II. MR. BOSWELL IMPARTS SOME LATE NEWS OF HADES


Boswell was a little late in arriving the next night. He had agreed to
be on hand exactly at midnight, but it was after one o'clock before the
machine began to click and the bell to ring. I had fallen asleep in the
soft upholstered depths of my armchair, feeling pretty thoroughly worn
out by the experiences of the night before, which, in spite of their
pleasant issue, were nevertheless somewhat disturbing to a nervous
organization like mine. Suddenly I waked, and with the awakening there
entered into my mind the notion that the whole thing was merely a dream,
and that in the end it would be the better for me if I were to give up
Aldus and other club dinners with nightmare inducing menus. But I was
soon convinced that the real state of affairs was quite otherwise, and
that everything really had happened as I have already related it to you,
for I had hardly gotten my eyes free from what my poetic son calls "the
seeds of sleep" when I heard the type-writer tap forth:

"Hello, old man!"

Incidentally let me say that this had become another interesting feature
of the machine. Since my first interview with Boswell the taps seemed
to speak, and if some one were sitting before it and writing a line the
mere differentiation of sounds of the various keys would convey to the
mind the ideas conveyed to it by the printed words. So, as I say, my
ears were greeted with a clicking "Hello, old man!" followed immediately
by the bell.

"You are late," said I, looking at my watch.

"I know it," was the response. "But I can't help it. During the campaign
I am kept so infernally busy I hardly know where I am."

"Campaign, eh?" I put in. "Do you have campaigns in Hades?"

"Yes," replied Boswell, "and we are having a--well, to be polite, a
regular Gehenna of a time. Things have changed much in Hades latterly.
There has been a great growth in the democratic spirit below, and his
Majesty is having a deuce of a time running his kingdom. Washington and
Cromwell and Caesar have had the nerve to demand a constitution from the
venerable Nicholas--"

"From whom?" I queried, perplexed somewhat, for I was not yet fully
awake.

"Old Nick," replied Boswell; "and I can tell you there's a pretty fight
on between the supporters of the administration and the opposition.
Secure in his power, the Grand Master of Hades has been somewhat
arbitrary, and he has made the mistake of doing some of his subjects
a little too brown. Take the case of Bonaparte, for instance: the
government has ruled that he was personally responsible for all the wars
of Europe from 1800 up to Waterloo, and it was proposed to hang him once
for every man killed on either side throughout that period. Bonaparte
naturally resisted. He said he had a good neck, which he did not object
to have broken three or four times, because he admitted he deserved it;
but when it came to hanging him five or six million times, once a month,
for, say, five million months, or twelve times a year for 415,000 years,
he didn't like it, and wouldn't stand it, and wanted to submit the
question to arbitration.

"Nicholas observed that the word arbitration was not in his especially
expurgated dictionary, whereupon Bonaparte remarked that he wasn't
responsible for that; that he thought it a good word and worthy of
incorporation in any dictionary and in all vocabularies.

"'I don't care what you think,' retorted his Majesty. 'It's what I don't
think that goes;' and he commanded his imps to prepare the gallows on
the third Thursday of each month for Bonaparte's expiation; ordered his
secretary to send Bonaparte a type-written notice that his presence on
each occasion was expected, and gave orders to the police to see that he
was there willy-nilly. Naturally Bonaparte resisted, and appealed to the
courts. Blackstone sustained his appeal, and Nicholas overruled him.
The first Thursday came, and the police went for the Emperor, but he was
surrounded by a good half of the men who had fought under him, and
the minions of the law could do nothing against them. In consequence,
Bonaparte's brother, Joseph, a quiet, inoffensive citizen, was dragged
from his home and hanged in his place, Nicholas contending that when a
soldier could not, or would not, serve, the government had a right to
expect a substitute. Well," said Boswell, at this point, "that set
all Hades on fire. We were divided as to Bonaparte's deserts, but the
hanging of other people as substitutes was too much. We didn't know
who'd be substituted next. The English backed up Blackstone, of course.
The French army backed up Bonaparte. The inoffensive citizens were
aroused in behalf of Joseph, for they saw at once whither they
were drifting if the substitute idea was carried out to its logical
conclusion; and in half an hour the administration was on the
defensive, which, as you know, is a very, very, very bad thing for an
administration."

"It is, if it desires to be returned to office," said I.

"It is anyhow," replied Boswell through the medium of the keys. "It's
in exactly the same position as that of a humorist who has to print
explanatory diagrams with all of his jokes. The administration papers
were hot over the situation. The king can do no wrong idea was worked
for all it was worth, but beyond this they drew pathetic pictures of
the result of all these deplorable tendencies. What was Hades for, they
asked, if a man, after leading a life of crime in the other world, was
not to receive his punishment there? The attitude of the opposition was
a radical and vicious blow at the vital principles of the sphere itself.
The opposition papers coolly and calmly took the position that the vital
principles of Hades were all right; that it was the extreme view as to
the power of the Emperor taken by that person himself that wouldn't
go in these democratic days. Punishment for Bonaparte was the correct
thing, and Bonaparte expected some, but was not grasping enough to
want it all. They added that recent fully settled ideas as to a humane
application of the laws required the bunching of the indictments or
the selection of one and a fair trial based upon that, and that anyhow,
under no circumstances, should a wholly innocent person be made to
suffer for the crimes of another. These journals were suppressed, but
the next day a set of new papers were started to promulgate the same
theories as to individual rights. The province of Cimmeria declared
itself independent of the throne, and set up in the business of
government for itself. Gehenna declared for the Emperor, but insisted
upon home rule for cities of its own class, and finally, as I informed
you at the beginning, Washington, Cromwell, and Caesar went in person to
Apollyon and demanded a constitution. That was the day before yesterday,
and just what will come of it we don't as yet know, because Washington
and Cromwell and Caesar have not been seen since, but we have great
fears for them, because seventeen car-loads of vitriol and a thousand
extra tons of coal were ordered by the Lord High Steward of the palace
to be delivered to the Minister of Justice last night."

"Quite a complication," said I. "The Americanization of Hades has begun
at last. How does society regard the affair?"

"Variously," observed Boswell. "Society hates the government as much as
anybody, and really believes in curtailing the Emperor's powers, but,
on the other hand, it desires to maintain all of its own aristocratic
privileges. The main trouble in Hades at present is the gradual
disintegration of society; that is to say, its former component parts
are beginning to differentiate themselves the one from the other."

"Like capital and labor here?" I queried.

"In a sense, yes--possibly more like your Colonial Dames, and Daughters
of the Revolution. For instance, great organizations are in process
of formation--people are beginning to flock together for purposes
of protection. Charles the First and Henry the Eighth and Louis the
Fourteenth have established Ye Ancient and Honorable Order of Kings, to
which only those who have actually worn crowns shall be eligible. The
painters have gotten together with a Society of Fine Arts, the sculptors
have formed a Society of Chisellers, and all the authors from Homer
down to myself have got up an Authors' Club where we have a lovely
time talking about ourselves, no man to be eligible who hasn't written
something that has lasted a hundred years. Perhaps, if you are thinking
of coming over soon, you'll let me put you on our waiting-list?"

I smiled at his seeming inconsistency and let myself into his snare.

"I haven't written anything that has lasted a hundred years yet," said
I.

"Oh, yes, I think you have," replied Boswell, and the machine seemed to
laugh as he wrote out his answer. "I saw a joke of yours the other day
that's two hundred centuries old. Diogenes showed it to me and said that
it was a great favorite with his grandfather, who had inherited it from
one of his remote ancestors."

A hot retort was on my lips, but I had no wish to offend my guest, so
I smiled and observed that I had frequently indulged in unconscious
plagiarism of that sort.

"I should imagine," I hastened to add, "that to men like Charles the
First this uncertainty as to the safety of Cromwell would be great joy."

"I hardly know," returned Boswell. "That very question has been
discussed among us. Charles made a great outward show of grief when
he heard of the coal being delivered at the office of the Minister of
Justice, and we all thought him quite magnanimous, but it leaked out,
just before I left to come here, that he sent his private secretary to
the palace with a Panama hat and a palm-leaf fan for Cromwell, with his
congratulations.

"That seems to savor somewhat of sarcasm."

"Oh, ultimately Hades is bound to be a republic," replied Boswell.
"There are too many clever and ambitious politicians among us for the
place to go along as a despotism much longer. If the place were filled
up with poets and society people, and things like that, it might go on
as an autocracy forever, but you see it isn't. To men of the caliber
of Alexander the Great and Bonaparte and Caesar, and a thousand other
warriors who never were used to taking orders from anybody, but were
themselves headquarters, the despotic sway of Apollyon is intolerable,
and he hasn't made any effort to conciliate any of them. If he had
appointed Bonaparte commander-in-chief of his army and made a friend of
him, instead of ordering him to be hanged every month for 415,000 years,
or put Caesar in as Secretary of State, instead of having him roasted
three times a month for seventy or eighty centuries, he would have
strengthened his hold. As it is, he has ignored all these people
officially, treats them like criminals personally; makes friends with
Mazarin and Powhatan, awards the office of Tax Assessor to Dick Turpin,
and makes old Falstaff commander of his Imperial Guard. And just because
poor Ben Jonson scribbled off a rhyme for my paper, The Gazette--a rhyme
running:

        Mazarin And Powhatan,
     Turpin and Falstaff,
        Form, you bet, A cabinet
     To make a donkey laugh.

        Mazarin And Powhatan
     Run Apollyon's state.
        The Dick and Jacks Collect the tax--
     The people pay the freight.

--just because Jonson wrote that and I published it, my paper was
confiscated, Jonson was boiled in oil for ten weeks, and I was seized
and thrown into a dungeon where a lot of savages from the South Sea
Islands tattooed the darned old jingle between my shoulder blades in
green letters, and not satisfied with this barbaric act, right under
the jingle they added the line, in red letters, 'This edition strictly
limited to one copy, for private circulation only,' and they every one
of 'em, Apollyon, Mazarin, and the rest, signed the guarantee personally
with red-hot pens dipped in sulphuric acid. It makes a valuable
collection of autographs, no doubt, but I prefer my back as nature made
it. Talk about enlightened government under a man who'll permit things
like that to be done!"

I ought not to have done it, but I couldn't help smiling.

"I must say," I observed, apologetically, "that the treatment was
barbarous, but really I do think it showed a sense of humor on the part
of the government."

"No doubt," replied Boswell, with a sigh; "but when the joke is on me I
don't enjoy it very much. I'm only human, and should prefer to observe
that the government had some sense of justice."

The apparently empty chair before the machine gave a slight hitch
forward, and the type-writer began to tap again.

"You'll have to excuse me now," observed Boswell through the usual
medium. "I have work to do, and if you'll go to bed like a good fellow,
while I copy off the minutes of the last meeting of the Authors' Club,
I'll see that you don't lose anything by it. After I get the minutes
done I have an interesting story for my Sunday paper from the advance
sheets of Munchausen's Further Recollections, which I shall take great
pleasure in leaving for you when I depart. If you will take the bundle
of manuscript I leave with you and boil it in alcohol for ten minutes,
you will be able to read it, and, no doubt, if you copy it off, sell it
for a goodly sum. It is guaranteed absolutely genuine."

"Very well," said I, rising, "I'll go; but I should think you would put
in most of your time whacking at the government editorially, instead of
going in for minutes and abstract stories of adventure."

"You do, eh?" said Boswell. "Well, if you were in my place you'd change
your mind. After my unexpected endorsement by the Emperor and his
cabinet, I've decided to keep out of politics for a little while. I
can stand having a poem tattooed on my back, but if it came to having
a three-column editorial expressing my emotions etched alongside of my
spine, I'm afraid I'd disappear into thin air."

So I left him at work and retired. The next morning I found the promised
bundle of manuscripts, and, after boiling the pages as instructed,
discovered the following tale.