Max, the beggar.

In a village of Bavaria, around the year 1850, there died an old man almost a hundred years old, known by the name of Father Max. No one knew his origin for certain, for he had no family. For nearly half a century, overwhelmed by infirmities that made it impossible for him to earn his living by work, he had no other resources than public charity, which he disguised by going to sell almanacs and small objects at the farms and the castles. They had given him the nickname Count Max, and the children called him only Sir Count, at which he smiled without taking offense. Why this title? No one could say; it had become a habit. Perhaps it was because of his features and his manners, whose distinction contrasted with his rags. Several years after his death, he appeared in a dream to the daughter of the owner of one of the castles, where he had been lodged in the stable, for he had no domicile. He said to her: “Thank you for having remembered poor Max in your prayers, for they were heard by the Lord. You wish to know who I am, charitable soul who take an interest in the unfortunate beggar. I am going to satisfy you; it will be a great instruction for all.”

He then related to her the following, more or less in these terms:

“About a century and a half ago, I was a rich and powerful lord of this region, but frivolous, proud, and vain of my nobility. My immense fortune served only my pleasures, and it was barely sufficient, because I was a gambler, a debauchee, and spent my life in orgies. My vassals, whom I considered created for my use like farm animals, were oppressed and mistreated to subsidize my prodigalities. I remained deaf to their laments, as to those of all the unfortunate, and, in my opinion, they ought to feel greatly honored to serve my caprices. I died at a not very advanced age, exhausted by excesses, but without having undergone any true misfortune. On the contrary, everything seemed to smile upon me, so that, in the eyes of all, I was one of the fortunate ones of the world. My position earned me sumptuous funerals; the prodigals lamented in me the magnificent lord, but not a tear fell upon my tomb, not a prayer of the heart was directed to God for me, and my memory was cursed by all those whose misery I had aggravated. Ah! how terrible is the curse of those whom we make unfortunate! It did not cease to ring in my ears during long years, which seemed to me an eternity! And, at the death of each of my victims, it was a new threatening or ironic figure that arose before me, pursuing me without respite and without my being able to find a dark corner to withdraw myself from its sight. Not one friendly look! My former companions in debauchery, unfortunate like me, fled from me and seemed to say with disdain: “You can no longer pay for our pleasures.” Oh! how dearly I would have paid for an instant of repose, a glass of water to quench the burning thirst that devoured me! But I no longer possessed anything, and all the gold that I had scattered in handfuls upon the Earth had not produced a single blessing! not one, do you understand, my daughter? “At last, overwhelmed by fatigue, exhausted like a worn-out traveler who does not see the end of his road, I cried out: “My God, have pity on me! When will this horrible situation end?” Then a voice, the first I had heard since leaving the Earth, said to me: “When you wish it. – What must I do, great God? I replied; tell me, I submit to everything. – You must repent; you must humble yourself before those whom you humbled; ask them to intercede for you, because the prayer of the offended one who forgives is always agreeable to the Lord.” I humbled myself, I begged my vassals, my servants, who stood before me, and whose faces, more and more benevolent, finally disappeared. It was then for me like a new life; hope replaced despair, and I thanked God with all the strength of my soul. Then the voice said to me: “Prince!” and I replied: “There is no other prince here than God the Almighty, who humbles the proud. Forgive me, Lord, for I have sinned; make of me the servant of my servants, if such be your will.”

“Some years later I was born again, but this time into a family of poor villagers. My parents died when I was still a child, and I remained alone in the world without support. I earned my living as I could, sometimes as a manual laborer, sometimes as a farm hand, but always honestly, because this time I believed in God. At the age of forty, an illness paralyzed all my limbs, and I found myself forced to beg for more than fifty years on these same lands, of which I had been the absolute master; to receive a piece of bread at the farms that had been mine and where, by bitter irony, they had nicknamed me Sir Count; happy many times to find a shelter in the stable of the castle that had been mine. In my dream I delighted in walking through this same castle, where I had reigned as a despot. How many times, in my dreams, did I see myself again amid my former fortune! Such visions left me, upon awakening, an indefinable feeling of bitterness and regret; but never did a lament escape my mouth. And, when it pleased God to call me, I praised Him for having given me the courage to suffer without murmuring this long and painful trial, whose recompense I receive today. And you, my daughter, I bless you for having prayed for me.” Observation. – We commend this case to those who claim that men would have no restraint if they did not have before them the bogeyman of eternal punishments. And we ask whether the prospect of a chastisement like that of Father Max is less effective in halting one upon the path of evil than the endless tortures, in which no one any longer believes.

[1] This communication is also found in chapter VIII of the book Heaven and Hell.