know not whether the secret was false, or if he neglected to follow strictly my orders; but after boiling a long time, I formed only a gross, misshapen, and lifeless mass.”

“You then were of opinion,” said death, “that the soul was but a subtle fire; a flame that could animate your body, and repair itself!”

“Yes,” answered the necromancer.

“Close the vessel again,” said Death.

When all the by-standers had been heard, they were required to put their names upon a great book; and while they were writing, I saw the bottle move towards me. The necromancer within immediately commenced a conversation with me; inquiring, “who reigns in Spain? Does Venice yet exist? What is the news in France? Are the Calvinists constantly triumphant?”

I answered him, “Philip IV. reigns in Spain; Venice is still beautiful, rich, and powerful: the Calvinists and their king are always invincible.”

He then besought me to break the bottle. As I hesitated, not being without certain qualms of fear, it swelled, and burst of itself. I then saw what it had contained expand into a human form, and rising up, resumed the discourse in this manner:—

“As it is impossible for me to return again into the world, place us henceforth among the dead magicians.”

In the place of the bottle, there appeared an old man with a great head and a long beard: he was of a grave mein, and held a globe in his hand.

“I am,” said he, “Nestradamus, that great French astrologer, who predicted, during my life, every thing that has since happened.”

“How,” said I, “are you he that composed those famous centuries, which, after death, were found in your tomb? Resolve me, I pray you, one of your prophecies now in my mind:—

“‘The sign of Aries shall the world command;
Taurus shall rule the waves and solid land;
Mother and sire the virgin shall deceive,
The mother’s breasts the tender twins shall leave.’”

“That,” said the astrologer, “is as clear as the light of day; and signifies, that married men shall frequently resemble rams: the love of woman, represented by the bull, shall mingle itself with affairs of every kind; the daughter divert herself spite of the advice of her father, and the sons laugh at maternal expostulation.”

“And this, what is its signification?” demanded I:—

“‘Mothers soon shall children bear,
Who to name no sire shall dare;
None of all the babes they bear,
E’er shall lack a father’s care.’”

“That is equally easy of explanation. I wish to convey the idea, that many children shall call those fathers, who are not so; and shall have fathers whom they will never discover.”

He would have departed, after explaining these two prophecies; but I stopped him, entreating him only to tell me the meaning of this last:—

“‘Before another year is born,
Many a goose quill shall be worn;
Many a quill the ether bear,
Many a man shall dance in air;
Men shall sorely rue the attack,
Of grey goose quill and Doctor Quack;
Merchants be in bankrupt plight,
Nobles turn to blackguards quite;
Province, city, town, and village,
Soon shall soldiers sack and pillage;
Lads and lasses soon shall try,
What darkness hides from every eye;
No more shall widows’ weeds endure;
The cloister virgins shall immure.’”

“That signifies,” said Nostradamus, who was in haste to depart, “that one half of the world shall pillage the other; the people of justice shall rob by their pen; false witnesses will support themselves by hanging upon their skirts; the physicians will kill with physic, and be well paid for it; the merchants thrive by bankruptcy; nobles shall be ruined by their stewards; the soldiers will lay all under contribution; children shall rob one another; widows contract new nuptials, and to enjoy the portions of their daughters, make nuns of them. Let go!”—and he hastily left me.

I then perceived before me a good old man, of a very sad aspect, who demanded if I was dead?

“No,” answered I; “living, and at your service.”

“Good!” said he; “I expect a favour of you. You must know, I am called They. I also bear the appellation of Somebody, of Another, of a certain Personage, of Author, and of I know who. While I lived in the world, I was accused of having said and done every thing which could not be traced: if a false report was circulated, it was they who had broached it: if any one was found assassinated in the high way, it was they who had killed him: if there was a man with a bad face, this was somebody: if it was imprudent to name a person in an affair, they called him a certain person: if a writer advanced bold things, this was an author, who had spoken on the first impression: and, finally, when the author was entirely concealed, it was I know who, that had said or acted thus and so. All this time I neither said nor did any thing; I appeared no where; I knew not what passed, and kept house both day and night; the chagrin of seeing myself in so bad repute, fairly put an end to my existence. I demand, therefore, of you, to vindicate me to your friends, and those persons over whom you have any influence, that they may not in future charge me with any thing; for, since I am dead, I can of course have nothing more to do with the world.”

I promised the old gentleman I would remember what he desired, and he retired contented. At this moment a young woman coming up to me, fell upon my neck, exclaiming,

“My dear Æneas, have you at length arrived! I have for a long time wished to see you. Virgil hath spoken very illy of you: he has published a history of our loves, which we knew nothing of: I have sought you among all the dead, without being able to find you; but I know, from your air, that you are Æneas; for, as you have been the greatest and most illustrious of heroes, so here you surpass all the dead in demeanour and beauty.”As the surprise I felt at this unmerited compliment prevented answer, she continued to speak, and embraced me so vehemently, that I was compelled to cry out.

“Peace, there!” commanded the officer of the chamber, who was called Silence.

I still continued to bawl out; and said to Madame Dido, “O Queen of Carthage! will you not be undeceived? I am Don Francisco de Quevedo de Villegas, Chevalier of the order of Saint James!”

“Behold!” replied the queen, “behold this drunkard, who, being a Trojan, would fain pass himself off for a Spaniard! Go, pious Æneas; Virgil hath done thee no great wrong in describing thee as thou art. Where is thy Palladium? thy nurse? thy son Ascanias? where are thy companions? why are you here without attendants?”

“Be not disquieted,” said I: “address yourself to Charon; he would know you as well as Æneas, who abandoned you in Africa; that was a meet punishment for your prudery: but you have not yet been able to forget a man, who surrendered his native city to the Greeks, and fled from his ruined country. You are a victim of love!”

“And you,” said she, retiring, “are very credulous!”

The officer again commanded silence, and before I had time to add any thing more, I saw approaching a dead person of great size, with horns upon his head, and who ran towards me as though he was going to strike with them. I stretched out my arms to defend myself, and perceiving near me a large fork, that supported the tapestry, I took it in my hand, and firmly awaited his onset.

“Do you recognize,” said he, “Don Diego Moreno, whom you have called in your poems Signor Cornuto?”

“Yes,” replied I; “and to convince you, that I neither fear you, living nor dead, take in advance a blow with this fork;” and at that endeavoured to run him through, but his bones were too hard. Moreno then gave me a blow with his head, and casting himself upon me, threw me down: I stuck to his sides, inserting my fingers into the openings beneath the sternum, and as he arose, came up with him. This noise causing considerable confusion in the assembly, I saw coming upon me, a great number of the dead, armed in the same manner with Moreno; and as they pressed upon one another, each anxious to pass his neighbour, their bones made a very curious clicking. In the mean time, others marshalled themselves in front, to protect me from their assault.

During these transactions, Death sat upon her throne in silence, attentive only to the inscription of her subjects names; and as the secretaries happened to finish at a moment when there was a slight cessation in our tumult, the officer cried—

“Peace—listen!”

I seized this occasion to demand justice of the queen.

“I supplicate your sovereign majesty,” said I, “to do me justice on Diego Moreno, who has insulted me in this palace; striking me with his horns, knocking me down, and exciting against me the whole host of cuckolds.”

“What defence do you make to this accusation, Moreno?” asked the queen.“Mighty and wan princess,” replied he, “behold the man who caused me to pass in the world as a Vulcan, or a faun: I have always lived pleasantly with my wife, never objecting to the French method, of receiving at her house priests, soldiers, lawyers, politicians, merchants, and strangers of every country. As the house had a great deal of good company, where nothing was wanting, although my wife was no expense to me, I found it very convenient; and because I profited by the follies of others, because I made that a part of my revenue, because I took advantage of my wife’s friends, to amass an estate for my children, the chevalier Quevedo derided me, rendering me ridiculous by his poems, and representing me as the prince of accommodating husbands; he called me a ram, and made me one of the signs of the zodiac: not content with that, he even comes hither, and strikes me with a fork. I demand that he should be retained here, and that he be put in a situation during his slumbers, that will effectually prevent his waking.”“Which of the two began the affray?” said Death.

“It was I,” answered Moreno.

“We ordain then, that the name and memory of Moreno shall never be forgotten in Spain; that his grave shall be opened, and his compatriots, if any yet exist, shall make a pilgrimage, to render homage to his ashes.”

After that, they called over the names of the dead; and as they were called, they answered adsum, “I am here.” Hearing my own name pronounced, which was also that of my uncle and god-father, I answered, as the others, adsum; at which mistake Moreno taking advantage to laugh at me, I hit him a heavy blow with my fist upon his head; but I hurt myself more than him, for I almost broke my fingers. Moreno cast himself upon me; I stood firm, and thus we were again engaged in a new combat. They endeavoured to separate us, but I had entangled my hands in such a manner, in the bones of his arms, that I could not withdraw them; and as they pulled me on one side, and him on the other, it gave me such exquisite pain, that I awoke, happy and thankful to find myself in my bed. I reviewed in my mind all I had seen and heard, and which is here reported.

This vision made such a forcible impression upon my imagination, that I yet seem to behold the palace of death, the audience of the dead, and Moreno pouncing upon me: finally, I made many reflections upon what I had seen. It is but too true, that all mankind must die; that we are surrounded with constant peril; that there is but one thing that can insure a tranquil death, and that is, a blameless life. But to live well, one must often think of death. I believe the dream I have just rehearsed, was inspired by heaven; for otherwise I should hardly have thought upon my latter end, not even when my life was peculiarly exposed amidst wars and battle. At present, I reflect without ceasing; I have totally abandoned trifling and poetry, which are synonymous; and, thanks to God, have more satisfaction in reading books of devotion, than romances and histories.