Avarice

You who possess, listen to me. One day, two sons of the same father received, each, his bushel of wheat. The elder kept his in a hidden place; the other found on the road a poor man begging for alms; addressing himself to him, he poured into his cloak half of the wheat that had fallen to him; then, he went on his way and went to sow the rest in the paternal field.

Now, by that time there came a great famine, the birds of heaven were dying at the edge of the roads. The elder brother ran to his hiding place, finding there nothing but dust; the younger, sadly, was going to contemplate the wheat that had withered on the stalk, when he comes upon the poor man he had assisted. – Brother, said the beggar to him, I was going to die and you succored me; now that hope has withered in your heart, follow me. Your half bushel has quintupled in my hands; I shall appease your hunger and you shall live in abundance.

Listen to me, miser! Do you know happiness? Yes, do you not? Your eyes shine with a somber splendor, in the sockets that avarice has hollowed out more deeply; your lips close; your nostrils quiver and your ears grow keen. Yes, I hear it: it is the jingling of the gold that your hand caresses, as it pours into your hiding place. You say: It is the supreme delight. Silence: someone is coming! Shut it quickly! Oh! how pale you are! your whole body trembles. Calm yourself; the steps move away. Open it: look, your gold is still there. Open it; tremble no more; you are alone. Do you hear? it is nothing; it is the wind that moans as it passes through the cracks. Look; how much gold! plunge your hands in: make the metal ring; you are happy. Happy, you! but the night gives you no rest and your sleep is tormented by phantoms.

You are cold! draw near the hearth; warm yourself beside that fire that crackles so merrily. The snow falls; the chilly traveler wraps himself in his cloak and the poor man shivers under his rags. The flame of the hearth diminishes; throw on more wood. No; stop! It is your gold that you consume with that wood; it is your gold that burns.

You are hungry! look, take, sate yourself; all this is yours, you paid for it with your gold. With your gold! this abundance revolts you; is this superfluity necessary to sustain life? no, this piece of bread will be enough; it is still too much. Your clothes fall in tatters; your house cracks and threatens to collapse; you suffer cold and hunger, but, what does it matter! you have gold!

Wretch! death is going to separate you from the gold. It will leave it at the edge of the tomb, like the dust that the traveler shakes off at the threshold of the door, where the well-beloved family awaits him to celebrate his return.

Your blood has congealed in your veins, weakened and aged by your voluntary misery. Greedy, the heirs cast your body into some corner of the cemetery; here you are face to face with eternity. Miserable one! What have you done with the gold that was confided to you to relieve the poor? Do you hear these blasphemies? do you see these tears? this blood? They are the blasphemies of the suffering that you could have soothed; the tears that you made flow; the blood that you shed. You have horror of yourself; you would wish to flee and you cannot. You suffer, condemned one! and you writhe in your suffering! Suffer! no pity for you. You did not use mercy toward your unhappy brother; who would have it for you? suffer! suffer! your torment will have no end. To punish you, God wills that you so BELIEVE it. Saint Louis. n Observation – In listening to the end of these eloquent and poetic words, we were surprised to hear Saint Louis speak of the eternity of sufferings, while all the superior Spirits are in agreement in combating such a belief, when these last words: To punish you, God wills that you so BELIEVE it, came to explain everything. We reproduce them among the general characters of the Spirits of the third order. In fact, the more imperfect the Spirits, the more restricted and circumscribed are their ideas; for them the future is vague; they do not understand it. They suffer; their sufferings are long and, for one who suffers for a long time, it is to suffer always. By itself, this thought is already a punishment. In the next article we shall cite facts of manifestations that will be able to enlighten us on the nature of the sufferings beyond the tomb. [See in the article: Sensations of the Spirits, the story of a Spirit who in life could have served as a model for the portrait of the miser, made by Saint Louis.]

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[see Saint Louis.]