The world says charitably that Bernard and I (Francis) were once two very dissipated young men. Dissipated indeed!—Debauched and depraved rather. We were not always so. When we first met we conversed together chiefly on religious subjects. How was it? Did we read latent depravity in one another's eyes?
At first we spoke hesitatingly, then plainly: afterwards we whispered.
There is one depravity which the world ignores: and speaks of little, and then in bated breath. There is another lower stratum of depravity which the world does not know—God grant it may never know!
I certainly had wronged Bernard. Considering the relations between us: seeing that to us, rules of right and wrong were nought, how could I have offended him so much? Our sins had no sentiment about them. They were coarse and calm. So how should a sentiment such as jealousy spring up in Bernard's heart?
Bernard and I were both rich: and so had ample means to indulge our monstrous pleasures.
Bernard had in his house a luxuriously fitted Turkish,or rather Roman, bath.
Though we had cast all religion and restraints of religion aside; still, was it from some remnant of religious feeling, or superstition, or blasphemous jest, that we both of us still wore the Scapular of Mount Carmel?
We were in the bath that day: the scene of our worst orgies. I was lying on the divan: I said, ‘Bernard, I feel faint.’ He said, ‘Take a glass of wine, my dear’; and pouring out a glass he gave it to me. I had a sudden frightful cramp in the stomach, followed by excessive perspiration. I understood now:—it was strychnine—I had tried an overdose of that once before.
After languor, I became again conscious: and first of all was aware of Bernard's eyes gleaming at me with intense hatred. Surely Bernard had forgiven me the wrong I had done him: he had said so. I thought he was fond of me. At one time, at least, he loved me. But there was no mistaking—I understood.
‘Bernard,’ I cried ‘for God's sake give me my Scapular.’
‘For God's sake?’ said Bernard: ‘what God do you mean? possibly Eros; he will hardly save you when you lie “like a sheep in hell and death feedeth on your bones.’’’
I felt the cramp coming on again; ‘Bernard!’ I shrieked, ‘for Our Lady's sake, give me the Scapular.’
‘For Our Lady's sake? I suppose you mean Venus Libitina; she will have you soon.’ Then one more convulsive cramp.
All was dark; darkness well-nigh palpable. I arose and tried to walk. I could see nothing. I walked on and on: I know not on what I trod. So this was Hell.
After a time, the darkness became interfused, I cannot say illuminated, with a faint green glimmer. I heard something that sounded like singing: singing indeed! I cannot describe it. Some monotone of idiotic despair. Then I discovered forms and faces around me. Hideous, green, squalid faces with dull, dead eyes; a soft green scum was on their lips. As they sang their lower jaws fell: and showed their jagged, sepulchral teeth.
O, rather the darkness! I ran on and on through the darkness: and was consumed with a burning thirst.
O for one drop of water, just to cool my tongue! Suddenly I saw before me a number of people sitting at a table drinking. Could they not give me something to drink? I was desperate: I would beg them. When I came nearer I heard the sound of hideous laughter. They were a company feasting: clad in ancient Roman garments.
Looking nearer I saw they were skeletons: their faces skulls. But they had eyes—horrible eyes. Presiding at the table was one clad in a black and yellow coloured garment, with a strange zigzag pattern. On his head were large bullock's horns. He was beating a hellish tattoo on a drum he had before him. The others seemed to be responding to, or taking part in, some hideous pagan rite.
I was desperate. ‘Give me to drink!’ I cried: ‘I am dying of thirst.’ One said, the mouth of his skull moving to smile sardonically, ‘Oh no, we don't die here.’ Another, clad more luxuriously than the rest, with a long curled wig on his skull, said with a hideous effeminate laugh, ‘Yes, you will like our drink,’ and handed me a glass of obscene shape. I drank eagerly: It burnt within me: then I vomited it forth and the vomit fell and turned to liquid fire!
I ran forth again: which was worse? the outer darkness, or this company?
Then I saw something white; and something dark pursuing. The white was a youthful form. The dark a hideous creature in a tattered garment.
The youthful form ever ran round in a circle; and the other ever pursued. Now and then the dark form clutched the white one. Then the white form turned with glaring eyes, that shot hideous dull red flame, on his pursuer. Then they would begin to bite and tear one another to pieces: till the white form escaped again, and the same eternal round began once more.
One time the dark form turned its face: then in that face I saw—myself!
No, this was the most horrible of all. Let me be for ever in the outer darkness. I went into the outer darkness and lay down there.
Suddenly something fell on me, a creature, human in shape (I could see nothing), covered with bristling glutinous hair: with the odour of a swine. It embraced and clung to me. Its body stuck to me.
Light! Light at last! comparative light: for there was but one star. I was swimming. The water was more salt and brackish than any other water. It seemed less like water than glue. There was an odour of pitch and sulphur about it. This I knew was the Dead Sea. I was near a shore which I tried in vain to reach. On the shore there were fruit trees, but the fruits dropped one by one: and broke in dropping and became dust.
The star shone brighter and brighter: no, I was not in Hell now. There was some semblance of hope. In the outer darkness I tried in vain to remember the name of Jesus, or Mary. Now I cried aloud, ‘Star of the sea, rescue me!’
Then I was overcome with a feeling of utter awe. No, I was not in Hell now. A form walked on the waters before me. A moonlight radiance shone about. She was taller than the daughters of men: clad in white, gold-broidered garments. On her head was a crown of gold and pearl. At first I could not see her face, in the fearful refulgence that went from it. Then I caught a glimpse. Her divine eyes full of mercy, turned towards me.
She held in her hands a scapular. She said, though I do not think she spoke, ‘What I have said, I have said. Those who wear my scapular shall not die in mortal sin. Make thy peace with God. Go, and sin no more!’
I was on the divan still. The scapular was round my neck: and Bernard was holding me by the hand.
People would hardly recognize, even if they heard their names mentioned, in two Carmelite Friars whom I hear to my annoyance are held up to novices as models for ascetic practice, viz. Father Francis and Father Bernard—for we have retained our ancient names in Religion, seeing they were names of Saints—those two, whom the world over charitably calls, ‘very dissipated young men,’ Bernard and Francis.